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He reached into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief to wipe the perspiration that had
formed on his brow. I noticed for the first time that he had a Confederate flag tattooed on his
arm.
“You know, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I think it’s good what you’re doing. I got
so angry coming up that there were plenty of times when I really wanted to hurt somebody,
just because I was angry. I made it to eighteen, joined the military, and you know, I’ve been
okay. But sitting in that courtroom brought back memories, and I think I realized how I’m
still kind of angry.”
I smiled. He continued: “That expert doctor you put up said that some of the damage that’s
done to kids in these abusive homes is permanent; that kind of made me worry. You think
that’s true?”
“Oh, I think we can always do better,” I told him. “The bad things that happen to us don’t
define us. It’s just important sometimes that people understand where we’re coming from.”
We were both speaking softly to one another. Another officer walked by and stared at us. I
went on: “You know, I really appreciate you saying to me what you just said. It means a lot, I
really mean that. Sometimes I forget how we all need mitigation at some point.”
He looked at me and smiled. “You kept talking about mitigation in that court. I said to
myself, ‘What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he keep talking about “mitigation” like
that?’ When I got home I looked it up. I wasn’t sure what you meant at first, but now I do.”
I laughed. “Sometimes I get going in court, and I’m not sure I know what I’m saying,
either.”
“Well, I think you done good, real good.” He looked me in the eye before he extended his
hand. We shook hands and I started toward the door again. I was just about inside when he
grabbed my arm again.
“Oh, wait. I’ve got to tell you something else. Listen, I did something I probably wasn’t
supposed to do, but I want you to know about it. On the trip back down here after court on
that last day—well, I know how Avery is, you know. Well anyway, I just want you to know
that I took an exit off the interstate on the way back. And, well, I took him to a Wendy’s, and
I bought him a chocolate milkshake.”
I stared at him incredulously, and he broke into a chuckle. Then he locked me inside the
room. I was so stunned by what the officer said, I didn’t hear the other officer bring Avery
into the room. When I realized Avery was already in the room, I turned and greeted him.
When he didn’t say anything, I was a little alarmed.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, sir, I’m fine. Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, Avery, I’m really doing well.” I waited for our ritual to begin. When he didn’t say
anything, I figured I’d just play my part. “Look, I tried to bring you a chocolate milkshake,
but they wouldn’t—”
Avery cut me off. “Oh, I got a milkshake. I’m okay now.”
As I began discussing the hearing, he grinned. We talked for an hour before I had to see
another client. Avery never again asked me for a chocolate milkshake. We won a new trial for
him and ultimately got him off death row and into a facility where he could receive mental
health treatment. I never saw the officer again; someone told me he quit not long after that
last time I saw him.