Marissa’s Murder and a Road toward Hope
Running toward Hope, Conclusion
Pat steers us into the courtroom by the elbows, past squinty-eyed armed guards and through gaggles of chattering lawyers and dead-eyed reporters in fancy clothes. Her detective partner’s been holding seats for us.
It still feels creepy, even though I was a witness and even though I attended some of the trial after my testimony. I can’t get used to being around cops.
Fucking Tomas! I can’t cope with what that bastard did to her.
I guess Pat sees me clenching my teeth as we sit down. She grabs my hand and squeezes, whispers, “It’s gonna be OK.”
Becky’s out in the corridor. She rode downtown with us, but there’s no room for her. Bobby’s crushed up against me. I like that it’s crowded and he has to be that close to me. I’m gonna miss him. After the trial ends, he probably has to go back to Texas.
He’s a minor, and minors don’t have many rights, not even when they’ve been beat up and raped.
Becky said in the car I should go back to Council Grove at least for a visit. I don’t know. She doesn’t know about my medicine, and I’m not sure how I could get it in Kansas.
I can’t think about that right now.
I’m craning my neck trying to see them up at the defense table. I want them to know I’m here and I matter. That I’m not just some spectator. I was there when Tomas used to beat up Marissa.
Mother fucker raped both of us.
OK, so after that first time when he decked me and threw me to the ground and shoved himself into me, maybe I let him because it was easier. Maybe I said OK because it hurt less than fighting him.
I don’t know what the lawyers call it. I don’t really care. He made me have sex with him when I was cold and hungry. No — because I was cold and hungry. Call it what you want, I know what it was.
Marissa earned all his money, anyway. He peddled her ass like a piece of meat and lived off of her. And he still raped her.
Some of the tabloids, they wrote about me and Marissa like we were scum. Prostitutes, they called us. Streetwalkers. Even though the Times did better and called us “exploited youth,” somehow they still made us sound like dirt you’d wanna scrape off the bottom of your shoe.
I see reporters throwing curious glances at me now, and my face goes hot. I bet I know what they’re thinking.
I look at Bobby and I remember so much. I know I’m not scum. We did the best we could for each other and for Marissa. When nobody in the world wanted anything from us except sex, we took care of each other the best we knew how.
Bobby and I made it. How about that? I think we’re gonna be OK.
Remembering Marissa makes my heart bleed. This shouldn’t be happening. It’s so fucking wrong!
A shout interrupts my thoughts. “All rise! Court is now in session!”
All the voices in courtroom roar up for a second like a car growling to a start, then the room goes church quiet. I can hear my own heart pounding. I’m so nervous I barely notice what’s happening around me.
By the time time I calm down, the jury’s filed in, blocking my view of the defense table even worse.
“Defendant will rise!”
Pat already told us what would happen, so even though I can’t really see much, I know the jury foreman must be stepping into the well.
There she is!
She’s got a big manilla envelope in her hand. Slowly, she pulls out a pile of paperwork and shuffles it around.
The bailiff takes some and hands them up to the judge. Now I can see! I clench my fists and grind my teeth together, waiting. Marissa needs real justice.
I hear the first charge read out. “Murder in the First Degree.”
I suck in my breath as Bobby places his hand over my clenched fist.
“Not guilty.”
Bobby’s squeezing my hand so hard I’m afraid he’s gonna break bones. I’m shouting something without even knowing I’m doing it. The judge orders silence and she’s staring straight through me.
The rest passes in a blur, my heart pounding so hard I’m surprised I can hear anything.
Not guilty.
Not guilty.
Not guilty.
Not guilty.
It takes a long time. There’s a lot of charges. Not one single guilty verdict. Not one!
I see the judge smile for the first time in the entire process. She thanks the jury and tells them they’re dismissed. Then she stands and stares for a long time at the defense table.
“The defendant is also free to go. Young lady, I want you to know that this court holds you in the highest esteem and respect. I personally wish you the greatest possible success and happiness in the future.”
I think everyone in court is holding their breath. I break the spell. I raise my fist and shout. “Marissa! You go, girl!”
The courtroom explodes with excited voices. It only takes me and Bobby about ten seconds to elbow our way through the crowd and grab our friend in a three-cornered hug.
Me and Marissa and Bobby are sitting around a big table at the McDonald’s on Broadway, trying to explain it all to Becky.
“See, Pat and me, we found this puddle of blood by the dumpster where Marissa had been hiding. I was really scared because I figured he’d found her and beat the shit out of her again. Or worse.”
“He tried,” explains Marissa. “When he opened the dumpster lid and saw me hiding, he dragged me out by the hair. Pounded my head into the ground a couple times.”
‘Hey, Puta,’ he spits. ‘You think you can hide from Papi in the garbage, huh, bitch? You sure picked the right spot. You sure were in the right place.’
