Bright day followed bright day, crisp fall weather. The media was in a frenzy and Johnny seemed to notice them in a daze. He would sometimes look to his friends in the courtroom, like anchoring himself.
I noticed Mrs. Sheldon, red eyed and weepy, in the same spot every single day. She narrowed her eyes and stared at us, clutching her leather purse. I don't think Johnny was aware of who she was. But I was aware.
I'd stressed over Johnny's speech. His wishes were important, it was his case, his trial. But it was also mine and I thought, 'what does he know?' He does everything based on emotion, he doesn't like the way it feels. But I went to law school, I've studied juries, case histories, the whole thing. So I decided to plough ahead, duly noting Johnny's feelings, but continuing with the planned defense.
The prosecution's final witness, Sarah Collins, could be very damaging. She sat in the witness box, a young girl of probably 15, honey colored hair up in a ponytail, white blouse with tiny buttons, a wide skirt, white bobby socks.
Johnny barely looked at her, but he barely looked at anyone, just glances now and then.
"Ms. Collins, do you know the defendant?" the prosecutor said, smiling his little smile. Sarah nodded. The judge gently reminded her to answer "yes", or "no".
"Yes,"
"Where do you know him from?"
"School,"
"You're in the same classes as Mr. Cade?"
"Yeah, yes. Some,"
"Were you aware that he carried a six inch switchblade?"
"Yes,"
I looked at Johnny, wondering if he'd react to this testimony. He'd look at Sarah for a second, then down at the table.
"How were you aware of this?"
"Everyone knew,"
"Objection!" I stood. The objection was sustained. The prosecutor was unruffled.
"How did you know?"
"Well," she looked at Johnny, almost sweetly. I wondered if she was even aware how much her testimony could hurt him.
"I knew because after he got beat up by the socs he carried that switchblade, he said he'd kill the next person who jumped him,"
I wanted to lay my head on the table and give up.
"He was beaten up by socs?"
"Yes,"
"What are 'socs'?"
Socs again. I thought they should hand out glossaries when trials involved teenagers. Sarah defined it as they all had.
I didn't look forward to my cross with her. She was tricky. But I thought I could use some of her testimony to my advantage.
"No further questions, Your Honor," the prosecutor said, and the judge called a recess.
"How are you doing?" I said softly to Johnny. I felt bad for him, never getting a break, always watched by the guards, in the courtroom or in jail. I don't know how he could stand it.
"Okay," he said in his toneless manner.
I figured I'd grab a quick lunch and a coffee at the deli, and I wanted to be out in the fall sunshine. Just that brief moment of sun felt good for my soul.
I caught Mrs. Sheldon's eye on my way out. She wore glittery jewelry, her hair swept up in some crumbling semblance of fashion, and her wet red eyes locked on mine. I looked away hurriedly.
Outside the teen girls who skipped school to catch their glimpse of Johnny as he went into the courtroom peppered me with questions.
"What's he like?"
"Did he get my letter?"
I ignored them best I could. Ordered my sandwich and coffee, tried to relax, breathe.
Back in the courtroom I noticed only Dallas was there. The others, Ponyboy, his brothers, Two bit Matthews, and the other friend, came regularly but not every day. Dallas was there, without fail, every day.
Time for the cross. Sarah Collins sat on the stand, fresh faced, bright eyed, almost enjoying her time in the spot light.
"Ms. Collins, you were aware that Johnny Cade carried a switchblade ?" I said.
"Yes,"
"And how many other boys at your school carried switchblades?"
"Objection!" The prosecutor rose and added one word, "irrelevant,"
"Your Honor," I said, "I would like to establish the culture here, that carrying this weapon was not unique to my client," It could go either way. I didn't know what the judge would rule. He thought a minute then said, "Overruled. You may proceed,"
"Ms. Collins, how many other boys at your school carried switchblades?"
"Um, I guess a lot, probably all the greasers do,"
"Could you define 'greaser'?"
"They're, um, they're the kids who are poor and put grease in their hair, they live on the east side of town,"
"Does Johnny Cade fit that description?"
"Yes,"
"You stated that he started carrying the switchblade after the 'socs' beat him up, correct?"
"Yes,"
"How did you know about this incident? Did Mr. Cade tell you about it?"
She blinked, looked at Johnny, shook her head.
"Tell me? No, he didn't have to. He was out of school a couple of days and when he came back he looked like, like, someone had tried to kill him or something,"
I took a deep breath, knowing full well I was treading dangerous water.
"What did he look like? Could you describe Johnny Cade's appearance after the 'socs' beat him up?"
It was no longer fun for her, as it shouldn't have been. I felt sympathy for her, and I could see it troubled her to remember. Johnny had closed his eyes.
"Uh, one of his eyes, the white part, it was all red. And he had this cut on his face near his temple, and uh, like, his face was all black and blue, puffy..."
"So it was after this beating that he started carrying a switchblade?"
"Yes," Johnny had opened his eyes, gazed at a spot just above Sarah's head.
"Before this incident he did not carry a switchblade or any other weapon?"
"No, not before that,"
"No further questions, your Honor,"
