You know, I told myself over and over again that it would be easier to go through this a second time. I lied to me. It isn’t easier at all. It’s wretched.
Today the District Attorney showed little Ian’s stomach and contents up on the big screen. If the plan has changed and these things are going to be shown to everyone instead of just to the jury, I really wish I could get a ‘heads up.’ That way I could avert my eyes and not have to see a three-year-old’s opened stomach or the pineapple in it. Not an image I wanted in my head. My imaginings are bad enough.
Today we also heard and saw several video clips of Manling in the Walnut station that weren’t shown in the previous trial. One moment she was carrying on that “Neal has to pull through. He has to. He’s my whole life. He has to pull through for me and for the boys.” Next she’s animatedly talking about being in the marching band at Los Altos. She had the gall to say, “I don’t know how I’m going to tell Neal’s grandmother that Neal had an accident.” Hey, that honor fell to me, and it wasn’t any accident. I was stuck with telling my family the horrible news, when I was still in shock myself, thank you very much. And why did I have to do that? Because SHE KILLED HIM! What an unbelievable show and impossible tarradiddle. (Bad acting, too, by the way). You wouldn’t think these things could still have the power to make me mad, would you? I didn’t either. I’m much more the melancholy than the belacose type. I don’t like it. I need chocolate. Monkey.