T he first time I walk into court with a sheitel on my head, my burnout is gone.

New case. Sternheim vs. Lowinger. A couple? Employer-employee? I won’t know anything before Judge Rivera reads the motion. Torres is like that, smug lawyer that he is. His diploma is still warm from the printer, and he thinks the ritzy frame will shatter if he smiles. He’ll learn — they all learn eventually. Their fees go up and their heels stop clicking so loudly. It goes together. Then they throw a line my way. Assault. Divorce. Tort.

But it’s Torres’s case, this, and he won’t breathe a word before we meet in the courtroom. Oh well. New cases are always interesting.

With sharp bangs bouncing on my forehead, I feel like it’s my first day on the job. My new look invites comments, some directly, many behind my back, I’m sure. I smile coolly to the snooty lawyers. Cox just made partner with Henderson and Kelly. He can’t be bothered greeting scuffling interpreters.

Heading into hearing now, I text Gedalya. Putting phone on silent. Enjoy lunch ?

Gedalya sends me a taco emoji. Closest match to the tuna wraps I’d prepared for him before I left. Good luck, Your Honor, he writes.

I smile. Gedalya gets a kick out of my job. It does sound cool, I get it. Some days are interesting, and I get all engaged in a solid, sensational case. But eleven years around puffy-chested attorneys have dulled most of the awe. (Excerpted from Calligraphy, Succos 5778)