Angel walked inside the courtroom with the portrait tucked beneath her arm. It was an image of who she thought they once were. Inside, she propped the portrait next to the bag that held the letter that destroyed their marriage. Angel wore the same white sleeveless dress, she’d worn for the portrait.
It was a beautiful portrait: Angel, Emmanuel, and the kids. They were all smiles. Angel had put great effort in her selection of appropriate outfits, outfits that reflected their personality. She wanted that painting to depict the true image of an African American Family in love: Black king, Black ueen and their Black children.
The portrait was painted some ten years before, but had Angel refused to hang it on the wall. She feared, though she would have never confessed, that the painting was a lie. A fantasy. Until, the day her dreams came true, it was after they had moved into the big house. Then Angel was satisfied. Her guard down, she hung it on the wall. She had measured the size of the gold frame, measured the exact height an average eye would see when they entered the foyer. She taped the outline to match the correct dimensions and lined the portrait up exactly on the middle stud. The perfect spot, for a perfect family.
How could she not see it was all a facade, as even on their good days together, Emmanuel had been unfaithful. She laughed at herself. So naive, she thought when she took her seat in front of the judge and told the story of the portriat.
As Angel gave the details, she glanced between the Judge and Emmanuel. The courtroom was hot and damp and wore the dank odor of truth and justice, lies and deceit. Emmanuel stood with his chest out and held his hands behind his back, as if he were being arrested. He smiled when Angel spoke of their family and the portrait and the years of marriage they had shared. He made faces, as if profound feelings filled him with memories of the happy home they once shared. He appeared to be overcome with emotion and even pretended to wipe away tears.
But things shifted when Angel dug deep, she started the story of their last night together. The night everything fell apart. Angel spoke as if it was just the two of them, with clarity, on purpose.
“The night he left,” Angel started.
“Your Honor. Your Honor,” Emmanuel cried.
The Judge hit her gavel and stared at Emmanuel, “Mr. Knox, she hasn’t even began. Continue Mrs. Knox.”
Angel continued. She explained to the judge how they’d fought that night after he discovered her on the phone with one of his many girlfriends, “This woman was number, nine or ten,” Angel said.
“Lies, your honor, all lies,” Emmanuel said.
“One more time Mr. Knox,” the Judge warned.
Angel continued. She detailed to the judge the way Emmanuel behaved when he heard his girlfriends voice on speaker, “I was in the bedroom and he came in and tried to find the phone. I had it on speaker and put it under the dresser and he couldn’t find it. He looked everywhere. All the while this woman told it all. I didn’t believe her at first, but when she revealed one detail I know she was telling the truth. His birthmark,” Angel said. Then Angel revealed the obscure location of Emmanuel’s birthmark.
“She never saw it,” Emmanuel yelled.
“Then how would she know?” Angel asked.
“I told her,” he said.
“Lier,” Angel shouted.
“Mr. Knox do not speak to the witness. Only to me.”
Angel explained how the revelation of that truth sent Emmanuel into a rage. When he couldn’t find the phone, he backed her out the bedroom, dragged her down the steps, called her all types of names. Angel described how she had fought him back. “I kicked him, bite him, spit at him, beat him with a broom and a bat, then I called the police to get him out. He pretended to cry, when the police came. He refused to leave. Claimed the house was his home and he had no other place to go.”
Emmanuel yelled, “I didn’t Your Honor. I had no place to go!”
“Order,” the Judge shouted.
“But he did, Your Honor,” Angel quipped. Then she pulled the letter out, it was her ace in the hole. She held the wrinkled envelope out and swung it around in the air, as if it was a white flag, “his mistress begged him to come stay with her.”
Emmanuel repeated, “That’s a lie, a lie.”
Angel pointed her finger, “This is the truth,” she said meeting Emmanuel’s eyes with disdain.
“Order,” the judge snapped. The Judge was a black woman, with a strict tone and a stern gaze. She warned Angel.
Angel gazed from Emmanuel, to the judge, astounded by the judges sharp rebuke. There was silence in the courtroom. Angel, suddenly aware, they were being recorded composed herself. A chill fell over her and she started to shake, but she wasn’t going to give in.
“What’s this letter?” the judge asked. She had the bailiff get the letter from Angel.
“A letter from one of his mistresses,” Angel said with confidence.
“That’s a lie, Your Honor,” Emmanuel said in a hostile outburst.
Angel couldn’t believe Emmanuel continued to deny the truth. Disbelief rested on her face. She hoped he was thinking of home. She had made sure he took with him the sweet aroma of home, the night he returned with the police to get some of his belongings. As he walked around with the cops, she started dinner, put olive oil in a pan simmering with garlic. He sniffed inside of closets doors and gazed at her as he went from room to room. Sadness rested on his face and Angel was reminded of the face he had in youth, but his face had changed and was wrinkled and tired.
After the judge took the time to read the letter, she looked up at Angel and Emmanuel. Her face wore an exasperated expression, that struck Angel as disappointed. The judge sat back in her seat and called the court to order. Before she gave the verdict, she gazed at them both, with an expression that said, no one wins these type of cases.
“Sometimes in a marriage,” the Judge said, “the demonstration of true love is allowing the dismantling of the marriage when things are askew. There are times when the dismantling can act like a bandage, able to heal and bind things back together. Perhaps that will happen in this case.”
Emmanuel dropped his head onto his chest so hard, it seemed as if he would take the rest of his body with him. He wobbled, but didn’t go down. Angel was aware this action put the dagger in the coffin and there was a single second where she considered turning back, but she couldn’t. Not now.
“I’m going to order,” the judge continued, “You, Mr. Knox be removed from the premises for a period of 12 months. You are to have no contact with, Mrs. Angel Knox, and will only be allowed back to the premises once, escorted by a police officer, to pick up the remainder of your belongings.”
Angel sighed. She felt as if she’d dropped a heavy load, it was finished. She only glanced at Emmanuel once when they shuffled out the court room, but she knew he had no intention of letting her leave that courthouse without a private word. It didn’t surprise her when he grabbed her hand.
“Can I at least have that?” Emmanuel asked.
Angel glanced in the directions of his fingers and handed him the portrait.
The rights to the content and images on this website are owned by Jacqueline Session Ausby, and you have no right to use any of the content / images without her expressed permission. If you would like to contact Jacqueline Ausby, please email jmbeausby@aol.com.