Dramatization of My Sentence
"Burn them," I yelled from the shower in Simon's apartment. The warm water caressed my body. Simon had put all my clothes in a paper bag.
He loaned me some more clothes and the next day we went to a thrift shop. Samantha and Ellen had left him some money for clothes. "It's so strange," I said as we left the store, "I have no money, no job. I'm not even sure if I have a place to stay when I get back to Chicago. But somehow, it feels like things are finally getting better."
Simon laughed. "Remember what Janice said, Freedom's just another word…"
"…for nothing left to lose…It's more than that. Before I came here, the Urbana cop was some faceless monster. Now it’s like the end of some old movie where the hero points at a shivering, pathetic old man crouched in the corner and says, ‘There! There is your monster, now!’"
“Certainly three weeks you’ll remember for a long time,” said Simon.
"Yeah…It’s funny. This whole thing never would have happened if I knew the civil rights bill had passed. I guess it serves those Democrats right for trying to push things through under the cover of darkness.”
"So you're not going back?"
"I guess not. That experience in Champaign County Jail was not pleasant. Their fucking intimidation plan was not a complete failure…Hey, they passed the civil rights bill in Urbana and the Champaign Mayor is pushing it there. The Picardys have been exposed. I feel like I really accomplished something."
"No reason to go off and die," Simon said.
“Maybe a reason to begin living,” I said, feeling like a new man. “If I go to trial, they might sentence me to County for a few months. Hopefully, the inmates were bribed to intimidate me and they don’t act like that normally.”
"I doubt anybody’s going to send you away," said Simon. "The mayor is still apologizing for having you arrested in the first place." Good old Manny Singer. I really did like him.
"You’re probably right,” I said. “If I tell the judge I won't be going back to City Hall, they'll probably throw in another fifty bucks just to be rid of me."
Simon chuckled. "That's more likely than sending you to jail."
"There are still a few questions that won’t be answered…I can live with that, although if they send me to jail, it's back to the city building."
Friday came soon enough. I was sentenced to fifteen days in jail, suspended. As a condition, I was forbidden from going back to the city building and had to enroll in a counseling program. The fifty dollars bail was returned.
Some members of the press were waiting outside to find out my intentions. “No comment,” I said. I always wanted to say that—like I had seen on TV.
"I guess I'll be a wanted man…Dave Rosen, wanted dead or alive for missing counseling session," I said, the next day as I helped Simon pack several suitcases and a box.
"Like they’re really going to track you down in Chicago," Simon said, sarcastically, “the notorious crime of skipping out on a shrink.”
"I’m just kidding. When I fail to enroll in that counseling program on Monday, Singer and the City Council will celebrate my departure from town. Nobody’s going to issue a warrant and invite the trouble to start all over again."
“Perhaps they’ll wonder if Orville Jolly got to you first,” said Simon. I grimaced. The thought had also occurred to me.
We finished packing Simon's possessions and took the train to Chicago on Sunday. Not thinking of what lay ahead, I watched Champaign and Urbana, the mystery of the second cop and any secret deal that motivated the cover-up, disappear through the train window, replaced by open prairie.
