You Can't Force a Story That Doesn't Want to Be Told - Christine Whalen

One lawyer Liz knew called the hallways of the fourth floor of 400 McAllister the Trail of Tears. The fourth floor of the Superior Court of San Francisco housed the family law and juvenile dependency courtrooms. She’d seen more people than she cared to remember crying – or screaming – on this floor. Love and children and desperation and hatred for CPS and for ex-partners: these elements combined in dangerous, dramatic ways.

Liz and her fellow dependency lawyers dealt with the stories of child abuse, abandonment, neglect and addiction with a mix of cynicism, sorrow and gallows humor. There were certainly funny moments. During one trial the alleged father had been questioned about his involvement with the child. One of the lawyers had asked him how he’d met the mother. He’d responded with a lengthy discussion of their “booty call.” “Booty call” had made its way into a lot of the subsequent cross examination questions. The appellate lawyers must have had a field day with the transcript.

Once Liz had gone to 850 Bryant, the criminal jail, to visit one of her clients, Maria, who was about to be released and needed a job. She’d been to Liz’s office before, and had noticed there was no receptionist. At the end of their meeting, Maria had made her pitch for the job, saying she’d be on time, Liz and her office mates needed help, and, that she could “answer the phones like a motherfucker.” Liz thought Maria might need some job coaching in the future.

Then there were the stories of going a step too far, after a drink too many. The stories of bruises and broken bones and black eyes. When asking the kids about what happened, Liz was often met by stony silence. She’d worked on finessing the details from her clients, but also recognized on some level that you can’t force a story that doesn’t want to be told.