Chapter Twenty Eight An Opera in Three Acts But with Five Parts
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THIS RULING –– ACCORDING TO THE INCREDIBLE PREPONDERANCE ( –– MOUNTAINS OF IT –– ) OF EVIDENCE PRESENTED –– REPRESENTS A SIGNIFICANT, EXTREME, SEVERE, CRUEL AND BARBARIC DEPARTURE FROM, SHALL I SAY, … “SENTENCING” GUIDELINES! SO. … HOW MANY EXAMPLES OF THIS JUDICIAL ABUSE AND INEQUITABLE TREATMENT –– –– REGARDING i) THE “HANDLING” OF WOMEN AND ii) THE HORRENDOUS ABUSE OF CHILDREN BY YOUR LOWER JUDGES –– –– ARE YOU, THE COURT OF APPEALS, WILLING ***TO HAVE GO INTO THE RECORD*** AS ACCEPTING AND TOLERATING? OF COURSE, THE ANSWER TO BOTH QUESTIONS THAT I HAVE POSED HERE THIS MORNING IS KNOWN BY ALL OF US HERE TODAY … IT’S IN THE CODE OF IOWA … THE LAW SAYS: “THE ATTEMPT TO ALIENATE A CHILD IS ALONE SUFFICIENT GROUNDS … TO CHANGE CUSTODY.” THAT’S CUSTODY ---- NOT ANYTHING LESS. ANY QUESTIONS?” And I was done with the dinging of the time – bell spouting off just a couple of seconds afterward –– as if to gong, “O!? Okay then, time’s up! We’re done here. Let’s all go home now.” There wasn’t one question asked of me. Not even one. And then it was Lackey Lawyer’s turn. I was still so viscerally stunned from Judge Pansy Shawshank’s own evidential, gut physical reaction to my pronouncement that they knew ‘my case’ –– when, actually, they so obviously did not that, after I had sat down, I barely heard a fumbling, mumbling word Lackey gave to the panel of jurists. And then it was all over with. Done. It was so, so true: time for us all to go home again because they all filed out through that same back door. No questions. No responses. No further reactions. I have no idea to this day if any of these specific three Iowans even has inside her or his throats … a larynx! Folks smiled at me, shook my hand and kept nodding up and down –– like folks do as they try to reassure others that “everything’s gonna be all right” –– when it isn’t. And they already pretty much know that –– that it soooo is not going to be okay –– that that … is the TRUTH!. By only 9:30 a.m. then, all was over and done with and we as a posse, sort of, were filing out of the Capitol Building on the way to our cars in the parking lot. A dry and sunny day that Tuesday with the bluest of clear Iowa spring skies, almost The Opera’s entire end, its Act Three Part Five –– –– with only ‘the Ruling’ on it all … yet to be forthcoming. No, I’m no lawyer; but I thought I had done, presentation – wise, fairly well. I am certainly no public speaker either so I shall always be the very first to admit when things and events of mine like that go badly – but I truly did believe that I had delivered the actual best of which I was capable! I did believe that. Not knowing then, as I now believe any attorney licensed in Iowa would have or should have known, that there were startling, unpredictable, out of the blue, tricky little quirks and twists and tweaks moooore than likely with the empanelling of a given set of appellate judges, I sighed yet one more time. And blithely set about, again, awaiting for these three humans’ decision. They, of the nebulous term ‘the Court’, were really and truly just ordinary people –– and, most certainly, nothing god – like. Plain human beings they were –– just like me and the Truemaier Boys, not? With Grace’s lovely, quiet smile and László’s supportive – and confidence – inspiring handshake, I went back to my several jobs and my life as a daytime university secretary … again and a nighttime medical transcriptionist … again –– –– but, not yet anyhow, a true True mama … again. Returned I did to the Havencourt condominium and to my upcoming summertime of continued aloneness –– only to be slammed a week after the Argument by receipt via the United States Postal Service into its same ol’ nondescript, flap – style, black mailbox of that billing from, now, Ragingly Pissed – Off Herry … for Jesse’s Blue Hazelnut Ridge hospitalization to its wrathful tune in to that mother – fucking pussy of $3,529.17 –– to which, right then, she still paid no heed. And I never will. Anyhow, by now at least one of my always – ahead – of – deadline – time, in – full, three monthly child support checks which Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, soooo not in any need whatsoever at all of any of these, went on to lose! over the course of their 81 months’ total worth of counter – petitioned – for, thus, manly – man – decreed amounts, … daMan HAD already … lost! * * * * While I waited for The Opera’s end to come through these three people’s decision, a quite queer thing, indeed, happened. I was very, very happy about it. Of course, I was. But. But –– because of and by it –– I was also made all the more suspicious of Herry Edinsmaier’s true intentions as to not only me but also as to the Good and Wonderful Doctor’s very core ideas! regarding the actual welfare! of ‘his’ Truemaier Boys! Another of Herry’s stinging, thwacking and stabbing missives arrived inside that Havencourt mailbox which supplied the guts of my distrust about Herry’s designs upon my heart