She wasted a day waiting on the judge, hoping he’d give her a restraining order against her abuser. Her past. It was stalking her. It made inappropriate comments. She would turn around and find her past standing there, staring at her. It was uncomfortable. They had separated, but the past wouldn't leave her alone. She told this to the judge, but he wasn't sympathetic. His eyes were wet because he was old. She thought he was being held up by metal bars or wires or something else unnatural. Not by his own power. His collapse seemed certain. The courtroom was quiet as she spoke. There was some snickering at first, but there were also those who understood her. They wanted her to win. These people wished they had thought to do this. One look around the courtroom showed that the past was nowhere to be seen. The judge could have issued the order without the past being present, but he was reluctant. He spoke for only a few moments. He said, "young, lady I do not believe the past can be a threat of physical violence or can act violently against you. These are the requirements for an order of protection." Her eyes didn't blink. They couldn’t be cracked. She wanted him to see that she was serious. "The past has harmed me physically, your honor. I've been assaulted. I have bruises to show you, but it would require you to get to know me… in your chambers. We don't have that kind of time. But there are scars all over me that the past has carved into my skin. He has shouted at me so loudly that I have felt all the atoms of my body shake and separate. His hands have been everywhere. He's like some terrible shadow spider. I don't know how many limbs he has, but I have been trapped in his gossamer for quite some time. There is no “time” with him. Everything is the present because when he is standing there in my living room staring at me, all of my sins are present. They inhabit the room. They are a committee of jurors who judge me the way you are now, your honor. Only they are not merciful. They are not guided by law. They say all the things that I don't want them to say. I can't close my ears because they're in my head. And I can't numb my mind because they're in my heart. If I get drunk, it only allows them greater access. All the doors and windows are suddenly open because I'm not there to keep them closed. Do you understand your honor? The past is stalking me. He is a threat. I can feel him slowly killing me. There are things that I keep deep inside, but he hints to me that he is there. Terrible things that have happened to me that weren't my fault. Terrible things that I have done that were my fault. And he has an inventory. In a moment he can force me see it all. He can make me feel it all. This hurts, your honor. It’s injury. It’s violence. Your honor, surely you must understand." The judge must have known her pain because of the pain of his own past. Everyone in the courtroom now understood. There was nodding. There was quiet support for what she was saying. Nobody was snickering now. There were even some muffled sobs. The judge choked up. He fingered the gavel that he used as a way of marking the difference between the past and the future. Because when he hammered the gavel, people faced their fate. Their lives would never be the same. But he could not do it to her. He could not bring himself to end her pain. Instead he hummed a tune. It was an old song he had learned as a boy. It was one his mother would sing to him when his past was getting to be too much for him. He filled the chamber with his voice, singing the song that eased his pain when it gripped him, and he lulled half the courtroom into a deep sleep.