By
J Brown (copyrighted 2000)
The
judge was a proud man and he was considered unattractive by almost
everyone. That is a bad combination for
a man of power but of course he didn’t see it that way. He thought he was making a rational decision
as all judges do.
The defense attorney was
nervous. His suit barely contained the
dark rings under his humid arms. He
knew the judge was ugly; it was an obvious fact and that was why he was nervous.
Humid courtrooms and jilted
lovers emitted a smell most men would turn their noses from. The case was a joke, it had seemed, and here
was a courtroom in a major American city silent like dreaming children full
people who wanted to see what this all meant.
Judge Haskins wobbled in and sat
in his chair. It squeaked and no said
anything.
“I am about to change the face
of love,” the judge first aid and the crowd, full of reporters and others
involved, waited.
The judge adjusted his callar
and his neck twisted back and forth accordingly. “People are guilty here.
Guilty of something they could have prevented.”
“Your honor—” the defense
attorney interjected.
“Excuse me, Mister Laredo, I
believe this is my courtroom.”
A muffled snicker in the crowd.
The court reporter’s head lifted
momentarily and the judge continued.
“People at times forget that others aren’t as advantaged as they
are. They are weak and there for the
taking. But you’re not supposed to take
them. That is where the guilt lies, and
today it carries a price tag. bailiff,” he said and motioned agedly for an even
more aged bailiff. He came slowly and
handed a piece of paper to the judge.
That’s weird, Laredo
thought. The judge would have already
have everything he needed. Perhaps he’s
trying to assuage the blame, or share it.
Shit, that could cost a pretty penny.
The judge thanked the baliff and
cleared his throat. “In the year 2000,
settlements in the millions are not uncommon.
In the case of wrongful death of a loved one, or neglectful
corporations, being awarded millions is necessary and right. Excuse me,” the judge said and sneezed. His white hair flailed for a moment and then
settled like a pile of leaves atop of his would-be baldhead.
The judge had not always been a
judge just as you have not always been a reader. Ironically enough, I have probably always been a writer though I
didn’t always know it.
The judge hadn’t always been fat
but he’d always been ugly. His ears,
which had been his only remotely normal feature, were now hairy and curling
like melting plastic. His alcoholic
rosy cheeks were splotched with sobriety and one thought was passing across his
busy mind over and over again. It was
back when he hadn’t really known of his looks…
Shelly could have been a
cheerleader for the university the then student Haskins had attended. He wore cardigans and considered his life on
a good path. His ears worked well but
his eyes didn’t pay attention. I’ll
have a good career, he would think in his psychology class, and then I’ll be
quite a catch. He didn’t really k now
how he was perceived to women and that was when he met Shelly.
Spring maybe? The weather seemed nice at the beginning of
the memory. Whistling perhaps, and a
brisk walk to class when Shelly came across his path. Her books had fallen on the ground and she was bent over, picking
them up. Immediately, as happens with
people without a future or a past, he was taken with her. He followed her to a class he wasn’t
registered in and offered to tutor her.
He was a smart man, and she needed help. As always for women, it started innocent enough.
Shelly was naďve, which is the
consequence of growing up in a small town, and she didn’t realize consciously
what Bill Haskins was doing. Hell, he
didn’t know what he was doing but he moved full steam ahead.
Algebra was what brought them
together and inevitably it’s what set Haskin’s life on the path that would
bring financial woes to so many undeserving people.
X + Y = Z. It seems simple enough when using numbers
but plugging these two into an the equation was ridiculous. Shelley was a hell of an X and but she
didn’t know why. She had had affairs with men before, which was rare in those
days, but they had been dreamy and what her romance novels called sordid. Bill Haskins was a friend of hers, or so she
thought.
The Z in the equation was an
ugly night. Shelly, in a yellow skirt
and a blues shirt with flowers was almost ready for her test. Bill began administering the test.
Practically shuffling his feet
under her coffee table, Bill spoke weakly of his convictions.
“…thought maybe that…” What?
“…if
you weren’t busy…” But Bill!
“…think we have a connection…”
hand on knew, and then slap and
the sentence that brought us here.
“Bill, you’re ugly, I’d never
sleep with you!” she screamed (picture lightning striking behind her).
Bill was old now and still
bitter. He was containing his glee over
the judgement he was rendering. It’s
true, it was silly but the plaintiffs had somehow massed together under a
lawyer with an appealing case. After
all, ugly people had to be compensated.
“…the sum of one million dollars
to each of the 600 named plaintiffs in the suit. Calm down, calm down. I
gave this much thought and it seems that being jilted because of your looks is
a serious violation of human rights.
And, while mourners of a loved one use the money to remember to forget
their loss, (and here’s the headline to seventeen newspapers nationwide), ugly
people have to be compensated somehow.”
The judge smirked amidst the
clapping of ugly people and he waited a moment longer than usual before banging
his gavel. There was an uproar.
And, only because Laredo knew the court reporter was still recording and that he needed to make an impact did he yell over the mixed cheers, “Sir, my clients can’t be punished financially because you’re ugly genetically!”
Perhaps Laredo wouldn’t have mind spending a night in jail for contempt if he hadn’t been so good-looking.