and actually upon my utter, entire life’s essence. The letter arrived on a late Tuesday afternoon, the 05th day of July 1994, following a three – day University holiday celebrating the country’s but certainly not my nor the Boys’ independence; we four were still so horrifyingly and inextricably indentured to Herry. So the letter and its contents make me, to this very day, wholly untrusting of a man supposedly so, so ‘certain’ and definitely so murderously public about how evil and how crazed an influence on ‘his’ Boys … Dr. Legion True is. Why would … at any time … during any year … whilst Zane Truemaier, Jesse Truemaier and Mirzah Truemaier were yet still minors and could be fatherly and custodially and –– now, for sure –– “legally,” er, “United States – Constitutionally!” kept away from an alleged demented monster, especially one allegedly so monstrous to and for and around children! –– –– then … why would this so – called Good and Wonderful “Healer,” if he were so truly worried, in daMan’s core!, about the supposed health and well – being! of his three kiddos, … … write me, Legion True, O She Who IS So Evilly Crazed, dated on Saturday, 02 July 1994, so very, very soon after i) my second, stealth jaunt into Grubtrop territory and then ii) Jesse’s April and May mind troubles and iii) the June Court of Appeals hearing and iv) Ferocious Herry’s fury in that subsequent billing for Jesse’s medical care just 2½ weeks previously and v) Dr. Legion True’s full and utter disregard for any man’s dictated – down – upon – her “program of mental therapy!” … a “program” never, ever, ever going to even begin to take place! … … write me, Legion True, these following words? Why would any professedly accountable father with his purported highest concern now even more heightened and his wanting, of course, not to endanger his children any further than they ‘already’ had been imperiled by such a heinous mother, write that Monster Mama – Legion these very words? Verstehen?!?! Verbatim. “Dear Legion: Jesse has informed me of his desire to live in Ames with you, and I am willing to consider it if you will agree to the following provisions: He will come to Ames for a minimum of one semester; and if after that time he wishes to return to West Virginia he may do so without question. I will pay you monthly child support while he resides with you, but in any case that support would terminate at the time he graduates from high school. Neither you nor he will ask me for additional money. I would be willing to discuss other arrangements should he decide to enroll in college near Ames and reside with you. I am not agreeing to joint custody. I have no desire to share the divorce decree and modifications with anyone and see no reason for anyone to ask after we assure them that the matter is not in dispute. If you will give all interested persons or institutions a written statement that it is your desire that Jesse’s father be consulted whenever parental input is required I will verify that fact. Should they require documentation, you may select, subject to my approval, appropriate paragraphs from the rulings. I will continue to list him as my dependent on my insurance policy and you will be responsible for one half of any health – related expense. Rather than reimburse you, I will deduct half of any payments you make from any outstanding balance which you owe me. My policy will cover 100% of emergency expenses, but will cover only 50% of any non – emergency services which are also available at United Hospital Center. Nervous, mental and substance abuse are subject to a 50% limitation with a lifetime limit of $20,000, now reduced to approximately $13,500 because of his recent hospitalization. I will provide you with a copy of the benefits booklet. If your insurance plan has better coverage and he could be listed as your dependent, I would consider reimbursing you for any additional premium, but I would have to see the details first. I will provide you with a release which would enable you to obtain an emergency medical treatment, but you will obtain prior authorization from me before seeking any other treatment including counseling. You will encourage Jesse to take drivers training for two semesters but will not give him permission to get a learners permit or drivers license.
“Fuck, Herry,” I am thinking, “Nothing else had you ever, ever –– with me –– done this way so … so why would you, with respect to me –– me, DEhuman Legion True, whose first and last names you will never even, one time, say out loud to me and whom you, with all of your dollars and with all of your patriarchal and androcentric powers, so cunningly and immorally! painted to all of the judges in many, many an American courtroom, and to a host of others from potential, high – level employers of mine to the lowest of the Boys’ school officials, as such a psychopathic and evil monster, start to … now.” Wise I was –– to be untrusting. But, happy! … O … O … O … so, so very, very happy! I was ecstatic! Jesse, Jesse, Jesse … at the least, my Jesse … was finally coming to … actually … be … with