The story of my crime needs to be told in reverse.

After a whole bunch of tries to do exactly what they told me to do, I think I must have got lost in the shuffle. When I showed up once again, they didn’t even know who I was. They said my name wasn’t on the sheet. Obviously, I wasn’t about to argue, so I just left. You won’t understand why that’s the end of my story, unless I go back to the last time I appeared, which was weeks ago. That time, they said the judge was out sick. They said he was old, but generally a pretty healthy guy, so this was unusual. Anyhow, with no judge there, they extended my hearing yet again. I wasn’t sure they knew how many times this had happened to me before.

The time before that, somebody had screwed up and scheduled my hearing on a Monday that happened to be holiday. The court was closed.

The time before that, the lights in the courtroom went out. A dim light came on up on the wall behind the judge. Must have been some kind of emergency power system. We all just sat there for a while until some guy in a dark suit came in through the door at the back of the courtroom and went up to whisper something to the judge. The judge stood up and said there would be no more court business that day.

The time before that, I was in the courtroom, waiting my turn to explain to the judge that I didn’t really mean to steal that car. I only “borrowed” it because it was a crisis. I would explain to him that the girl I’d been pursuing finally agreed to go out with me. But she was a student in a beauty college, and she didn’t get out of class until 6 PM. She made me promise I’d be there to pick her up, because it was the middle of December, so it would be dark by then. She said if I didn’t show up right at six, she’d get a ride with one of the other girls because she didn’t want to walk home alone in the dark. No problem, I could get there by then. I went to the bus stop plenty early. I waited there for a long time, but the damn bus didn’t show up. Sure, it was snowing, but not that hard. Cars were going by, so where was the bus? When I was finally sure the bus really wasn’t going to come, I started running. I knew I couldn’t get there in time, but I had to try. I really wanted to spend some time with that girl, and this might be my only chance. Unfortunately, when I came to a busy street, the traffic light was out. And that included the crossing light. Why? Was it because of the snow? I thought about making a dash across, but there were too many cars going by, and I doubted they’d be able to slow down for me because of the snow on the road. My hope to go out with the girl was over. And then, there it was, right next to me. An old car. It was just sitting there at the curb, like it was inviting me. After all, the doors were unlocked. Peeking in through the frosty side window, I could see the key was in the ignition. so why not? My plan was to tell the judge that old car felt like providence. And I would tell him I had only planned to borrow the car. I would go pick the girl up, and then bring the car right back. But I never did get to explain all that to the judge because some nutty guy went crazy and climbed up onto the high wooden desk—or whatever you call it—to attack his honor. The guy managed to get in one punch before the bailiffs grabbed him and ground his face into the floor. The judge was dabbing his face with a white handkerchief that was quickly turning red. I guess he got a bloody nose from that one punch. He left the courtroom, and they said there would be no more court business that day.

There is one more thing to tell you. I never made it to the beauty college that night to pick up the girl. Apparently, the old car I’d borrowed had no taillights, so the cops stopped me. When the car’s registration in the glove compartment didn’t match the name on my driver’s license, they said I was under arrest and took me downtown. But when we got there they didn’t put me in jail; they just took my picture and my fingerprints, and let me go on what they said was “my own recognizance.” They said I’d be notified when I had to appear before a judge. Maybe another reason they let me go was because it was busy at the jail that night: a lot of accidents and other problems because of the snow. I also suspected there might be another reason why they weren’t much concerned about me—it was an old car, a Kia, red in color. Actually, I should say it used to be red; part of it was still red, but the hood and left-side door had been replaced with rusty off-white parts. The top was still red, but it was so faded you’d never know it.

On the way to the police station that night, the cops that had nabbed me were laughing about that old car. They said they should probably let me go because I’d done the owner a favor, helping him get rid of that ratty old car. But they didn’t let me go. They drove me downtown to the police station in the back of their squad car. At least they didn’t put handcuffs on me or anything like that.