Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Please, Mr. Smith, End My Misery, Offer Something

     Carmine and I went out for pizza with a friend two nights ago.  It's nice to be free, I thought, because I know how easily the feds can twist all the facts of my case--they have, in fact, by turning my career into a "case" to begin with--and make my life miserable.  Contemplating this, my life becomes miserable.  Eating pizza helps.
     I wouldn't say I'm miserable twenty-four hours a day, but the suspenseful silence in which I've been held by the federal prosecutors, especially Corey Smith, is not exactly a party for a person with professional aspirations, or for anyone, for that matter, and sometimes, when I get to obsessing about the whole thing my days are pretty heavy-laden.  There must be some people who are gloating about this, including Pat McCullough I suppose, and I wonder:  Why?  What exactly have I done? 
     Mr. Smith, there are other things I want to be doing with my life, and the same must be true for you.  What do you want?  Holding a solo doctor hostage year after year is acting a little like that deranged guy who kept women chained up in his basement--was it in Ohio?  Didn't he end up in jail, taking his own life?  Or maybe it's more like Heathcliff, who locked his wife in the attic of his mansion for a decade or more, his wife being all the unsavory aspects of himself::  his rage, his outspokenness, his passion, his perceived weaknesses, his feminine soul.  That can't be you, can it?  Release her, release me, so we can both live our lives.
     The next phase of my life is to build an autism farm.  There's no way I can do it with this case hanging over my head. 
     "What would you do with your blog, if the prosecutor dropped the charges?" my friend asked.
     "He can't drop the charges."
     "Why not?"
     "He's got to have a good reason for spending all the money he spent on this case."
     "A good reason?"
     "Yeah, he's got to get permission from his boss to drop the case.  And his boss will ask, 'What have you been doing all this time?'"
     "What has he been doing?"
     "I don't know.  Trying to think of some way to justify the raid, and the attack on my character, and whatever investigation they say they're doing, those dozens of agents."
     "But what if he dropped the charges, would you keep writing your blog?"
     "No, I'd write a different blog, about the autism farm."
     "Would you do a victory dance?"
     "No.  A victory dance?  For what?"
     "You know, splash all over your blog how victorious you were?  How bad the prosecutor was?"
     "What a waste of time that would be."
     "Wouldn't you want to let people know?"
     "I've been letting them know all along.  The story would be over."
     "But aren't you angry?"
     "I'm angry at the system.  But someone else is going to have to change it."
     "Don't you blame the prosecutor?"
     "Corey Smith's not bad.  He's just doing his job, but it's not a job I'd want."
     "Why not?"
     "It doesn't allow for the admission of a mistake.  At least, not without losing face.  That's not his fault, it's the fault of the system."
     "Yeah, we have a super-macho judicial system. Everyone in it has to be right."
     "It's ridiculous, and no one is always right.  It's not a human system.  But it's not Corey Smith's fault."
     "Would you admit guilt, in order to get out from under the case?"
     "Of course not!"  I exclaimed.  "Do you work for the government or what?  I'm not guilty of anything."
     "Don't you want to change things?  Fight to change legislation, for example?"
     "Maybe in another life, but not in this one."
     "Why not?"
     "I have other things to do.  I have an autism farm to build."  I looked at Carmine.  "Right, Carmine?"
     "Right, Carmine," Carmine answered.
     "At this rate, I'll never get to it."
     "Let's hope it comes to an end soon," my friend said.  "Three and a half years is a long time."
     "Please, Mr. Smith, end my misery, offer something," I pleaded, looking up at the ceiling as though to an invisible deity.
     Then the pizzas arrived:  one with roasted eggplant, one with Little Neck clams, and one with basil, olives and goat cheese.  Mercifully, we forgot about "the case" and talked about other stuff:  the weather, the restaurant, the practice of law, the practice of medicine, sickness, health, and the future of everyone.  


1 comment:

  1. What truly is interesting about friends is the fact of how many we do not have. Especially brilliant people. Common sense is lost in the brilliance, and the friends are not friends at all, just those who know how to manipulate the brilliance into thinking they have a friend. Like a drug lord using the dealers. Brilliance seems to delete truth, in my experience. For example I had a really close friend, brilliant and a doctor, who possibly truly loved me. (no, other than you), after you, who had a friend who did not like me. She broke our relationship off. Married a shrink, and was dead within a year and a half or so. Moral of the fact, follow your own heart, always, not the advice of a "friend". Died in a plane crash in the gulf off of Cedar Key. Five weeks or so before that accident she was in my head always. Tarot cards would most likely have told the facts. Donna comes to mind when I think of some of "friends" mentioned. In other words, always follow the heart, not the delusion of the mind. Carmine would tell you the same, if he were not trapped in his mind from the trauma of his time in the womb. Not meant to be of a cold heart, just facts of life, not delusion of who is a friend and who is not.