me. Of course, I made a flurry of telephone calls after posting the signed response –– from Grace and László to Frieda Chicken Guthrie and Cyan Song and Linda –– the family which I had simply gone ahead and carved out for myself; a kinder, more tender one I had honed with Grandpa AmTaham True now almost 2½ years in the ground and Mehitable’s and Sterling’s continued betrayals of my trust. Margaret Sagely, too, was gone –– ashes only, now, was she; but Frieda was perfect as my mother – surrogate and a more excellently compassionate one I, at the Save – U – More delicatessen’s customer line, could not have accidentally found. I had plenty of sisterly persons in my life and even a couple of truly brotherly and fatherly folks, too. And I myself was about to begin … breathing again! I set about reviving and refreshing my own role as that of mother! by making one more telephone call the very next morning to the administrative department of Ames High School! Even a bustling place in mid summer –– this school. Garnering in all of the information which I and Jesse would need for him to enroll for the upcoming academic year of 1994 – 1995, as, indeed, a full – time and permanent sophomore student there! The next month’s worth of days dragged by. Finally, then, Jesse was … home! I took in the deepest of breaths, over and over, just to make sure that my whole body was correctly registering the wonderment of all of Jesse actually being right next to me. He relaxed right there in that rocking chair exactly next to me just a couple of feet away from the sofa and to where I could lean forward and stretch out my arm and hand and actually touch someone, a human being who was He, … My Child! Since Jesse’s physical arrival to me and back in the Havencourt ’hood with its condominium complex’s itty – bitty swimming pool and its scorched – earthly August courtyard came, literally, within just hours of his very 16th birthday, Grace and Lionel rang us both up with their invitation to accompany Mama and Papa Portia for an all – out day’s activities down in Des Moines at Iowa’s famous –– or infamous –– State Fair! Our own little, four – person celebratory party. Perhaps not exactly replete with the homemade birthday cake and the vanilla ice cream and all of their young friends over –– as always before when Jesse and Mirzah and Zane had all been much, much littler on their respective birthday holidays and I, most alone and quite sans any aid at all from Selfish Daddee – Herry who was entirely loathe to work! at any of this effort! had put together all of the commemorative festivities for the Truemaier Boys –– but, nevertheless, as full up of the welcoming hoo – hah as possible now that Jesse was a big, big 16 –– and, most importantly, … here! Grace’s and Lionel’s middle child, Nathan, long, long the truest friend Jesse had had as a fourth grader at Kate Mitchell Elementary, was not in the mix of us at the Iowa State Fair; and I cannot recall why. It was still summer break, and Jesse’s 15 August actual birthday consumed by the Fair’s activities was a Monday. Perhaps Nathan was working –– putting in at MacDonald’s then as an authentic store manager there at such a young, young age some of those incredibly lengthy, burger – flipping hours which he routinely did –– and so was, therefore, simply unable to accompany all of us. Jesse spent this particular day rather reservedly taking in much of the Fair sights; but he, … upon which Grace and Lionel both remarked later and I too, of course, had most certainly noticed, … Jesse certainly did not talk much nor even display facial animation, not even on the Midway with its splendid and massive rides and games of chance, always a part of the Fair –– but an entire segment of it from which Grace and I both said we’d kept away in previous Augusts when it was just we adults who’d attended the Fair. Jesse was mighty, mighty quiet for several days thereafter, as a matter of fact, and some may have thought, but not I, that he was even somewhat sullen. I thought Jesse was scared. Outright fucking frightened of this new deal of his … of its not being real. Of its actually not being the real deal! So, “Why should I get comfortable here when it isn’t going to last past Wednesday of next week!” or some such thoughts I imagined crossing from one of his temples to the other. After all, I knew I myself would believe the same thing –– and, subsequently, feel it, too –– had I been one of the children let go of, one of them captured and then, years later, “released by” Stockholm Syndrome – Perpetrator Herry. School began at Ames High, and that brought with it not only the fall junior – varsity football season with its practices and games but also the return to his active acquaintance of many of Jesse’s old friends formerly from Kate Mitchell, kiddos just as happy as hell to see Jesse back, and a passel of new ones now that all those of his particular age inside the city were congregating in their various classes every day up at Ames’ one high school! * * * * Before much of any of these activities actually got underway and