It was summer vacation of 6th grade. He’d been out playing and wasn’t answering my calls from the porch. We didn’t have many neighbors, houses spread out with a wooded area behind us. He had been getting closer and closer to them lately when playing in the back yard. A ball would find its way over the fence and he would have to go get it. That sort of thing.

I hop that small chain fence and snag my sweatpants. They still have that snag in them. I'm just realizing I don't think I've worn them since... But I also never throw them away.

I start approaching the woods and have an urge to turn back. I blame the setting sun and chastise myself about not hurrying. But still my footsteps got lighter, unconsciously avoiding the increasing amount of leaves and twigs beneath them. I could have called out then. But instead I stayed silent, steadying my breathing. Then I saw him.

He was crouched over something, back facing me. One arm busy doing something. So low that I couldn't see what it was beneath him but a vague hairy shape. My attention now fully on him, I stumbled on something under my foot. A baseball. Leaves crunched underfoot. I shouted, startled, suddenly conscious of my suspicions.

"Derek!?"

He hopped up and turns around adjusting his pants with his free hand. In the other I can see the bat now. There's blood on the end of it.

"Hey hun are you okay? I was worried, didn't you hear me call you from the porch," I asked.

"No, sorry mom." He responds. He's oddly still. The free hand dangling at his side. "I was just getting my ball and heard something whining and found it here. It was hurt so bad and..." his eyes start to fill with tears.

"And what sweetie," I say. Each word pumping more dread into my system.

"It's back was all wrong and it couldn't move right so I just... hit it." Tears began to streak down his cheeks. Rolling down the increasingly prominent cheekbones. That waning cherub face. "I wanted it to stop hurting," he sobbed.

"What.. what is it sweetie?"

"A possum..." he mumbles as he moves out of the way. Revealing a mangled mess. I state in disbelief for a moment. I looked back at him, catching him by surprise and for just a moment he let a smile all the way to his eyes come up. But it was hidden again by the familiar innocent slight hint of sad face.

I realize now I made a choice in that moment. To ignore the obvious and that hint of what I see in this courtroom is pure evil. The animal in the woods. Those sweats in the dresser. I knew then. But I chose a lie instead.

I desperately want to do that now. I feel the weight of guilt crushing me as I pray the jury finds him guilty. To blame them, to tell myself not guilty. But I won't. I imagine my sweats in the trashcan. I imagine visiting my son in prison.