three of a kind.

22.

July 20, 1993

the day of the trial was shrouded in the unknown. i was chomping at the bit to get started, to get it over with. to get an acquittal. it had been three years since i had the pleasure of talking to the only two people i'd loved my entire life outside of prison shackles. i'd long forgotten what a warm bed felt like. it was hell on earth, and right now the three of us stood in purgatory.

i had mixed emotions, they were all over the place. this could only go two ways, and i was in great fear of the latter. the news was portraying the boys as monsters, as sociopaths. as greedy, selfish kids who wanted daddy's money. it couldn't be further from the truth.

i could barely make it inside of the court room, hassled by reporters as i walked with the boys, and leslie abrhamson. it was some of the only short moments i could be with them where they weren't dressed like felons. i cannot describe to you adequately the pain of that; the pain of seeing the people that mean everything to you go through that.

leslie abramson was a dog, a pitbull in particular. she radiated intensity, and took no bullshit from anyone. there were no excuses to be made, she believed every bit of what we had told her, she was not going to back down. leslie was truly the epitome of who i aspired to be. it gave me great comfort in knowing that out of all people in the state, she was representing them.

upon walking into the court, i took my assigned seat behind the defense. panning my eyes around the room at the never ending number of cctv cameras; there were eyes on us everywhere we turned. i watched erik and lyle walk to their places, erik and leslie laughing about something she had said to try to make the atmosphere lighter.

it was damning.

no emotion menendez. don't smile.

the entire trial was going to be us against the people. us against the DA's office. my stomach was in my throat. the judge was a hardass.

leslie walked back to where i was sitting and leaned back to my ear, "pam bozanich is a clown, don't worry about her."

i snickered, giving her a thumbs up as she walked back to the table were the boys sat and placed her arms around them as they had their discussion. she was entirely too much, we all admired it.

the court decided the boys were to be tried separately, with separate defenses. lyle was represented by Jill Lansing, who's defense presented their opening statements first. i anxiously bounced my leg in my seat, it felt as though my skin was trying to inside out itself; that's how i felt.

"let us start with the parties statements pertaining to defendant joseph lyle menendez," judge wisenburg said tonelessly, "we can now bring in the jurors if they're all in attendance and begin the people versus lyle menendez."

the trial started, the prosecution poorly delivering their opening statements. they had no passion behind their words, they were reading from scripts. "while their parents may have not been perfect, they deserved a chance at life."

i could see leslie resist the urge to roll her eyes as they droned on in monotone, to which made me give a small smirk. she had this shit wrapped.

but there was always that thought in the back of my mind, what if she didn't?

pam bozanich took the next several minutes to deliver the rest of the prosecutions opening statements. she used lyle's discussion with the police the night of the murders and us returning the next morning as leverage. she was trying to get them on premeditated murder, but the thought of that to me was absurd. this was the definition of a crime of passion, it was eat or be eaten.

lyle looked back to me pathetically as she begun to speak about the position on the floor of which we supposedly found their parents. i caught a tear that was escaping down my face right as we made eye contact, i didn't want him to see me weak. he'd taught me better. he ripped his eye contact away as bozanich continued on.