What a Body Remembers by Karen Stefano

Author:Karen Stefano
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Bird Books
Published: 2019-05-13T18:56:56+00:00

Chapter 29

September 10, 1985, Oakland, California

Deputy District Attorney Willa Esposito is small, compact, with olive-toned skin and dark bright eyes. Her chestnut hair is short, neat, professional. She is animated, confident, and tolerates no bullshit. She is precisely the woman I want to be but am not.

Willa spends a handful of minutes with me, asking questions, brushing over mine. I sit on a hard wooden bench in the lobby of her office, shifting my weight, trying to get comfortable and failing. I’m startled to learn that I won’t see her again before trial begins. I am free to go for now but I’m to wait by the phone for Detective Brisgaard’s call. He will advise what courtroom we are assigned to, and I will then need to wait outside that room until I’m told to enter. Willa reminds me that I am not to speak to anyone about the case. Then she is gone. For the preliminary hearing I’d received five minutes of prep time, and now, for the trial, I’ve received less than ten. It feels like this should take longer, that this should matter more, but maybe it only matters to me.

◆◆◆

Later that day, the case of the People vs. Peter David Kostenka is assigned to Judge Donald P. Masters, Department 22 for trial. Five women and seven men are seated for the jury.

On September 11, testimony begins. I’m told to arrive by 10:00 a.m. on September 12. I dress carefully that morning. I know my appearance matters and want to make a good impression, to prove to everyone in the courtroom I am worthy of their trust. John drives me to the Alameda County Courthouse in Downtown Oakland. Pursuant to Amy’s instructions, his assignment for this shift is to take care of me. I’m grateful to Amy. Being on the clock will lessen any resentment that he too will miss classes for this event.

This courthouse is larger than the last one, set on a plaza next to Lake Merritt. The elevators are slow, crowded, stopping with a chime at each level. On our floor, John and I find a window where we stand gazing down at sunlight reflecting off water. The view is pleasant, though I’m vaguely conscious of not truly seeing it. I am tense, restless. But part of me is ready. Part of me can’t wait to take the stand, to tell the jurors what this man on trial did to me that night, to let them know what he took away. I need to perform, need to get this right. I am at the center of this. All of this is because of me.

◆◆◆

Hours pass. Tired of shifting our weight on a brown wooden bench (not one comfortable seat in this whole damn courthouse!), John and I don’t so much pace the courthouse halls as float through them, sipping lukewarm, overpriced coffee from the courthouse snack bar because I have been ordered not to stray too far. I am not allowed inside the courtroom except to testify.

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