Mandy, 2 years is too long
I walked into the courtroom not really knowing what to expect. Two friends sat on either side of me as my eyes saw the man who hit and killed my friend Mandy two years ago.
I had no idea that that day would be as emotional as it was. My stomach leapt like a frog as my finger played with the simple necklace around my neck. My mind was instantly brought back to my birthday when Mandy gave me that necklace. I remember her smiling and letting out a giggle, talking in her funny lispy voice as she told me to hold out my hand and close my eyes as if I were a small child.
But then I was brought back to the present when the judge introduced the case and asked everyone to have a seat.
My eyes glazed over and I noticed that the legs holding the bench that was in front of the one I was sitting in had supports that came up to where my knees were hitting. On those supports sat four pieces of gum. I can only imagine the stories behind those. At first I thought it was probably some inconsiderate person who couldn’t wait his turn to tell a judge why he was not guilty for the three unpaid parking tickets he had. But then I wondered if those pieces of gum represented people like me sitting in a courtroom for hours waiting to hear what the outcome would be for a person who killed their friend. At that moment I wished I had a piece of gum to contribute to the pile.
As the day went on I heard Mandy called a lot of things. I heard her called “the victim” the most. She was also called “the expired,” “the body,” “the cyclist,” “the girl,” “young woman” and “the deceased.” As my hands propped up my head while I stared at the floor I wanted to get up and protest, “Call her Mandy! She has a name.” It’s interesting how much weight comes in a name. I hate it when mine is misspelled. And I love it when people use my name while they are in conversation with me. It carries a bit of who I am. And when someone is called “the expired” it takes a little bit of her person-hood away.
Again I was jostled back to the courtroom reality when I heard a witness say he saw what happened and followed for four city blocks the man who hit Mandy. They brought the map out with ten points marked. The lawyer (for Mandy) explained what each of those marks meant. As I saw the point for where Mandy was hit and then the point symbolizing where she landed, I gasped. I didn’t know at what scale the map was drawn, but I knew it was far. Then the lawyer uttered the most awful number. “So in doing the math, the victim was thrown 124 feet.”
Up until this point, for two years I kept myself from hearing the numbers. I kept myself from hearing what her body looked like. I kept myself from hearing how much blood was shed. I kept myself from these things, because she wasn’t just a victim. She was Mandy, and she was a very real part of my life. She liked chocolate donuts on Sundays and she wore converse. She had size 10 shoes even though she stood at only 5 feet 4 inches tall. She didn’t laugh, she giggled. She had far too many stuffed animals for a grown adult. You could sit on the lip she pouted with. She wanted to be a mom so badly. She was fiercely loyal to her friends. She kept Coca-Cola in business. She was always willing to go on an adventure and she taught me about living in the moment.
I’ve done a lot of things over the last two years because of what Mandy taught me about bravery and being real. I’ve done things I never thought I could do. It is two years later and I can still see her life woven into mine. I’ll be forever grateful for having a friend like her.
So in Mandy’s honor today, I’ll drink a coke and do something gutsy. Join me!
