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THE SMILE

She sat on the hard brown bench, her body being held together by a gossamer thread.  The room felt oppressive, it was all the people sitting in the public gallery; they can’t have anything better to do than come and listen to court cases.  She was finding it difficult to breath; she could not get enough air into her lungs, only being able to give short, sharp breaths.  When she had heard of people who felt as if their body was a curled up like a spring she did not understand its meaning, now she did.  Her hands were beneath her, being held steady by her body.  They had been called back into court as the verdict was about to be given.  As she looked up she could see a shaft of sunlight flowing from a window, to her it looked like a finger, a finger poised to point in direction, hers, or the accused.  To others it was just a shaft of light with dust motes dancing in it.  She looked over at the accused; he was dressed in a grey suite, blue shirt with darker blue tie.  His hair was short and clean looking, his face clean shaven.  Not a bit like the night he attacked her.  He was wearing jeans which came below his waist, a dirty looking hooded jacket and when he put his hand over her mouth it smelt of cigarettes, oil and a mixture of other odours she couldn’t identify.  When he put his face against hers she could feel the roughness of his skin.  Just thinking of that night made her shake, she brought her hands from under her and wrapped her arms around herself to stop her whole body shaking.   It was nothing to how she felt having to relive that night to the court, watching the journalists sat like vultures in the front row of the public gallery writing down her every word so the world could read it.  How she had been sat on the top deck of the bus after visiting a friend, they had a lovely evening, talking, sharing a bottle of wine and making arrangements for a holiday together.  As she got off the bus she glanced at the only other passenger, a male but that was all she took in.  She had to tell strangers how he had got off her and as she tried to pull her clothes down he stopped zipping up his trousers, pulled his zip back down and peed all over her, laughing while doing it.  The humiliation of having to stay like that, smelling, wet and in such pain mentally and physically until the police officers and doctors said she could bathe.  She never told the court how often she had bathed since that day and how she still could smell him on her no matter how much soap and perfume she used

She thought of the people on the jury, who would they believe?  There was the old man whose shirt collar always looked threadbare; sometimes it looked as if he was asleep instead of listening.  The middle aged lady who always wore a twin set took lots of notes, just in case she forgot something.  The young girl, no telling at all with her, she dressed each day as if it was a fashion parade, not a serious court case. If only she could look into their minds.   She sat, white and scared, bringing her hand up now and again to brush away the beads of sweat forming on her upper lip, just waiting for the verdict.

He looked at her, sitting opposite him.  She was a bit of all right, but anyone could see she would just be gagging for it.  The night he saw her she was just getting off the bus and she looked at him and smiled.  Well if that wasn’t an invitation he liked to know what was.  She had on a low cut tight top, short skirt and long boots, nothing like she looked today with that jumper thing on with a cardigan over it and that skirt just showing her ankles.  It was obvious she was trying to show she was a sweet little innocent but he knew better.  His lawyer had told him to stop grinning at her and to look sorry, but he said he didn’t have anything to look sorry for; girls like her were good for just one thing.  He could feel himself starting to smile as he remembered the night, how he had looked at her on the floor, whimpering   As his dad used to say to his mum when she was whimpering and moaning “I’ll give you something to cry for”  and  he pissed all over her.  He thought that would cool her down a bit, after all she was a bit of hot stuff.  His mates did laugh when he told them.   No one in their right mind would find him guilty; they would all be able to see what she was like.   That young bit of stuff on the jury, the  one who was always showing her legs, she fancied him, he could tell she would come up to him once the verdict of not guilty came, another one gagging for it.  That old hag, the woman who kept writing, she shouldn’t be allowed on a jury if she can’t remember what was being said  The old boy,  he would not find him guilty he would like a go at her himself, dirty old bugger.

Yes, he was sure; it was in the bag, he would be down the pub tonight with that tart from the jury.

You could feel the tension in the air as the jury walked in and sat down.  The clerk of the court asked the jury foreman to stand; he then asked if they found the defendant guilty or not guilty on the charge of rape.

GUILTY came the answer.

Suddenly her lungs filled with air, she was able to uncoil herself and breathe properly.

Opposite her he started to yell but his lungs would not fill with air, he could only give quick shallow breaths, he looked at her and he started to cry and again she looked at him and smiled.