The 57 Bus: Part 4

And, he added, “This conduct is very egregious and I don’t think anybody would argue that if it were committed by an adult that the punishment would be cruel and unusual.”

The compression stockings were more comfortable than the bandages had been, and Sasha’s atrophied leg muscles had regained their strength.

“I wonder, if I keep pulling, if Sasha will just disappear into negative space,” she mused.

“Here was a case where so many people thought, Okay, yeah, it’s a horrific thing that happened, but yet here’s a young man that seemed to be salvageable—he didn’t have a long criminal record or anything like that,” he said.

When it’s a criminal case, the plan contains measurable benchmarks.

“I love their program, but I’ve already broached the subject. It’s the farthest thing. It’s an absurd suggestion.”

The lawyers file in and out of the courtroom, sauntering past the gate that separates the gallery from the court, ducking back into chambers to chat with the judge, making small talk with the bailiff and one another.

They’re the ones outside in the hallway, slumped on a bench, faces streaked with impotent tears.

The bailiff unlocked Richard’s shackles and he stood, moving with a defeated, dreamlike languor.

“It’s punitive. And for what? Protecting the community by making this kid into a real gangster?”

It was the perfect place for someone as shy as Sasha—a ready-made cadre of like-minded people.

Back then, California’s juvenile facilities were notoriously harsh, violent, dilapidated, dull, and overcrowded, with young wards routinely subjected to solitary confinement, and some forced to exercise and attend classes while locked in cages.

A discussion ensued. Was “Desperate and Deserving” just a way that poor people thought?

After completing her shift at the convalescent home, she now worked a four-hour shift at the supermarket, often not getting off work until one a.m.

A couple of days earlier, Michael and Sasha had digitally scanned the full stack of index cards for posterity.