TireTracts (No. 001)

It’s early in the morning before Court Date Number One (capitalized and written long-form in recognition of what I perceive to be the beginning of a long and drawn-out journey that will acquaint me with the mystery and majesty of the in-crowd of the Bar), and the cat, henceforth referred to as Ishtar (not so much in recognition of her given name, but as an homage to her powers of apparent immortality and human speech, for she has mastered the name of her mistress), is thumping her arthritic paws on the floor. “Moira,” says Ishtar, and my wife Moira (not her real name), bowing to the wishes of this twenty-one year old familiar, reaches out, picks her up, and drops her onto our mattress. Too tired to chastise my wife for giving in when this cat should have received the gift of permanent sleep once her leaping abilities had dwindled, and too tired to consider that perhaps what I had heard was an aural hallucination, I roll over and beg that sleep will take me. It does, for thirty minutes. I wake up again, and push back the urge to practice my Defense. Of course, there is no need to practice anything. I will stand before the Judge and tell the Truth. Calmed, I stare at the ceiling and listen to my tinnitus. And I listen to the blood plowing through my neck. I listen to the bedsprings as they shriek a percussive duet with my heartbeat. Who else can make the bed shudder simply by allowing the heart to beat? There is the usual sense of doom, but it seems amplified at 3:32 am. I realize that I am living in the bloom of the moment, and with that, there is the comfort of meditation. I focus on my breathing. It is steady and confident. And why shouldn’t it be? I did nothing wrong. Unless I convince myself otherwise. Did I black out? Could the report of my accuser contain even the slightest hint of truth? No. That person was an aggressor.

In my mind, I allow the worst-case scenario to play out. I imagine the chest-burning moment when I hold my little daughter, and tell her that Daddy has to go away for a long time. “Why?” she would ask. My answer would be the same as the one I will squeak in court: “Because I tried to stay out of the way.”