This is Fiction.

The verdict was read by the foreman, “on the charge of murder in the first degree, we find the defendant, not guilty. On the charge of murder in the second degree, we find the defendant, guilty.”

The entire courtroom erupted in applause. People sitting behind her stood up and hugged each other. She heard someone sobbing loudly. Someone else squeezed her right hand. Their hand felt clammy, warm, and soft. She gave no indication that she felt any of those things. She just sat motionless. Unseeing, yet staring at the jury. 

The State District Attorney assigned to the case walked in front of her and blocked her view. He looked at her and said, “he’s still going to jail. It may not be the exact verdict we want but he’s still going to serve substantial jail time!” 

He said it in a way that was meant to be comforting, reassuring even. But to Diane it was cold comfort. 

All she thought in that moment was she would never experience life as the mother of Suzanne ever again. 

Memories kept flooding into her consciousness like a dam bursting open. 

Suzanne laughing hysterically in the car, on a long road trip ride to Yosemite National Park. Her little brother Justin had told a stupid joke. Suzanne loved his jokes. She was only seven years old at the time and Justin, being four years old, just discovered jokes. He practiced them on Suzanne. Whether it was his childish delivery or the jokes themselves, no one could actually tell what thrilled Suzanne more. 

Diane remembers her obsession with Hello Kitty and how she wore a Hello Kitty pin on every shirt or jacket. Diane always wondered if Suzanne had a pack of pins or used the same one, transferring it from clothing to clothing. She never asked, and now she felt weirdly devastated that she might never know.

The memory Diane loved the most, and held onto with tenacity, happened on a quiet fall morning.

Suzanne had come into their bedroom and sat crisscrossed on the rug by Diane’s side of the bed. Lightly, she tapped her slender but cold fingers on her mother’s eyelids. The sensation was very soothing and was such a gentle way to wake her mother up. 

When Diane finally opened her eyes, all Suzanne said, in a whisper was, “would you like hot chocolate and pancakes for breakfast?”

Diane said yes and closed her eyes again. But she felt Suzanne whisper, “I love you” while giving her a gentle kiss on her cheek. 

There were many more memories, and Diane wanted to grasp all of them and stuff them in her pocket before they floated away. She wanted someone to crack open her skull, place a prob on her brain and record every single memory of Suzanne she had. She wanted them to download the information to a hard drive, so she could spend the rest of her life reliving the short fifteen years she spent with her daughter.