My nervousness over Wednesday's court hearing built over Monday and Tuesday. Monday, sensing my concern, Cholito, my true dear friend, suggested we visit the basement again. The closeness and comfort more than the sex got me through Tuesday morning. By the afternoon, thoughts of not going to court were again entering my head. Mr. Martinson brought me back to earth with reassurances that with his letter, which he promised was very positive and contained information on the expulsion of Ostrowski from school 111, the hearing would be brief and I'd be home by afternoon and back with him in class Thursday.
So, wearing the best I had, a green checked button shirt, black khakis, a pair of Jack Purcell shoes I bought, but told mother my biological father had, and the winter coat Hoolihan had paid for, I sat with my mother in the waiting room listening for my name to be called. Oscar Ostrowski waited standing in the hall with his parents and a man who was speaking quietly with them. Both parents were well dressed. It made me feel powerless, outnumbered.
Around ten, I saw Miss Peters, our school counselor pass through. Minutes later we were called in. It wasn't really the courtroom I had expected, just a large office with lots of seats and a man in a suit sitting at a desk near the door. Miss Peters and another woman I didn't recognize sat together in front. Ostrowski, his parents and the other man sat behind them. An obviously Latin woman with a small briefcase sat apart from all.
The judge, a younger man than I expected, introduced himself, smiled at me then turned to Oscar Ostrowski and his parents. After learning that the man with the Ostrowski family was their lawyer, he asked Oscar exactly what had happened. The sixth grader lied claiming that I had bumped into him and called him a punk even though he had tried to apologize. He claimed to have said nothing to me that afternoon preferring to stay as far from me as possible.
The judge asked me the same question. I told him that Ostrowski had run into me and called me names, that he never apologized, that he had given me the finger and laughed that afternoon before I chased him. He didn't seem impressed.
Miss Peters was next. She read from her folder. I was repeating fourth grade due to a lack of attention in class. I was always getting into fights and couldn't seem to get along with my peers. I had sexually molested a seven year old girl a number of times. There was little or no control or help in the home as my mother was working in a bar until late each night. She recommended I be tested by a psychologist and that the home be investigated and I be considered a PINS. I had no idea what that meant though Mr. Martinson later explained that it was a Person In Need of Supervision.
The judge asked, 'Regarding the sexual molestation, what happened?'
'A little girl reported that Ray had fondled her several times and one day took her to the boys room where he went much further,' answered Miss Peters.
'Ray, is this true?'
I didn't want to talk about it.
'Ray, I'm asking you a question.'
'She wanted to go an' it was three years ago.'
'Miss Peters?'
'Yes, it was but.'
'So the girl was seven and Ray was eight?'
'Yes, but.'
'Have there been any similar incidents since?'
Miss Peters sighed. 'Not that I know of.'
The judge asked mother about her work schedule and my behavior in the home. He called her 'mother'. He smiled and explained that he understood her difficulty with English so she could testify in Spanish and the woman with the small briefcase would translate.
My mother explained that my father had left her before I was born and that she had four daughters too. She worked as a bartender but was home by eight, that almost sixteen year old Brenda was always home after school and supervised us until our mother arrived. In addition, our grandmother helped feed us, a considerable exaggeration but who was I to complain. She said that in the home I helped with the laundry and cleaning house. I had been in fights before but lately there hadn't been any problems. And, I had lots of friends. She glared at Miss Peters when she said that.
We all waited in silence while the judge read from a folder on his desk. After reading three different papers, he looked at Miss Peters.
'I have letters here from two teachers, a Mrs. Tyler and a Mr. Martinson. Mrs. Tyler says she witnessed the altercation and that Oscar', he looked at my accuser, 'knocked Ray down and said some things she couldn't hear but his facial expression indicated they were disparaging remarks. Mr. Martinson, Ray's teacher, tells me that Ray has greatly improved in his studies and behavior. He mentions a special friendship he seems to have with a boy named Cholito, also fourth grade, and how he is now playing well with the children of Cholito's class. Finally, he says that Oscar was expelled from another school, 111 on the block where he lives, for being a bully.
'I've got to wonder, Miss Peters, why this case is before me. Ray shouldn't have chased Oscar all the way to his house but this is a matter for the school, not Juvenile Court. The rest isn't worth discussing. This case is dismissed.
And that was that. I was stunned. Everybody was right; my biological father, Mr. Martinson, Cholito, everybody who had said not to worry.
Miss Peters gave me a dirty look as she whisked by, folders held tightly to her chest.