one morning in 1990

I heard the alarm ring and flew out of bed. There wouldn't be much time. I jumped into the shower and took the quickest shower that I have ever taken. As I was putting my clothes on, I heard Jason, my 3 year old son waking up. He began the descent down stairs so I knew I had to hurry or he would help himself to everything in the frige. Running down the stairs, I tripped; summersaulted down the last three steps, and knew then it was going to be a day I would always remember.


After packing his backpack for the babysitter, we hurried to hop onto the local transit bus. He kept swinging his legs back and forth, kicking the irate passenger to his right. I didn't care. At that moment, my mind was worring about getting to the court on time.

I entered the courthouse. It was huge with stone walls, floors and ceilings. You could hear the echos of the pitterpatter of feet. Looking around I saw that everyone was dressed in black or navy professional clothes. They all look the same. In their business they moved too and fro, with glass eyes that reflected the cold marble of the courthouse.

I looked down at my dress, a cheap k-mart throw on that I had managed to sqeeze $7 from my welfare check for. I straigtened the bottom part of my skirt trying for an appearance of respectability. When I looked up, I saw him standing down the corridor with his mother and attorney.

Michael was my husband still, or maybe the divorce had gone through already, I can't remember. We were here to get rid of the visitation that he already had- four hours each Sunday. I had just left the battered woman's shelter and returned to my apartment with our son. I had recently reported him for what I thought at the time was cigeratte burns on my son's arms. Social services recommended that I get rid of all of his visitation rights, this would protect my son- and show them that I was protecting my son appropriately.

My attorney came to me. She said, "ok, we've made an agreement, I need you to sign".
"An agreement?" I asked. I hadn't even known there was a discussion on the table. My legal aid attorney had arranged an agreement with his vice-president of the Middlesex bar association attorney and now I was to sign it. Being the good girl that I was always taught to be, I signed. Somehow, my ex-husband had increaded visitation hours; every other weekend, every holiday, father's day and 2 weeks in the summer. I quietly asked my attorney, "aren't we here to prevent Michael from hurting Jason anymore?" She answered too quickly for my mind, "Well, like Attorney ------- said, that investigation is still on going and nothing has been proven yet. These are the typical visitation rights that a father is entitiled too...."


As I left the courthouse, I looked around once more. Mindless, emotionless, walking zombies with no understanding about what real life is about were moving around; writing and creating the outcome of people's lives that they would never see again.

I walked down Dekoven Drive, the road that paralells our Main Street towards the North end of town. Anyone could see that as I walked towards the North end I was leaving the cooperate side of town into the forgotton, slum lord owned section of Middletown. Walking towards me was a homeless man, pushing a shopping carriage full of garbage......I was afraid as he stopped and looked at me. He smelled, he was filthy and I was certain that he was going to kill me. I wiped the tear from my eye and looked up at him defiantly. Go ahead and kill me, I thought to myself, this life sucks anyway.

He spoke, "Are you ok?"
When I nooded my head, he continued pushing his shopping cart towards the courthouse. I looked up to watch him go. My heart beating as I saw him leave with the ominous court building behind him. What a contrast, that huge marble building with dead people walking around not understanding an ounce of human pain- and a shadow of an angel that society had thrown away.

I knew then, that the world as I understood it, had changed.