Daylight Fading In A Small Town In Texas

The wooden gavel struck the sound block and echoed through the courtroom. After weeks of hard work, it was over. Just like that, it was over. The Judge was persuaded and he had won the hearing. He was used to winning. He shook his adversary’s hand and strolled silently and confidently out of the courtroom. He walked down the well-worn granite steps, out through the cold metal courthouse doors, and stepped into the late afternoon sun brilliantly shining down on the courthouse square. The wonderful feeling of the warmth of the sun on his face seemed to catch him off guard. It had been cloudy and overcast for so long, he had almost forgotten how good it was to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin again.

As he reached the bottom of the courthouse steps, his pace slowed and he loosened his faded silk tie just enough to unbutton the top shirt button and slide his fingers inside his shirt collar and give it a firm tug. The weight of his old, black leather trial bag pulled heavily in his grip, and the worn and tattered straps dangled at its side. In what now seemed like a lifetime ago, the straps had always been buckled up tight and straight within the shining brass buckles. Now, the buckles had traded their shine for a dull patina and the once-golden initials stamped into the leather bag struggled to identify and declare their proud owner. 

The beams of sunlight felt so good on his face that he felt compelled to take a seat on the old wooden bench on the sidewalk. As his backside hit the bench, he closed his tired eyes and gently raised his face towards the warmth of the shining sun.  It just felt good. The old leather bag slipped from his hand and hit the ground.

The sounds of the people busily talking nearby and the groan of street traffic faded and all of the tenseness that had consumed the long day in court seemed to just evaporate into the air around him.  “Yes, it sure felt good to win today,” he thought as his fingers traced the worn and faded initials on his trial bag, “but not nearly as good as it used to feel.”  He was a good lawyer—or so he had always been told. Colleagues, clients, and judges had been generous with compliments over the years, and he honestly believed every one of them. He had to believe them—what else was he going to do?

As the sunlight continued to warm his face, he gave another tug on his shirt collar and, without ever opening his eyes, he smiled upward and sank back into the bench trying to fully absorb and take in every minute of his moment in the sun. His thoughts reached far back to the daily pursuit of justice in years past and how the thrill of a courtroom victory was a pure adrenalin rush. The late nights, the early mornings, the battle of wits, the thrill of the game, and the ever-present sense of purpose and honor that filled each and every day. The sounding of the wooden gavel was always followed by firm handshakes, then hugs and hearty pats on the back and the obligatory toasts and libations that consumed the hours into the evening. Not wanting the day to end, he had always thrilled in the rehashing of witness stories, the objections that should have been made, and the rulings that went his way when they should not have. Oh, and how about that wicked cross-examination? Even the Judge cracked a smile, but then quickly moved his hands to cover his mouth to remain stoic in the eyes of all present. Justice is blind you know.

It could have been two hours, or it could have possibly been a mere ten minutes when the slam of the metal courthouse door jerked him back to the present. He watched two young boys bound down the courthouse steps and run past him with their mother in nervous pursuit. “Wait for me,” she yelled, “What’s the rush? Slow down.” A slight smile found its way to his face as he thought to himself “Yeah, what’s the rush boys? Slow down. You have plenty of time.”

He slowly but intently gathered himself up off of the wooden bench, picked up his old trial bag, and stood up straight and tall to stretch his tired legs and back. The evening sun was beginning to dim ever so slightly as it met the highest leaves of the tall oak tree guarding the west side of the square. He defiantly turned his back to the fading sun and took a few steps towards his office, walking slowly at first but then quickening his pace as so many thoughts filled his head.  He still had a lot to do.

By Curt M. Langley (June 2017)