Jury Duty

          My first reaction when I see the pale, dark-haired kid hunched over the table, looking like he wants to be under the table, is oh! Poor boy, let him go! But when he looks up with only his smoldering eyes, a

tentative squint, I think rotten kid. 

      Which of course, I feel bad for thinking, because he reminds me of the incorrigible third-grader, who was so disruptive in my after-school writing club, one of the few children I just didn't like.  He was so unlikeable, so ugly in his need to be disruptive. As a last resort I went to the principal and told her I just couldn't deal with the little devil. His writing was intentionally shocking, violent, meant to gross us out. He upset one girl, made her cry.

          When I met his mother my heart melted. Barely an adult herself, she had those big, hollow, scared eyes of someone who has lived in fear her whole life. I wanted to put my arms around her, tell her to sit down, I'd make her a cup of tea. I wanted to take her home, cook her a nice dinner, let her pet my dog.

          Her husband, the boy's father, terrorized the whole family. In and out of jail, he was currently home, on probation, trying to behave. I told the mother the boy could stay in my class. Maybe just talking to his mother would make him realize someone was paying attention to him. For wasn't it attention he wanted?

          Today in the courtroom I learn the definition of Criminal Mischief. It's similar to vandalism but the damages are less than $500.00. The second offense, for which the boy is charged, is Evading Arrest.  The defense attorney asks us, "Is it okay to run from the law?"

          Like good children we shake our heads, no, but how many of us are thinking hell yes - if the cops are chasing you with their pepper spray and stun guns and real guns? How many times have we seen videos of cops beating protesters?  How many incidents of police brutality have we read about? How many cops cover up for each other?

          My husband says I wasn't picked for jury duty because I asked too many questions, I was too talkative. "They don't want people who think," he says, "you're just supposed to sit there and listen."

          "But the attorneys said they wanted us to ask questions!" I say in my defense. 

          The trial is set for tomorrow morning. I could go and sit in the courtroom and find out what that skinny white kid did to get arrested.  I could watch the twenty-eight-year-old prosecutor call witnesses and explain to us the letter of the law. I could hear the sixty-something defense attorney plant doubt in our minds.

          It's probably good I didn't get selected. I don’t think I could consider the facts, and only the facts. Life is more complicated than that.