*******OK here I gowhere to startthis is an entirely new setting for me since I'm used to a medical setting rather than a legal one, not to mention a time difference of 50 years
Disclaimers: if they were mine, I'd keep Bobby all to myself.
This story is intended as an add-on to "Death Penalties." I've never done the changing point of view but I'm hoping that it will capture all the aspects I'm trying to get into this. I don't know whether Bobby's mother was given a first name but if she was, someone please let me know so I can correct the error.
constructive criticism welcome (please don't be too brutal!) at hot_lips_4077@hotmail.com
BETTER LEFT UNSAID, PART ONE
I observe him unnoticed from the back of the courtroom. Shoulders drooping, he has his head lowered dejectedly. Sure, he has lost cases before, but this one is different. It strikes a deep chord in Bobby's heart; his and mine. I don't believe the jury should have convicted his client. Scott Simpson did something that, shocking as it may be, didn't earn him the title of murderer. And that is what hit Bobby so hard.
Lindsay passes by, giving me a tight, sad smile. She is worried about Bobby. That's what brought her to me. I remember the conversation we had just a little while ago. "Your son needs you" her words echoed as if she was saying them for the first time. A memory, reeking of pain, tries to edge its way into my consciousness. I've shut it away for so long–maybe it's time to let it free
The doctors are just outside the door in the corridor. We can hear their voices from inside the room, low murmurs beneath the sounds of the respirator and the other machines. Emily is not even conscious anymore. I can only hope that her state can dull the pain that has plagued her increasingly for the last few months.
I look at Bobby. Our son. Fifteen years oldGod, he is too young to have to deal with this yet. It's easy to see the toll that his mother's decline has taken on him. His eyes are haunted, his expression too solemn.
He's just a kid! And yet, he has managed to be stronger than I have.
The doctors have told us that the choice is ours. The push of one button would forever put a stop to Emily's pain. It's the right thing to do. But I can't bring myself to do it. Once it's done, there's no bringing her back. The thought is too much to handle. I push it out of my mind. There are tears in my eyes. I stand up, walk to Bobby's chair. My hand is on his shoulder and he is looking at me, his own eyes filling. I tell him that I have said my goodbyes already and that he should do this one last thing for his mother. And then I leave the room. Huddle into a plastic chair in the hallway. Five minutes later, Bobby comes out. His eyes are dried but there is no life in them, no sparkle. No laughter. "It's all over," he says in a quiet voice. In that instant, the little boy is gone. He has left childhood in the room behind us.
That memory glides smoothly into another. A year later, maybe two. Bobby, tall, as serious as ever, trying to talk me into something.
"Come on, Dad! It's just an extra hour. Just one more hour."
"If it's only an hour than how important can it be?"
"My friends all stay out later! Mom would have let me" he trails off. I lift my eyes to meet his stubborn gaze. It is the first time that he has said anything like that. He hadn't even cried at her funeral. I hadn't either, and maybe he was following me. A few months later, he began asking about Emily's life before his own birth. I wouldn't answer any of his questions. It hurt too much. And now, this. The memory of the hospital room, the respiratorit all comes rushing back. I shut it out quickly. "No, Robert." He knows the case is closed but he is not happy about it.
What did I do to him? Was I too selfish in making him push that button? Have I driven him to this point? He shuts out his feelings as I unconsciously taught him to do. Lindsay was right. He needs me now. But how do you convince your son that he didn't murder his mother?