Family Court Kapolei:
Tedious, irritating, frayed nerves. How do I keep my cool everyday? I call their names every morning at least three times and even after I explain everything to them they still have questions. That’s not what bothers me, I’ve come to expect that most people possess the inability to listen and pay attention to detail. It’s the local woman who sits silently off to the side that bothers me; she persistently raises her hand every morning to ask a question but I never answer, never. She’s there when I leave and she’s there when I arrive first thing in the morning, always with her hand raised and tears precariously balancing in her eyes.
Today is different, today nothing went right and it began at home when my husband got in his car to get to work and left the gate open. Our dogs got out and ran up the street; I spent the better part of an hour chasing after them in my pant suit and heels, with full make up on and hair done before I could finally get them home. I ended up having to take another shower before I left. I didn’t have time to go to Starbucks for my coffee, so you can imagine that by the time I got to work, I was not in a good mood. I was practically screaming everyone’s names out. I imagine that it must have startled them because they filed in to the courtroom without any incident.
By the time I turned around and saw the local lady sitting in her usual spot with her hand raised, my filter was gone,
“WHAT??? WHAT IS IT??? WHAT DO YOU WANT???” I yelled so loud that the sheriff peaked his head out of the court room and gave me a look of concern.
“What’s happening? Who you yelling at?” He asked.
“My husband,” I lied. “He left the gate open and the dogs got out, I was yelling at him on the phone. I’m sorry,”
“K,” the sheriff replied. He ducked back into the courtroom and closed the door.
“What do you want?” I growled at the woman.
Slowly she put her hand down on her lap and asked,
“ My grave no mo’ headstone, when dey going put headstone?”
…
Everyone from the clerk, to the stenographer, to the other bailiffs and some of the judges told me that if I ever saw a woman sitting off to the side with her hand raised, that I was to ignore her. It turns out that the new courtroom is built over a bunch of burials but no one is sure as to what kind of burials they are. Everyone surmised that where the ghost of the woman sits is more than likely where her bones are buried. However, under no circumstances was anyone to acknowledge this ghost if they saw it. One person did a few years back and he want mad and lost his mind.
“She follows you everywhere,” one of the family court lawyers once told me. “I mean everywhere, you can’t get rid of her,”
…
She doesn’t just sit there silently with her hand raised anymore, along with it comes the persistent, never ending, maddening question while she stands outside my shower and asks,
“My grave no mo’ headstone, when dey going put headstone?”
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