In the Wake of Wanting (68 page)

“I love you, too, laureate.”

“I wrote you a poem,” she says languidly.

“I want to hear it.”

Sharing a pillow, we watch one another struggle to keep our eyes open. She speaks softly to me, lulling me into a dream:

In the wake of wanting

I learned patience, anticipation

Led to heightened sensation

When that moment of wanting

Turned into having, receiving.

When there was no more wake

When you and I could take

And give freely the love

We felt for each other deeply,

It made every second after

Oh so much sweeter.

The desire and need

Would devour, yet feed.

In the wake of wanting

I found you; you have me.

chapter thirty

The crowded courthouse is restless as we await the entrance of the judge. Coley’s grip on my hand is tighter today than it’s been on other days. I squeeze to get her attention and look over at her, smiling. She leans into me, then looks down, touching the ring she’s only been wearing for the past twelve hours or so. It’s a little loose on her, so after today’s sentencing hearing, we’re stopping by the jewelry store to get it sized.

Down the row sit Pryana, Kamiesha and Lucy. I’d done as much as I could to try to convince Jenny to come back to Manhattan for her to see what sort of punishment Asher would get for the crimes of which he was found guilty–two counts of facilitation of a sex offense by using a controlled substance, two counts of drug-facilitated rape, one count of rape, one count of sexual abuse, one count of predatory sexual assault, one count of unlawful surveillance and one count of dissemination of an unlawful surveillance image. Jenny was still traumatized by the mere sight of Asher Knoxland; her therapist advised against an in-person appearance.

Beyond my friends is Asher’s mother, a surprise witness for the prosecution. She detailed an incident involving Asher and one of his high school girlfriends. When they were both seventeen, an explosive breakup led to ugly rumors in their small suburban town outside of Chicago–rumors of a rape that occurred. Rumors that were suddenly denied and were never mentioned again.

As it turns out, Asher’s father had paid the young lady a hefty sum to keep quiet to save his son’s good name, and she did. Police were never involved; lawyers were never hired. It all happened under the table, but it never sat well with Asher’s mom. She was terrified that her oldest son showed no remorse. She was disgusted that the man she married paid hush money to hide the crime. She was ashamed that she stayed quiet all this time. When she revealed the incidents that had taken place seven years ago, she would often get side-tracked, voicing how sorry she was that her family’s actions led to the pain and anguish suffered by his other victims.

In the defense’s case, Asher’s dad and Asher both vehemently denied the rape from high school, but not the relationship with the girl. It seemed to be a case of he-said/she-said. The ex-girlfriend also said she made up the rumors for attention. Still, the prosecution had revealed payment of a million dollars to the young lady after the breakup. She stated that they had always promised to help her out with a clothing store she’d wanted to open. With no store to show for it, their stories cast a lot of doubt in the jurors’ minds. With that, plus all the evidence against Asher, it didn’t take long for the jury to come back with guilty verdicts on all counts.

In addition to Asher’s trial, divorce proceedings have been taking place between his parents. It’s been a bad year for the Knoxland family.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Iolana Madeleine.”

I take a deep breath, hearing Coley do the same. “You’ve got this,” I whisper to her. Once we take our seats again, the judge speaks to the jury about the schedule for today’s hearing. Coley reaches in her backpack and pulls out a black Moleskine, opening it up to the page marked with the ribbon. Handwritten in red is a victim’s statement she’s written on behalf of the two of us. I actually had nothing more to say to him, so I let Coley put pen to paper. I helped her with wording on some parts to make them more impactful, but this is really her work.

Every day, I worry about Jenny. While the rest of the women found support in groups, friendships and other activities, she withdrew from everything she knew. She moved back to her hometown in Delaware into a spare room with her grandmother. She refused to work. She would rarely go out. For the first six months, she wouldn’t take my calls at all. It took Livvy’s intervention for that to happen, and since then, she only speaks to me when my sister or mother is also on the line. Her grandmother says she seems to be distrustful of all men. Thankfully, therapy has become a regular thing for her, but only in the past four months. I have hope for her improvement, but she’s definitely more fragile than the rest.

Pryana graduated Summa Cum Laude in May and just got hired as a writer for CNN International. Kamiesha also graduated this spring and is planning to go to law school. She has been very involved in every aspect of this trial, spending extra time with Danny at the offices as an intern. Lucy will be a senior with me next year. We’re both active with the Sexual Violence Response group on campus. I've chosen to be a Peer Educator, and Lucy's a Peer Advocate. Coley spends a few hours a week with the NYC chapter of NOW, providing support to their team of rape counselors and legal aids. Needless to say, our experiences with Asher have changed us, but we're making sure that the results of his crimes are rendered as positive influences on the community. Never for a second did we give him a chance to ruin our lives.

"Now, Coley Fitzsimmons will read the final Victim Impact Statement that was previously admitted as part of the evidence into the trial before the sentencing phase. Miss Fitzsimmons?"

We stand and kiss briefly before she exits our row, notebook in hand. I slide down to sit next to Pryana and put my arm around her. She leans her head onto my shoulder. The five of us have become close friends over the course of the past year.

"Thank you, your Honor," Coley says, running out of breath in only four words. She pauses as she glances at Asher, then looks over at me. I nod and smile, trying to send to her all the confidence I have in her. I'd offered to read the statement, but she was adamant in doing it herself. "Your honor, members of the jury, thank you for giving all of the victims a chance to speak. I will be reading a statement on behalf of myself and my fiancé, Trey Holland. I’d like to address the defendant directly, if that’s okay with the court.”

“Go ahead,” Judge Madeleine states.

