Yes, Your Honor

The table sat up front.  My attorney had a pile of neatly stacked papers on the desk with two pens placed on top of his legal pad.  He sat there, arms folded awaiting the battle ahead.

I walked in slowly, dreading the inevitable.  My footsteps seemed like small arms gunshots at each landing.   I’m trying to be invisible without success.  The Bench loomed over the landscape putting me in my proper place.  Flags border this elevated territory signalled the importance of the proceedings about to unfold as well as signalling the insignificance of others present in the village below.  The landscape tells the peasants below that resistance is futile.

Here is the judge in his black robe.  I wonder if he is naked beneath this formal ware?  Stop that evil thought. He can read minds no doubt.

A quick trial is likely.  Mrs. Patrock has testified to my dangerous actions.  She was taking photographs of her newly planted flower bed when I sped by.  The crafty old lady had the presence of mind to immortalize my crime with a quick click.  The prosecutor presented this picture along with pictures of the steep road with parked cars on both sides, dropping down to a T Intersection.  The road was better suited for an Olympic slalom run than a road for cars.

The lady to my left types away as I spell my name.   My mind is flying from this place.  What if I spelled it wrong?  They would add perjury to the charge.  I saw that on TV, probably Perry Mason.

Yes, I was driving on that day.  Yes, I am familiar with the neighborhood.  Yes, it’s red and I do own it.  Yes I know the speed limit in the area.  Yes, I know that an accident could injure myself or others.  Suddenly I leap to my feet and confess as they always do under the grilling of the lawyers.

I yell out “I don’t deserve leniency.  I am guilty of reckless driving, but please be merciful, your honor”.  I try to imagine him in a fine suit under that robe, just in case.

Any more witnesses?  My attorney rises as I slump down in disgrace.  Yes, your honor.  He recalled Mrs. Patrock who did admit the weather was beautiful that fateful day.  Yes, it was the 3rd of May and it was the first warm and sunny day after six months of winter.

My attorney held up the prime evidence, a photo of me flying down the hill on my red bike, arms off the handlebars raised to praise the sun. With no helmet and no sense, I was living at the edge.

The judge paused, looked at this poor wretch and said, “Temporary insanity. Dismissed.”  I woke up with a smile and memories of the sun, the wind, and the thrill of hurtling down the world’s biggest hill, arms to the heavens.

Lee