Jacob Matherby, Part I

When the door slammed behind me, I felt the weight of a hundred eyes. There was no one I recognized facing the door, but I was sure that eventually, I would recognize one of them. I took a seat near the back, swiftly sliding into the hard bench. I heard a door open at the front, as the bailiff walked towards the front: "All rise for the honorable Catherine Silver."

I sat dazed, barely paying attention to the names being called. I recognized one person, an old nemesis from high school. The rest were foreign. I barely heard the bailiff bark, "Matherby, Jacob!" before I nodded off to sleep. I cautiously walked towards the front.

"Approach the bench, Mr. Matherby." I hesitantly moved towards the grey-haired woman sitting in front of me. "Your mother was Linda Matherby, correct?"

"Yes, your honor." It wasn't the first time someone recognized the name. Even here, amongst the dead and dying, this small town near-isolated from the outside world, they gossiped. The old farm men growled about new and business in the bar, while the old women did the same at the decrepit grocery store. Talking. Always talking. Standing in the waiting room of their visitations at the funeral home. I hated it. But, unfortunately, I had brought it upon myself. So I turned a deaf ear, and went about my business.

"So, disorderly conduct. Looks like this could have easily been assault, Mr. Matherby. I take it the other party refused to press charges? A Mr...Matherby?" The last part slipped from her mouth in a shocked half-gasp, before she regained her composure: "What is your relationship with this Michael Matherby?"

"He's my brother, your honor."

"I see. Mr. Matherby, I understand the stress that you must be under, but you need to get a hold of yourself here. It's a slippery slope you are on. I'm hesitant to uphold the citation. I think you need some help, Mr. Matherby. I will suspend the citation, if you complete four weeks of mandatory meetings with a court appointed counselor. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

I stood there in silence, thinking. Contemplating the outcome. It did not take long. I'd rather have a stranger listen to my problems than pay the cost of the citation. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. The clerk will supply you with the information on your way out. And Mr. Matherby?"

"Yes?"

"If I see you in my courtroom again, I will forget all those summers I spent with your mother and your grandmother as a little girl. Understood?"

"Yes, your honor."

It was an unusually cold July morning as I walked out of the municipal building towards the beat-up sedan that was my only major possession left in the world. I lazily traced the key marks down the door before unlocking it.

Crossing the churning, brown river at the only bridge, I slowed to let a number of children pass on their bikes. Their smiling faces glanced down the road, pausing across my windshield. I was jealous. They had yet to understand what came later, the recriminations and the regrets. But let them have their fun. Just riding across the cool breeze in the unusual morning. Down below, ducks splashed and quacked happily on the edge of the water. The disjointed sound of the grinding farm equipment caused them to startle and take off further down the river.

Across the culdesac, I could notice a lone figure standing on the big hill. The Old Man. He was hunched over, gripping his gnarled walking stick, staring at me as I got out of my car. I returned the favor, wondering to myself what he was doing up there, standing, like a hunched scarecrow. I pushed the door open, and he turned and disappeared over the crest of the hill.