The idea of court had always fascinated me. No matter how heinous the crime, people were treated equally. They were the same as far as the Law was concerned. I wondered if that’s what God was like, a judge. He could see all the wrongs of the person in question but still found a way to see him equal to anyone else in the world. My father had been a judge, and his father before him. He passed away sometime after my fifth birthday, an escaped convict in which he had sentenced to jail broke into our house and murdered him in cold blood.

I still remember the day perfectly. It was 7:46 PM, the blinds were folded on the floor, our Golden Lab sat atop them, a guardian of sorts. Spongebob blared from the old square TV, amusing young me. I sat comfortably in my mom’s lap bouncing back and forth the way an energetic five year old would. A happy birthday sign was set above the mantel, despite it being almost a week after my birthday, as my father wasn’t home much and my mother had her hands full taking care of me. My dad sat in his usual chair reading his newspaper. The air became still, my senses were on fire. My dog seemed to sense the tension too, as he stood up, very similar to the hairs on my neck. The next few seconds were a blur. Loud noises shook the house, which I later recognized as gunshots. My mom took me and ran to the basement, which had a secured door hidden away from view. Screams were heard and more loud bangs. It sounded like someone had kicked the dog, likely putting him out of commission, he was small for his age. I wrestled my way out of my mom’s hands and broke into the house, into reality. A figure ran down the hallway, and an object laid on the floor. A trail of crimson snaked its way through the kitchen. The air reeked of metal. My dad’s cold lifeless eyes stared back into me, beckoning me to wake him up. But he was gone, and so was a part of me.

I woke up sweating, glancing at the bland grey surroundings. My bedroom. Clothes littered the area around my bed waiting to be picked up. My window remained closed, the blinds strapped strictly shut, only giving one beam of light permission to enter. Life hadn’t exactly been the same in the recent months. My mother had come down with cancer, and her health had been deteriorating. I was tired of things going wrong for me, I was tired of simply being alive. People normally looked forward to their birthdays, but my 18th held no such merit to me. Just another day in my painful existence. Near this time of the year, memories of my father seemed to come back. I didn’t like them and I didn’t like spring because of it.

Three Weeks Later

My mother couldn’t talk on the actual day of my birthday, she spent another day in bed. The day we decided to celebrate my 18th (It was my mother’s idea not mine) was the anniversary of my father’s death. Incredible. She sat on the hospital bed, her head covered by a beanie, creeping over the few hairs that remained. She looked worse today despite the fact that she was actually able to talk now. Her eyes lacked the usual bright and defiant look they had glowed only months before. She couldn’t keep her job up and is paid on medical, a meager amount of money barely able to afford her bills, let alone feed me. Even though she was the one with cancer, we were both gaunt with sunken eyes. She looked at me sullenly, beckoning me forward with her hands outstretched, holding a faded leather box. Streaks of dust weathered the top, and crevices of wool patched the holes that had been stuck in. “Open it,” She spoke, for the first time in days, with a hoarse voice. Upon inspection of the insides was a card and a gavel. The gavel was most likely originally black, but in its later years it had faded into a dark brown. The tips showed a light brown tint with many scratches and small scrapes. I took the card into my hands, preparing myself for what I knew would be a roller coaster of emotions.

Hey kid. So you made it to your eighteenth, huh? I probably wasn’t the best father to you, I know my old man sure as hell wasn’t. He was never there for me, and I couldn’t be there as much as I wish I could for you. I want you to know that my love and hope for you exceeds anything that I could have done for you in my time with you. I can almost guarantee when you finish this note I will be standing there, open arms and open heart for anything you ever need. I love you, happy birthday.

Love, Dad

My face was streaked with tears, I couldn’t speak, and I almost couldn’t breathe. I looked to my mom for comfort, but she was already gone. Her cold lifeless body sat there. A warm smile sat on her face and a single tear from her left eye. I didn’t know what to do with myself other than smile. My mom wasn’t suffering and I got the goodbye from my father I never could. I sat in the chair for a while longer and pondered. No matter how heinous life could be, in the court of God, we were all equal. Court was a place of equality even for those who couldn’t see themselves equal to anyone. Because of this I think I was able to see myself as more than trash, I was able to be okay with my mother’s death, and I was okay with the prospects of my future. There’s nothing left to say. Life is one big court and I am the ruler of my own verdict. I can change the way I am and what will happen to me.