[ WP ] It 's time I spoke of it ... This is my confession ...

“ I need a hammer. ” I told the young man who came up to ask what I was doing in his section. 
 
 “ What are you trying to do? ” His teenage voice cracked as he pressed the question. 
 
 “ I ’ m trying to buy a hammer. Where do you keep your hammers? ” I was annoyed. This side task was meant to relax me, keeping my mind off what the next day would bring. 
 
 “ They are over in isle 7 sir. I can show you- “ I cut him off, “ No, thank you I know what I need. ” I was probably less considerate than I had to be to the boy, but he didn ’ t exist to me right now. 
 
 This hardware store did have an impressive selection of hammers. I needed a heavy one. Ideally it would have a short handle, wide face and a backside for chipping. 
 
 When I was still working, I could have borrowed a jack hammer from work and done the job in an hour. It never seemed important enough to get around to though; there was always other work to be done. 
 
 I considered using my 20lb sledge hammer. That would make it significantly easier. However I felt that getting on my hands and knees, swinging away with one hand wrapped around a 4lb mini sledge all morning would be somewhat therapeutic. 
 
 As I left the store I was in a better mood than I had been for a while, there was a goal to achieve now. Pointless busy work, but it would be tough and I could build a small garden in my back yard where that small concrete pad currently laid. 
 
 I threw the hammer, shovel and other supplies in my trunk and started off toward my next stop, the daily liquor run. 
 
 I didn ’ t like drinking before. The dull, detached feeling never had appealed to me personally. 
 
 Especially considering the line of work I was in at the time. Get up early to go push your body, in dangerous conditions… Alcohol doesn ’ t mix with that. 
 However, after what happened… I have to admit that being drunk does have its “ Pro ’ s ”. 
 
 When I got to the liquor store I was surprised that the teller asked me for I.D. I ’ ve been going there daily for year and he knows my name, yet he I.D ’ s me… 
 There was just one more stop to make before I got lost in my work. The tailor… I remember wishing I could have started drinking right then, but I did have some control. Or so I thought… 
 
 Once I was out of the shop with my expensive new suit, I set it in the back seat with one hand as I reached for the whiskey bottle with the other. I had half-finished it by the time I got home. 
 
 Oh well, the project can wait I figured. 
 
 I ended up sleeping through the rest of the day, and most of the night. I woke early however and I had a strange energy in me, this was the day. So I made some strong coffee and showered before preparing to put an end to the ordeal. 
 I hate wearing suits; even the well-tailored one I bought for the occasion was itchy and uncomfortable. 
 
 Some occasions call for this type of attire however… Try to imagine me walking into the courtroom on that day in my old sweats and large black T shirt. I would prefer that, why should I bother hiding my real feelings? Well, it wouldn ’ t look right. 
 
 On this particularly sunny September day, a nice brighter colored suit was mandatory for the occasion. The more festive colors of this one were more to my taste than the black one I had to buy the previous year. 
 
 You have to look good for these types of mile stones. 
 Not for yourself, but for the people watching. 
 You have to keep your composure and leave the proper impression on all involved. 
 Now that it had been in the news cycle I was a celebrity of sorts, and even if it was for the wrong reasons I would still play the part. 
 There was no good in coming across to everyone like a vengeful drunk every night at five o ’ clock as they watched the news and ate their suppers. 
 
 It was all a formality at this point, after months of coming in and out of that court house things grew clearer, more certain. I was finally able to sleep through the night again. 
 
 I only had to play my role a little longer; once this was done perhaps the grief would start to fade with its memory. I doubted it, but I had to hope. 
 After a few hours of rehashing everything the jury stood up and marched single file into another room to put an end to this farce. 
 
 15 minutes later they returned. I remember a twinge of panic in my mind; I washed it out by convincing myself that it was as clear cut as I saw it. Obviously they wouldn ’ t take long to decide, even considering the circumstances… 
 
 “ Not guilty. ” 
 Time stopped as he said it and I was left hanging there in the void until the gavel slammed and my new reality washed over me. 
 
 *How? NOT GUILTY!? There are mountains of evidence… What about the gasoline in his car, on his clothes? What about the wire they found on him did that mean nothing? It was the same thin rusty spool which had bound my sister to that chair! They found his semen, it was a positive DNA match! Officer Erickson testified that he caught Robert trying to flee the scene, does his word mean nothing? * 
 
 The thoughts rushed through my mind and panic rose in my chest. This wasn ’ t right. 
 
 It was a technicality, Robert ’ s uncle was a famous attorney in town and he had found some loophole, apparently Erickson ’ s word was less that worthless and everything else was wrapped up with a nice little rusty wire bow. 
 
 I remember thinking I was deaf for a moment, just for a moment. Then I heard the cheers… Cheers from Roberts ’ s friends and family, screams celebrating the way this insect fled justice. 
 
 He actually had the nerve to look at me and smile. A disgusting, limey smile full of teeth I wanted to knock out. 
 
 If I hadn ’ t know in the back of my mind this was possible, I may have lost my composure right there and ruined it all. I never actually believed he would escape his life sentence, but it was possible. 
 
 I knew if that was to be the case then I would have to take up the role of Judge, Jury and Executioner. 
 
 

