In the courtroom, chaos of the heart

In the small downtown courtroom where domestic-violence restraining orders are granted, extended and denied, the tumult of the human heart spills out before a judicial officer seven days a week. Fear, pettiness, indecision, obsession, forgiveness, betrayal get sorted through, put in black and white and funneled into the orderly processes of the court.

What do you learn about love in a courtroom like this? Maybe that the distance between tenderness and violence is shorter than you think. Or that the need for connection can overshadow good judgment. Or that alcohol and drugs can ruin a good thing. When I talked with Master Colleen Ray, who oversees some of the hearings, she told me this: "It's complicated."

Those looking for court orders to keep a spouse or partner or someone else in their household away show up and wait to be called in. They fidget, or look at cell phones or dab their eyes. There could be three people or 20, waiting for a hearing on a given day at the Boney Courthouse. When they get inside the courtroom, they stand up and raise their right hand and promise to tell the truth. And then they tell the story of what brought them there. Or part of the story. Usually the worst part.

For some, once they have come this far, there is no going back. Whatever broke between them and somebody else is going to stay broken. Communication has turned formal. A criminal domestic violence proceeding is coming up, a divorce trial, a custody case. For others, this is just a chapter in a relationship full of dynamic ups and downs.

The woman who came in Tuesday afternoon let a man back in her house this year even though she tried to get a restraining order against him two years ago. She thought he changed, she told Ray. She thought he found Jesus.

Why did she let him stay the night, even though she found him so dangerous she decided to send her child elsewhere? Why did she do his laundry? She didn't explain. Eventually she told him he couldn't stay. And he put his hands on her. And she called 911. And he left. She put all his clothes out in the yard. He came and pounded on her door. And now there were more than 60 messages from him on her cell phone.

She put her cell phone on speaker and held it up to the microphone and played a message. It came out slurred and menacing. She was afraid, she told Ray. She needed protection. Her short-term, 20-day, restraining order was granted.

And then came the woman who let the father of her baby come and live with her after he got out of jail. And he kept smoking crack, she said, and leaving, and hitting her. The Office of Children's Services said not to let her baby around him. Why did she stay anyway? She didn't tell that part of the story. She called the police after she woke up with him choking her in bed with their baby. She didn't know where he was now. She pulled at her hands while she talked. Her fingertips were purple. Her restraining order was granted, too.

Morning hearings during the week are for long-term orders. In these cases, the people served with short-term restraining orders -- most were men the two days I observed court -- can come and argue why the orders shouldn't be long-term. The hearings are meant for two parties, but sometimes only one shows up.

Wednesday there was a guy who wanted protection from a woman in Hiland Mountain Correctional Center. She threatened "to come to my residence and take my life," he told Ray.

Then came a woman who said a man she was living with got drunk and punched her in the nose in the middle of the night. Blood went everywhere, she said. The neighbors called the police. He was charged with assault. And they both got evicted. The restraining order was extended until his criminal hearing, and the bailiff asked the two of them to exit the courtroom separately.

Next came a husband and wife flanked with lawyers and friends. It wasn't clear what happened between them, except that it had been serious. They were getting a divorce. The wife had her lawyer there. The husband had a friend with him. The restraining order was extended until their divorce court date. The husband didn't want that, he told Ray. But, this was procedure when a divorce was involved. He tensed his back under his shirt. He looked at his wife. He turned to the friend seated behind him.

"Can I just talk to her?" he asked.

The friend shook his head. The husband waited a minute, listening to Ray talk. A lawyer and a guard stood between him and his wife..

"I just want to talk to her," he whispered.

The friend shook his head again. The time for talking, it seemed, had come and gone.

Read more: http://community.adn.com/adn/node/155390#ixzz1Bgh49Oxg

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