Page 69 of Somewhere Along The Line
I peer ahead to the front of the room where a center aisle splits two tables and the judge who sits directly across. There’s a witness box to the right, and seeing it sends a shiver down my spine. I cannot imagine if I had to testify today. What a gift that my statement was bad enough no one thought to call me.
Next to the witness stand is the jury box, which is mercifully unfilled since this is a preliminary hearing.
As I’m taking in the space I catch a moving head, someone rising halfway from the attorney’s table on the left. James. I recognize him immediately. He turns to scan the crowd like he’s looking for someone. I wonder if his dad is here somewhere, or maybe Kyle from work.
It’s not every day you participate in criminal proceedings.
Why does he have to look so ridiculously good? He’s wearing a blue suit, and it’s tailored to perfection. He moves to button the jacket out of habit as he stands, tucking in a tie with a pattern I can’t make out from here. His hair is neat, shorter than when I last saw it, and he’s wearing his glasses.
The combination of the frames with the suit lights me up with desire.Stupid body betraying my heart with this reaction.
It’s bad enough that I’m having flashbacks of our “trial practice,” the memory of his mouth on my neck scattering sparks across my skin.
James’s gaze trains on the gallery as he scans each row, his shoulders tight. I resist the urge to glance away as he reaches my section, though I’ve half a mind to slide between the seats and cover myself entirely. He catches my eye and softens, a visible exhale making his chest concave as he holds my stare.
I want to wave because that’s what we do, but it's not appropriate here. Instead, I nod and he returns it. We each give a soft smile. He seems grateful I’m here, and as he turns back to his seat, I realize he was looking forme.
That small glimmer of hope stirs in my chest.
The judge bangs a gavel and the room quiets except for the shuffle of pants in seats. James straightens in his chair. The trial has been going for days now which means we won’t hear opening statements—they will jump straight to witness examination.
A woman, whom I'm guessing is the state’s prosecutor, calls a man I don’t recognize to the stand. The questions begin once he’s sworn in.
It's wild listening to another person recount the events of the day question-by-question. My experience was so insulated, bound from beginning to end by James and his body in relation to mine. I never considered what other people might have seen or felt—or how they interpreted the noise and the smoke—without the lens of clinical anxiety.
Hearing this man’s testimony is like watching an old home video; my memories of the day collide with additional details I missed in person. The more the witness talks, the more I’m glad I missed those details. James made sure my only focus was my own breath. I wonder if my breath was his only focus too.
My palms turn clammy the minute James is called to the stand, the day’s second witness. I rub them against my pants, but it doesn’t stop the sweating. James takes his seat and catches my eye again.
Does he want to know I’m listening? Or is he seeking reassurance from me like I used to get from him? I give him another soft smile.
“Please state your name for the record.”
He clears his throat. “James Newhouse.”
“Do you know the defendant?” The prosecutor points to a man sitting next to the other attorney. He looks young, late teens.
“I don’t.”
“Have you seen him before?”
“Only a few times, in the same car on the B Line train during morning rush hour.”
The questions come rapid-fire, quick and to the point. James doesn’t look flustered as he answers them. “Just tell them the truth,” I remember him saying when I spiraled about the possibility of testifying. He’s taking his own advice.
“Was the defendant present in your car on the morning of September 28th?”
“I saw him on the train that morning, yes.”
“What were you doing on the train on September 28th?”
“I was commuting to the downtown station where I exit to walk to my job.”
“Did you notice anything amiss when you boarded that morning?”
“No, everything seemed very typical.”
“What was the first indication that something was unusual?”