Her eyes drift to mine one last time before she begins, but when she focuses back on Asher, anger adorns every facial feature. She stands in front of him in conservative attire: pants, a silk blouse buttoned past her collarbone, a jacket, and flats. Her hair is pulled back in a clip, and she's not wearing a drop of makeup. She had insisted that she didn't want to be sexualized in any way. She was conscious of the way he used to feel about her; was aware that he had seen her at her most vulnerable. She didn't want to remind him of that image even for a second. If she could have reached into his brain and ripped it out, she would have.

At this moment, she is hardened in a way I've never seen her.

Still, I see a tiny smirk on her lips and notice how her thumb is twirling the new ring around her finger. She's drawing attention to it.
Purposely
. And I don't mind that one bit. I
do
wish I could see Asher’s expression, though.

With her left hand, she finally lifts her book and opens it back up to the page.

"When I first met you, you were someone I could easily converse with. After a few weeks of inappropriate suggestions, you complicated our friendly relationship, and I began to avoid you at all costs. It would have been nice if I could have carried on that trend instead of finding myself here today, but we all know the circumstances that have brought us into this courtroom.

“Trey wanted me to be able to write this freely. He’s spoken out against you in the press: in news articles, on his blog, and in op-ed pieces. He’s said enough and has nothing more to say. In his words, he doesn’t want to waste another moment or breath on you.”

She nods her head and smiles at me. "I don’t think a single word he’s spoken about you was wasted. They were all necessary for the world to know the true…
you
. I refuse to speak your name again. It’s a cancer on my tongue.

"Perhaps you're expecting something rhyming and rhythmic, since that's what I'm known for, but let me be the first to state that there is no poetry in anything you have done. No beauty. No creativity. No imagination. I don't want any association between the thing that I
love
and a thing that I
hate
.

“I write about love. I write about it because I’m predisposed to love. When I was tasked to write this, I found it incredibly difficult. I tried to put myself back in the mind of the victim, but I didn’t want to go back to that ugly place. I was a mess the first few weeks after you leaked that video. I couldn’t look people in the eye, and when I did, I could easily tell the ones who had seen it. I knew right away the ones who’d gotten pleasure out of it. Disgust and hate festered, and I struggled to rid myself of those foreign emotions.

“So when I sat down to compose this, I thought, ‘How can someone who was put on this planet to write about
love
deliver a message of
hate
to the person who victimized her?’

“Words are sacred to me. Precious, and efficient. Each and every one of them is important. As writers, this is implanted into our psyche. I realized relating to you my anger and disgust wouldn’t hurt you. I’ve seen how indifferent you’ve been throughout this whole trial. How detached you appear to be. How lacking in emotion.

“I won’t tell you how your actions have impacted my life. You don’t have the right to know about me. Instead, I’ll tell you how your crimes have impacted your life.

“You will never be able to treat a woman to a private dinner at the Rainbow Room and share a kiss with her while one of the best jazz bands in the city plays in the room next door. You will never be able to walk in the park on a hot day and test every flavor of snow cone to find your ultimate favorite. You will never be able to take your niece to the beach and teach her how to listen for the ocean in seashells. You will never eat New York style pizza again. You will never be able to revel in the first steps of your own child or be there to comfort him when he loses his first tooth. You will never get to play fetch in your backyard with a new puppy. You will never know the freedom of a cross-country road trip in a convertible. You may not get to say goodbye to the people you actually cared about. You will never have the credibility you always wanted. You will always be despised by a community that once elevated you to lofty heights. You will never be able to care for your parents when they’re sick. You won’t be able to stand up for your brother at his wedding.”

A movement in Asher’s direction catches my attention. He appears to be wiping his eyes with the back of his left hand. “Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe you won’t get life in prison, which is what we’re all hoping for and what you deserve. Maybe it will be possible for you to do some of these things. But I know the reality. I know the sentences that go with your crimes, and the reality is that if you do see freedom again in your lifetime, the world will be a much different place. It’s fair to say it will be unrecognizable to you. You will no longer be the man you were when I met you: young, privileged and virile with more opportunities than most people our age will ever know. You will be an older man–an
old
man.

“No. I’m sorry. To be a man is to imply some sort of humanity, and I don’t believe that word suits you. To be human is to have compassion. To be human is to be cognizant of the consequences of your actions, and in so doing, to choose good over evil. You failed. You failed humanity.

“You are a savage. And if you’re released from jail before you die, you will simply be an
old
savage. That doesn’t sound like a creature anyone would want around. I know for certain that I wouldn’t.

“In the end, it was a blessing that Trey and I had just fallen in love, or else your attempt to ruin him or me may have worked. But it was love that saved us both–a force that was stronger than your evil could ever be. I wonder if you had given love a chance just one day in your life, if it could have saved you, too.

“And now, I will follow the trend of my fiancé and let these be the last words I speak of you. The second I walk out of this courtroom, I, too, will rid my life of the savage I was unfortunate enough to meet my second semester at Columbia. I have a lifetime of love to live.

“Thank you, your Honor.”

I watch as Asher leans into his attorney while Coley returns to our row. “Perfect,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. Pryana, Kamiesha and Lucy all give her hugs before she sits down again.

The judge clears her throat as Coley locks her elbow with mine. “Mr. Knoxland, please stand.” The way he rests his weight on one leg and crosses his arms shows his cocky nature still lingers, even after more than a year at Rikers Island. Danny had told us that his lawyers believed he would be sentenced “fairly” because he had no prior convictions. Our lawyer believed they were underestimating Judge Madeleine
and
diminishing the severity of his crimes.