Eleanor Rootes: Part Deuce

On the eve of a total lunar eclipse that promised change, she graced the cracked linoleum floors of the county court. The smell of some state-issued bio-cleanser hung in the air with stale coffee and the beeping sound of a metal detector working too hard. While fumbling with the id-tag hanging ‘round her neck on a dingy lanyard, she threw back her tresses that were stuck between collar folds and identification that should have read: “Eleanor Rootes, Law Guardian Sans Litem”.


Having the slighted attention of some passing legal commuters, she made what she thought was a clever comment and then turned to find my stare burning holes through her lacking humanity and tanned leather body hide void of intelligent thought. Quickly, she turned away and pretended to be interested in a wall hanging that did not exist.

My name was called among the masses. 9:00 am and I was already being directed to a stagnate eight by five foot cell... er,  briefing room. At a stumbling consult with an attorney, rather, “Associate” who has been nonexistent for the two months between adjournments - he questioned what I would like accomplished. I explained that “because I’m pretty, I can do whatever I want”. He chuckled without thinking it funny.  I had to explain the comprehension with a  reminder that the logic of the statement originated with Eleanor. This was her mighty defense at our last go-'round. His eyes bent the way that plastic does when it's heated but still, with no real processing energy available.

How pointless is she?


Very.

They’re actually attorneys you know. In the state of New York, law guardians must pass the bar before they aspire to apply to the law guardian panel and be assigned counsel for children through some over-burdened family court. To my knowledge, this particular court has ceased the assignment of cases to her because Eleanor's track record holds too many complaints. And there are the accusations of her dancing beneath the full moon without clothes. 


Yes, that happens.


But she’s a law guardian charged with proper interpretation of my son’s wants, wishes, and desires; proper being the action word.


Eleanor has never set a scraggly foot into our house.


Yet she maintains that our house is “cramped and unsuitable for children”. Outside of her, that house has been a foundation and roof over five childrens’ heads and stands as twice the size of the bungalow Eleanor resides in. Still, she banters with her tousled hair-do that well, in blatant disregard for her position as advocate...I must somehow take the heat for her obvious transference issues. I don't know. Maybe I remind her of a mother whom she despises...a sister that reigned in all the attention she never received as a child...or possibly a friend that put a finger on the manipulation and deceitfulness of one such Eleanor; post-BFF.