It's two p.m. I've been sitting in the same straight-backed pew for half an hour. The striped panaled door beside the Judge's seat opens and closes every few minutes with the arrival of a new court reporter or aide, and every time our whole group tenses up and waits for the Judge to begin. We were supposed to have a different Judge, a woman on the second floor who was supposed to have wrapped up a trial this morning but is still in the middle of it. So we are herded up into the elevators and shipped off to a different Honor on the third floor. Mom and I arrived at the County Building around 1:15 p.m. I am already bored. The courtroom we're sitting in has a large circular area where the jury and lawers sit in the aura of the Judge's platform. The witnesses (that would be us for right now) all sit in a curved, boomerang shaped annex off the main circular room. Our benches are very stiff and straight. The jury chairs are bright red, the lawyers and aides are grayish white (to stop thinking one side is bad because theire color of seat is unflattering? This is what I think to myself, trying to preoccupy the time). The Judge has a black leather rolling chair. Seems trivial enough, but in some way I felt offended.
It's ten after two. There are about five groups of people here, all for name changing. Most are there to retake the name their divorced marriages took away. In a way I feel like I'm there for that reason too, for my mother. A plump woman next to me randomly begins talk to me, really chummy. She explains how she is there because she waited until her son grew up some more before changing her last name back to her maiden one (to avoid confusion and "weirdness" when the son would have to explain his last name is different from his mother's). Then she talks through me (literally, as if I'm not there) to my mother and they talk about the Tara Grant case. I shut them off. I don't know much about it and I hate listening to the news, thank you very much. I check my watch. Ten different lawyers come and go, but no sign of the beginning of our case proceedings. I play Jawbreaker on my mom's IPAQ to distract my mind.
A court attendant comes in and sits down at a DELL in front of the Judge's seat. The podium in front of her looks daunting. She calls out our last names to make sure we're all here (It's weird because I have to recognize just "Wilson" as my name). She calls about seven names, more than we originally thought. Several minutes later the Judge appears from a different, hidden paneling door beside his leather chair and the deputy comes in to tell us to rise. We are all bored and already miffed at having to be shuffled around; we're deathly silent (not to ignore the microphones and video cameras positioned at us at all angles). We sit back down at the trials (or more like, cases) begins. I won't diverge all the details, just know that it took a freaking long, long, long time. Every person had to go up, swear in (no bible...I was surprised) state their name, what they wanted to change it to, why, and if they were doing so for fragulant reasons. My heart was pouding in my chest so loud when they finally called me up after the debating spousal custody case (a side dish to the main course of the trails). The Judge was nice enough and I explained what I had to say. Then he said, "the court grants your request for a legal name change." That was it...
...or was it?
Then I had to sit back down on the benches. Why? Because you don't get you documentation until all the other trials are done. Great. So another barrage of name-changers and custody-cases go up after me. I am tired and bored. The lady beside me strikes up conversation again how she's always told her son to never get into a situation where he'd be in a custody case. Her solution? Use protection. I remarked abstinence was the best, and she looked at me shocked, as if a teenager could have such an intelligent thought. She agreed and we watched the rest of the cases pass by with slow, inching degree.
Three fifteen. I have reached the end of my patience. In the middle of yet another case-trial, the deputy grabs our blue file folder off the counter where the aide put them and motions for us to leave the courtroom. Great, I think. It's over, all done.
...or was it? Of course not.
Now we're really herded into the elevator. All twelve of us + deputy (that's a lot for the narrow ones that they have). A few people comment on how this ride's gonna be a quick one all the way done. A few laugh. I get queasy from the jumps the elevator makes. I am smushed up against the doors and want to go home already. So we are led to the first floor records room and line up against the wall from the front doors all the way to the back of the records window. The deputy says he has to give these folders over to the personnel and they will give us a copy of our new name documents. It's another fifteen, twenty minutes before a lady (they all look the same here: poofy hair, pearls around the neck, classy business suit, glassy face) comes out to ask if they've spelled our new names right. They messed mine up. I am getting very annoyed and my mother and we snap at each other a few times while we're in line. I grab her IPAQ again and solitaire my way out of going crazy. I play four games and can't win. I wish I'd brought my ipod in with me to listen to. The lady comes out again, this time my name is spelled right. I try to be polite but it's straining all of my paitence and will. I think to myself how on earth can someone work here and find a reason to live? I start making up sarcastic speeches in my head. Finally, painstakingly, the two pieces of paper are delievered into my hands. My mother pays the bill for them (another one?! Money-suckers!!) and we look it over to find out they didn't give me another birth certificate and I have to take it up with the city of Detroit (where I was born) to get one, given these new documents are presented to them. I say whatever. I just want to go home. We exit the building into the bitter cold and climb the steps of the parking structure up to E where the van is parked in the public area (A-D are for lawyers/civic workers only). I fish my ipod out of the back seat, lean back, and nearly fall asleep. My brain feels like it's stuck to the sides of my skull in a weird, numbing suction.
My mom is proud of me. She congratulates me (why? It's my name after all) and tries to perk up to get me to smile.
And inside I feel that in more ways now than ever, I am free from the past.
