Part 83: A New Wrinkle
And I'm not talking about my forehead
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Back in August, when Mr. Lucky to Be in His House and Not the Big House and I went for his court appearance, we got to witness something very interesting that, although we didn’t know it then, has come to seriously impact and further delay his case.
While we sat there awaiting our turn, we got to watch our attorney Chris conduct what looked to us like a mini trial. Sitting to Chris’s right was a young man in a prison jumpsuit. Let’s call him Billy because I don’t know his name. Sitting on the witness stand for the first round of questioning was Billy’s dad. After the dad, Chris called Billy’s employer and then his doctor to the stand.
The acoustics in the courtroom are pretty bad and usually I don’t know how anyone hears anyone else in there, but on this day the proceedings were coming in clear. We began to hear words like “autism” and “bond” and, when Billy’s doctor took the stand, we very clearly heard him state how Billy had been so sick since being incarcerated, how he can’t eat and has fainted several times in the regional jail where he’s being held.
When Chris told the judge he had no more witnesses to call, and the prosecutor took the floor, something clicked in my head. It clicked in Mr. Lucky’s head at the same time, too.
“This is a bond hearing mom,” Mr. Lucky said, both of us recalling his own, when he was arrested almost 18 months ago and the first prosecutor assigned to his case wanted to lock him up and throw away the key. “That kid as autism, and I think he was home because of a deal Chris got him and then he did something wrong, got caught, and now Chris is trying to get him out on bond — again.”
“Holy shit,” I muttered, as the prosecutor laid out his case. My son was right. Billy had been in trouble, Chris worked his magic and got the kid a plea agreement that meant no jail, but it also meant he couldn’t go online. Yet somehow, when his parents weren’t looking, he managed to connect Device A to Device B to, I don’t know, Satellite C, and bam. He was online and back in jail in no time.
“There’s no way they’re letting this kid go home,” I whispered to Mr. Lucky. “He went online and blew his plea agreement. And I’ll bet it’s the same agreement Chris is trying to get for you.”
“This is not good, mom.”
At this moment, Billy is still in jail and is not due back in court until sometime in November and, if Chris can’t get him out then, he may stay in jail for a long time.
In a nutshell, this means that the prosecutor’s office has autism on its mind and not in a good or understanding or generous way. And that means we need distance between Billy’s case and Mr. Lucky’s. Lots of distance. Time to let Billy’s case fade to the background, recede from the Court’s memory.
Our next appearance is October 15, a year and a half since this odyssey started. I’m almost positive it will be a continuance and I no longer care. If that’s what’s good for Mr. Lucky, it’s good by me.
We’re both eager to see light at the end of the tunnel, but not if it’s an oncoming train.
Thank you for taking this long, strange trip with me. Can you believe it’s been a year and a half??? I can’t, but then I can. Thanks for helping me stay sane!
Chris sounds like good people to me.
They give autistic people jail time instead of therapy when they act out. Just like they use to lock them away in asylums so people would forget they existed....