“He’s huge. All I can see is him standing over me. Blocking out the sun. Blocking out all the light in the world. I see him haul his boot back and balance on one leg, and I know he’s gonna kick me. I know he’s gonna kick me over and over, leave me black and blue and bleeding, then he’s gonna take me downtown and make me hustle cars until 4 or 5 in the morning.
“I don’t let him do it. He’s standing over me so close. It’s easy. I let him have everything I’ve got. I let all the hurt and humiliation and hate that he filled me with build up, I pour it all into my foot, and I kick that bastard so hard in the balls that he screams like a pig being butchered.”
Becky is staring, mouth open. Shock is shining out of her eyes.
Marissa keeps going. “I want to run. I try to run, but he grabs my ankle and pulls me to the ground. When he pulls out his knife, it’s like this fire starts to burn all through me, like my heart is pumping lava instead of blood. I rip my foot out of his hand, I kick his wrist so hard I hear a bone snap.
“The knife bounces over the pavement. He reaches for it, but I dive and I grab it before he can. The red I see behind my eyes matches the red that spurts from his stomach as I stab and stab and stab and stab.
“He just keeps saying, ‘Please, no, please. Stop.’
“Finally, I do. He pushes himself up somehow and staggers away like a drunk. I hear him hit the ground after he turns the corner. I follow him and crouch down. I hide my head and cry.
“I think he’s dead already, but he says one last thing. ‘Now who’s gonna take care of you, baby girl? You killed Papi.’”
“They found me 20 minutes later. Lukie and that woman detective.”
Becky got real quiet after Marissa told her story. She couldn’t even eat her McDonald’s. She stayed another couple days, but she walked around all white, like she’d seen a ghost or a demon. I didn’t talk about it again with her until just before she flew home.
“The headlines were pretty bad, Becky. Right after it happened.”
HIV-positive teenage transexual murders uncle, former legal guardian. Multiple stab wounds.
Pat and her partner were pretty nice, but the papers were all over it. The Post ran it on the front page for like three days straight.”
We were at the airport, just Becky and me before her flight to Kansas.
“So there had to be a trial. People were screaming that Marissa was this huge threat. Like she was some psycho.”
I sigh as I watch Becky sip at her Coke. She looks sad and angry at the same time.
“You need to know something, Becky. Or at least I want you to know. There’s more going on here than I’ve told you. Marissa is HIV positive because her uncle was. Tomas raped her and gave her the virus. He raped me too. A lot.”
Her eyes jerk fully up from her Coke for the first time since we sat down. She stares at me, mouth open like she’s in shock.
“Yeah, I am too. I found out a while ago, when I was in the hospital for something else. For this pneumonia I got — I guess because of exposure or not eating good enough or something.
“They tested me for all kinds of stuff and found out I have HIV.”
I swear she turns even whiter. I think she might even get sick. All over the airport floor.
“Yeah, Becky. We’re not in Kansas anymore, girl. This is real shit.
“I’m gonna be OK, though. I’m gonna take my meds every day, and I’m gonna be fine. I’m gonna stay at the Covenant House for a while. Me and Marissa both are. They’re helping us. They’ve got doctors and counselors and whatever.
“I’m even gonna start back at community college next month. I’m pretty excited.
“And you know what? Bobby’s OK. Me and Marissa kept him protected from the worst of it. We kept Tomas away from him. He’s gonna be fine, even if he has to go back to Texas, they’ll put him in a safe foster home. Marissa’s lawyers are hooked up as shit. They fight for gay and trans kids. They’re gonna keep an eye on him.”
She answers with a voice that trembles and breaks in places.
“It sounds like you’ve got it figured out. You don’t need me at all, do you? I’ve wanted to help ever since you ran away. I feel like I need to do something. I’d be a terrible Christian if I didn’t.”
I sigh.
“You’re not terrible, Becky. But you know what? I don’t know what kind of Christian you are. That’s not for me to say. All I can say is I don’t think God has any complaints about me. Sure, maybe I could have been stronger sometimes, or smarter.
“But I did OK. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of. Things between me and God are fine. You tell my mom that if you see her. Please. Give her my number? It’s OK if she calls.”
Becky glances at her watch, stands, shakes my hand, and rushes off toward the security line. Like she needs to be gone as fast as she can.
I wait till she’s almost at the scanning machine before I call after her.
“Hey, Becky! I didn’t run away, you know. I was running toward hope. Me and and Bobby and Marissa? We’re gonna find it.
“You just watch!”
This is chapter ten and the conclusion of a serialized short story dealing with homelessness among LGBTQ youth. Over forty percent of homeless youth in the United States identify as LGBTQ. That’s extraordinary given that queer youth don’t make up more than 3 to 7 percent of the general youth population.
While the details of this story are fictional, I’m writing from my heart and from my experiences. I’ve known these kids. I’ve been there in many ways. The issues are very real and very serious. I’m fictionalizing the stories of real people.
I’m telling their stories because they need somebody to speak for them.