Allowed

Autumn 2004

          It matters not, really, exactly all the particulars that led to my being in the basement offices of the Santa Monica courthouse on that particular morning. Suffice it to say that it had been a small, yet irritatingly necessary business errand (or rather, a few of them) that had brought me there. I had been procrastinating for several months regarding my now high-priority visit; a transgression for which I immediately had to pay by dragging along my two-year-old niece to accompany me on the endeavor. At best, I figured that her presence would make a marvelous excuse to take care of things as quickly and painlessly as humanly possible. After all, toddlers aren't exactly known for having elephantine attention spans. She could get bored and get away with it, which meant that I, as her default caretaker could get in and get out fast.

         My brother and sister-in-law had come to visit and vacation in my current place of residence: LA. Their primary alibi had had to do with their fourth wedding anniversary. They were getting a chance to relive the days when all they had was each other and that rusty old Chevy, whilst I got a taste of what it would be like should I ever reproduce. I still don't mind the fact that my little brothers have been quicker on the draw than I have in terms of domestic life. Of course they don't mind that either. Lucky for them, their kids are cute and generally well-behaved. Good thing, because if they weren't I'd probably take it out on their parents via Christmas gifts. A case of silly putty anyone?

         Anyway, that is how I found myself caring for the unfairly adorable Catherine Joy, first of my little brother's offspring. The aforementioned business errands are precisely what found me and sweet little Kitty standing in the hallway beside the office of my excessively verbose, city-slicker associate, Rico. Between sips of the steaming, strangely exotic-smelling liquid he called "coffee", he proceeded to chatter my ear off at a speed faster than many people can think. Poor Kitty was quite done (of course, I was too), and could hardly sit still. She squirmed and wriggled uncomfortably in my arms as Rico (who, I might add, does not have children) rattled on. "Down?" the little one pleaded, her doll-baby blue eyes fixed on my green ones. I chuckled and acquiesced to her ridiculously adorable request. Handing her the sparkly, purple sippy cup from the bag on my arm, I turned back to Rico, stealing glances at my niece every few seconds.

         For another fifteen minutes I continued my task of acting as the human guard rail between Rico's chatter and the rest of humanity until, finally, his constant companion (the cell phone he is never without) buzzed him out of our "conversation". Taking the chance when I had it, I turned away from the office waving in Rico's direction, leaving another helpless victim to fall prey to my talkative associate's ever-moving mouth. It was at this point that I realized that my niece was no longer near me. My eyes swept the hall as I called her name. I walked faster, trying not to panic. "Great," I thought. "They trust me with a kid for a few lousy hours and I lose her before lunch." I continued calling for Kitty, my voice growing louder each time. My mind began to fog with worry and stress as I thought of how I really didn't want to scream the place down (though, as my family can verify, I certainly could and would have if necessary). I inhaled deeply, preparing to release a bellow that might have leveled Moscow. Rounding the corner, I stopped short, just milliseconds before unleashing the full force of my vocal magnitude.

         There, before my eyes in the otherwise empty hall stood an entourage of four men, one of whom held the purple, sparkly sippy cup that I had handed Kitty mere moments ago. Three of the men were very large — huge, in fact —, but the fourth was shorter and generally smaller than the rest. He was of particular interest to me due to the fact that, in his arms, he held my niece who was laughing and talking with him in her cute, toddler jargon as though they'd been friends for years. They all turned toward my direction as I stepped closer. It was then that I saw his face. He turned toward me as those world-famous chocolate eyes locked with mine. I stopped short in my tracks as the realization hit me. Suddenly, it was all clear. This was the Santa Monica courthouse, the goings-on upstairs was a child molestation trial, and the man in front of me was Michael Jackson.