We wait together for the walk signal. She is dressed smartly for court; I push a twin stroller in marker-stained jeans. I ask what kind of hearing she has.
“Pretrial,” she says, “a bail hearing.” I recognize the client from her description. He was homeless and couldn’t afford health care. She looks as nervous as I remember feeling.
“You’ll do fine,” I say, confidently. This case will start her short but successful career.
My gaze rests on the pearls my husband gave me, on the suit that hangs in my closet. I again contemplate the cost of child care.
I wrote this piece last week in response to the Carrot Ranch Weekly Prompt. Today, people from Ferguson, Missouri are planning to go to the same courthouse where my character was going. They will go to the tiny prosecutor’s office to request prosecution for a murder. The prosecutor’s waiting room holds about twenty; over 1,000 have shown up at protests over the past couple of days. I ask that your thoughts and prayers be with St. Louis as we deal with the fallout from Michael Brown’s death.