before Jesse resumed his piano lessons, before I could think about enrolling him in and paying its whopping, couple hundred bucks’ fee for the driver’s education course, the multi – page decision from those three black robes visited and filled that black Havencourt mailbox –– again: the conclusion of The Opera’s Act Three Part Five. Proverbially the fat lady, when I reached inside of that thickened manila mailer to retrieve its contents, Legion True again alone with the comfort of my trusty rocking chair on the very day after Darling Zane’s 18th coming – of – majority – age birthday, Wednesday, the 24th of August 1994, … that fat lady, … that so recognizably common one … got herself right ready to come onto and rock My World’s stage –– –– and … sing. She, as the Blindfolded Balancer of Justice, her orchestrated role, far, far and away puppeteered by men only who are aided by a few male – identified females also working in ‘the law’, actually brings us DEhumans in American courts of family law no justice whatsoever. Justice, the Fat Lady, warbled out all right, “It is the decision of this Court to AFFIRM that of the Second Judicial District Court.” And, then, there upon its first sheet appeared a few more doodle – type phrases of legalese before its being signed off on, first, by that dude from the middle, from the midst of the three judges, Chief Donnellson, a guy now dead, I am told. And who has been dead and gone for years –– apparently shortly after he signed that piece of paper. The one who obviously was not about to go contrary to how it was that he, Donnellson, had first decided and ruled for Daddee – Herry and soooo against me after my very first appeal, the one facilitated for me by Attorney Carlotta Klutz and also the appeal known as Act Two Part Three! Reverse his official stance? O, Fuck NO!!! No! Why, that’d be like, Jury, aaah, O … admitting that he, dah Chief! … the chief of some deal patriarchally huge! (ya’ know, big, like a state’s appellate court!) had, his first time around then, … MADE A MISTAKE!!! No way was there going to come such an admittance from such a pillared man, not to mention, an admission of guilt and initial wrongdoing to the face of … a cunty pussy – twat nor any of her whoresons! No fucking way! The Iowa Court of Appeals Chief Judge Donnellson, … instead … , strutted out onto those Wednesday afternoon golf greens or into the back lounge of some favorite fancy, shmancy local, Des Moines watering hole of his and over a couple of smoked – up meerschaum pipefuls and guffaws at Dr. Legion True’s expense, roped in two more of his old chums to sign on to this appeal decision with him! Two who hadn’t even heard my fucking precious ten minutes’ worth of argument on that Tuesday morning of the 07th of June! And two judges whom I utterly believe to this very day and before affixing their own two signatures, both of them with male – appearing names, to the appellate ruling, had studied up on ‘my case’ exactly … SQUAT. That is to say: I believe neither one of these two newest men ‘now’ put on to ‘my case’ had read NOT even ONE MOTHER – FUCKING WORD of what it was I had submitted in multiple documents or arguments before –– or on –– that June date to the State of Iowa’s Court of Appeals –– on … on the Second Judicial District Court’s UNlawful activities, that is, on High Courtier Harley Butcher’s district court decision fuck – ups! What ages’ old cronyism! A single, poor woman stripped of her three babies is supposed to deal –– squarely, ruggedly and fairly –– with that, is she, Jury!?! “Shit!” I am thinking, “Just where in this whole Mother – Fucking did those two names come from, …. now?!?!” Of these signatories I recognized one as its having been the name of one of the three men who had signed off on the documents of my first appeal, for Act Two Part Three, the farcical shambles done solely from paper only and handled to its unsuccessful and so – sad completion by Attorneys Carlotta Klutz and Shindy Scheisser –– so who knows if this particular second appeal’s ‘new’ man had studied, as well, even one word of that first one’s briefs … either?!?! But the other man’s name on the ruling of Act Three Part Five, this literal last – ditch appeal, I had never, ever even seen written anywhere before … on anything of ‘my case.’ These two ‘new’ motherfuckers –– but friends of the highest guy, the boss of that court, that is –– these fuckers plainly knew absolutely nothing of me and mine! Nothing. So my earlier thinking on that June’s Tuesday morning –– the thinking about how it was that at least my having, then, two new people of the three on the panel, Judges Pansy Shawshank and Barry Crowrook, hearing my arguments would be a good thing? “Fuck!” I thought now, “All — absolutely all of that goodness with mostly new people on the bench up there and with that phenomenon possibly working to my favor ‘nd all? Well, shit, that’s now, with one fell fuck of Chief Judge Donnellson’s, that is now … entirely lost!” I looked at the thickness of the appellate ruling and wondered, well, … why? Why so many more pages to it |