My Domestic Violence Story (part two)

On Friday the 13th (one that came with the super bonus of a full moon - both good things for me) I was in court.

First, at 9 am, a divorce hearing regarding the car situation. I brought us all in, to try to get my van back, instead of driving Bertha, the big-hipped-gas-guzzling car, who now has taken to ‘female problems' requiring me to do the two-feet-driving thing to avoid stalling out anywhere - that is, if she decides to start at all.

To spare you the 30 minutes of dialog, I will just give you the highlights & the results.

Hubby sputters, exclaims, and interrupts constantly. His own lawyer tells him to ‘shut up' on at least 3 occasions, the court commission (‘the judge') firmly tells him to behave. I look like an angel by virtue of my ‘speak only when spoken to' silences. (Well, ok, once I did smile & tell the commissioner that I understood what he was trying to say, but otherwise waited to be asked a direct question.)

The commissioner decides it is ‘best' to fix the bad auto instead of switching them. I take a punch, but am still standing. Which is a good thing. There is more battle to come...

Less than 5 hours later, I return to court. This time, it is for the battery charges. Dumb ol' hubby refuses to plea, declines his rights to a jury trial, and opts to take his chances with a court trial.

This appears a stupid move, as even if he deludes himself into thinking he is innocent of beating the snot out of me, the best odds are to go with a jury of his peers (scary-ass thought indeed!). By choosing the court trial, he no longer has to convince each of his peers that he is guilty (a much harder option, just by numbers), but obviously, any judge can smell an asshole rather quickly. A judge works around ass all day long. Plus, a judge fully knows the law - knows if it has been broken, not just if it was ‘bad enuff' for folks to want to find this poor slob (their peer) guilty.

But, my hubby is no ordinary ass. He is first-rate ass. He not only believes he is right, that he can convince a judge, but that he can clear his name & save a few bucks in the process - court trials are less expensive than jury trials.

Ok, so now you know, as well as any of us can, why we are in court for this particular trial.

Again, I wish to spare us all the blow-by-blow on the blow-by-blow. So I will attempt to do my best to sum it up & give you the results.

I was given an overview of how the whole trial would proceed - when I would be allowed in the courtroom, what objections were, when they might be given, the order of the process, and even when I might ask for a break etc.

However, as my luck would have it, all of that information was a complete waste of time. Nothing went according to the plan I had been given.

First, the arresting police officer would not be able to make it. He was a witness for ‘me' so that was like foreshadowing...

Instead of waiting alone in the witness room, I was told to come into the court room and await the judge. At this point I thought maybe hubby had wised up & was going to plea.

But no, super dope was hell-bent on carrying out his mission.

All of a sudden the judge appeared & I was pushed to the front to testify.

Someday, if you really are begging for a long tale, I will tell you all about it, but for now, just realize it is almost as surreal as the beating itself.

I made it through the D.A.'s questions quite well. Then the tables turned. I was asked the same questions, repeatedly, until I looked, with tears in my eyes, imploringly at the judge for some help - Was I not answering? Was I being asked if my shirt was green & I was saying ‘no' even though it was?

I was asked to defend my remaining at the house after the defendant was removed.

I was asked to defend my working from home, third shift, as if this means of making a living were some sort of entitlement to hubby's right to beat me.

On top of which, every time the D.A. objected, and every time the defense objected, the judge sided with the defense. Each & everyt time.

After my testimony the tape of the injunction for the restraining order was played, followed by hubby's testimony.

This was the first time I had looked at hubby directly since the incident.

Before this, even earlier today, I only allowed myself to see him peripherally. Now I looked directly at him, even if I didn't make eye contact.

He looked older, thinner, and with the traditional red-faced-markings of a drunk. He sounded stupid when he replied.

Even though his-royal-assiness was loud & obnoxious earlier, he was relatively calm now. I firmly believe his attorney (the same one of the divorce) drugged him so he would not display so aggressively.

Quietly he told his story. A third version that differed from the tape we all just heard. Both of course being different from the official version told to police on the day of the incident.

Again, each time an objection was raised the judge sided with the defense.

At this point, between the manner in which things were occurring and the tone they were taking, I was seeing hubby getting his wish - he'd walk out of court with all this behind him, free as a bird.

I began my internal litany: “You do not need external validation to ‘prove' he was wrong. You know he was wrong. No court can make it right. You do not need external validation...”

But even as I repeated this to myself, tears filled my eyes. It was like being hit all over again.

Finally the judge started to speak, to summarize all that he had heard. He began with ‘facts' some of which I disputed. But then he came to the magic words “In the eyes of the law as it is written, and this court, the defendant is guilty.”

My body went cold, I shivered a bit. I thought I might even pee.

I waited to hear what he would get. But sentencing was scheduled for July 2nd. More waiting. But this time, there is less ambiguity involved. Something will happen. Something ‘bad' for him.

Now, since then, I have been asked ‘what does this mean for you?' Many people assume that this means I have all the power in the divorce. Common sense might tell folks that a batterer would have less rights - especially regarding children. But this is not the case.

It is still a 50/50 split, no matter what his illegal status is.

I will still have to fight to prove things. But that is another column, a column on the divorce process. One that I certainly will write, but since the process there has no end in sight, I will have to put it off for another day..

Now, before I ask you to decide if justice does live in Sheboygan, I have to mention one other wee thing...

Today is June 18th, 5 days after the trial and the commissioner's ruling on the automobile situation. Today, on the way home from Milwaukee, the car, deemed by hubby as safe & reliable, the car that the commissioner thinks is worth spending money to fix, quit.

Just stopped, dead, while going 70 mph on the expressway.

The good news is that no one was hurt. That I had, just that very morning, added minutes to my out-of-minutes cell phone. It is good that Bertha died close to home, so that a friend with a car could come & rescue me & my children.

But a dead car, is a dead car.

Now I am driving the dreaded ‘loaner' car. She is so horrid, I almost long for Bertha... Partly as Gertie is less of a looker (and she's up against Bertha the ‘87 Caprice!), but also because I am a firm believer in ‘better the devil you know...'

If you think there is justice in Sheboygan, if you think that the courts were wise (even if you withhold the comment of ‘fair' until sentencing), then I say God also has a place in Sheboygan. Perhaps a Summer home, near the lake... God can over-rule court dispensed justice. And God has apparently decided to delay my sentencing.

At least until the estimate on Bertha comes back...