The Blind Side of the Heart by Michael C. White

Author:Michael C. White
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1999-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

13

The next morning I got up at the crack of dawn to get an early start on my chores. I didn’t want to fall behind in my duties and have Father Martin have an excuse to cashier me. Afterward, I got cleaned up and changed, left a note for Martin saying I needed another day off, and then headed over to the courthouse. I wore the sunglasses and bandanna again. I felt like a spy or something. While I worried about causing problems for Father, I felt I had as much right as anybody to be there. I wanted to hear with my own two ears what they had to say. As the previous day, I took a seat way in back and was careful not to let Mr. Leo spot me.

The D.A. brought in a Dr. Somebody-or-other with a dozen degrees from Harvard or some such place, to talk about retrieved memories. Mostly I didn’t understand him. But from what I could make out, he said we had what he called “defense mechanisms,” ways of hiding things from ourselves and making up all these lies that we convince ourselves is the truth. Which sounded like a lot of fancy drivel to my way of thinking. This Dr. Somebody-or-other jabbered on all morning, the sort of big blowhard who liked to hear himself talk. It was hot and stuffy in the courtroom, and I hadn’t slept well the night before and I’d not had my tea that morning. And then that blasted bee—or maybe it was his brother or cousin, I don’t know which—started up again. He was bumping against the glass. Bzzzzzz-tck, bzzzzzz-tck, he’d go, over and over again. Nearly drove me crazy, it did. So I closed my eyes, just figuring to rest them for a moment.

I must’ve dozed off. I had a dream about a little boy. He was way up high somewhere, sort of like on a rooftop of a very tall building. Right on the edge, he was, and looking down at me. He was all in white, a long robe like a surplice. I was afraid he might get hurt. In the dream I called to him to be careful, not to move. Then, don’t you know, he was falling through the air, dropping toward me headfirst, his arms out in front of him like he was diving into water. In the dream I made as if to catch him, but before he got to me he started floating, light as a feather. His robe was spread out to the sides like the wings of some beautiful white bird. When I looked up at him he spread his wings and flew off.

I must’ve started snoring or making noises in my sleep, for this fellow next to me gave me a bit of a nudge with his elbow, and all of a sudden I was back in the courtroom. When I looked up, the older Roby was on the witness stand. His hair was cropped close to his head, no doubt to make him look younger.

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