A Heart to Let and No Tenant Yet
The clock was my enemy.
I'd arrived at 9:35, fashionably late as ever and yet in no danger of tardiness. The rest of the pool was seated in their judicial pews, portaits of the three Franklin County judges hanging from the back wall taking the pride of place of Jaysus. A distinctly non-prayer book in hand, I took my seat in the empties of a pew closer towards the front, and began the waiting game.
I didn't have long to wait.
All rise.
The bailiff strode like a latter-day Titan across the courtroom floor as the judge entered the room in his flowing black robes of office, taking his seat upon the raised dais, chatting with his clerk and absently tapping the microphone to make sure it was on.
Be seated.
I glanced at the clock again. Normally unencumbered by time- after all, this was jury duty, an excused absence from work, remunerated both by the hours I was permitted to log on my timesheet at work as well as the generous $12.50 per diem stipend for service, and on a typical day, more time in court meant less time at work. And I had a cup of coffee awaiting me, eagerly, fitfully, at the coffeehouse down the street at 10:30.
I'd jinxed it, the night before, saying aloud that I wouldn't be called to the jury, and of course I was. The last of the first twelve of an eventual thirty-one, which at least assured me of a comfortable place in the lush leather seating of the jury box instead of one of the makeshift chairs assembled at either side.
I walked up as my name was called, silently cursing my poor fortune as well as rejoicing in my luck. Sure, I'd endure another voire dire, the questioning of the jury to see if any were unduly prejudiced or related to any of the principals in the trial, but it was my out as much as it was my trap. Wasn't it me two weeks ago who'd endured the entire process only to be smitten by a peremptory stike by the prosecution because of my lackadaisacal attitude towards assault?
Why, yes, your honour, I've been assaulted before, if you can put so grand a label on it, but it was just fights in high school, that's all.
Doubtless the prosecutor, representing a high-school-age kid lining up a felony against two other high-school-age kids, wasn't so impressed.
This time, though, it was something far more odious.
My read on the defendant, sitting there some vaguely rodentine look of timidity as he gazed upon the assembled proceedings, was, at worst, some drug charge. Pot, probably, from the look of him. But the judge read aloud the case number, and then the charge. First degree rape. In spite of myself, my eyes narrowed.
As I sat in my seat, I weighed my civic duty against my desire to take my leave of the place, for it was now about ten and my thoughts turned once more to the coffee shop and what was awaiting me there.
The judge asked for exceptions, and three people raised their hands, confessing to doctor's appointments in the coming three days, the expected duration of the trial.
So easy, but... No, I was not going to lie my way off the panel. If I was to be realeased, it could be for no reason other than unreasonableness, my being unfit to serve as juror.
With the excused having been replaced, voire dire began in full.
Has anyone heard of this case we are trying today?
Does anyone know personally, or has anyone been represented by, either the prosecting or defense attorneys?
Having heard the list of possbile witnesses for the prosecution, does anyone know or is related to by blood or marriage anyone mentioned?
Having heard the list of possbile witnesses for the defense, does anyone know or is related to by blood or marriage anyone mentioned?
Does anyone know, or is anyone related to by either blood or marriage, the defendant in this case? The defendant stood, looked plaintively across the jury panel, his gaze searching, imploring, unmet from potential juror to potential juror. He lacked the defiant, self-confident gaze of innocence. I did not return his stare, instead glancing once more at the clock on the side wall.
Has anyone ever participated in a criminal case before? My hand, along with three others, was raised.
One by one, the others were called to the bench, and the judge, and both sets of lawyers quietly discussed the nature of the involvement. From having served these past three weeks, I knew the underlying question they were all after... does your past experience in any way prejudice you against rendering a fair mind to the proceedings at hand?
Then it was my turn before the judge. I wanted nothing more than for this to be some trifling case... possession, or better yet, jaywalking... something I could adbicate without hesitation, but rape was no trifle. I'd hidden much before, the last time I was paneled a fortnight ago... how could I take up an hour's time answering to the judge all the incidents where I, family members, and close friends had been run through the criminal justice system? I offered my brother's DUI as the sacrificial lamb and called it even. But the gravity of the case called for something more, and if in turn I missed my coffee, it would understand.
I approached the bench.
"If I understand the question right, your honour, you're asking if I've ever participated incriminal proceedings in a court of law."
"That is correct."
"Well, I served as a witness in a capital murder and sexual assault trial in Orleans Parish, Louisiana about eight years ago." That wasn't quite true- the trial was for murder... that the convicted has engaged in sexual congress with the corpse and not the girl was too fine a hair to pare at the moment. She might not have been able to say 'no,' but she certainly didn't say 'yes,' and that was enough.
"Were you a witness for the prosecution or for the defense?"
"Prosecution, your honour." The lead prosecutor scrippled a note in her legal pad.
"Well, do you feel that you'll be able to serve as a juror on this trial fairly on that account?"
I leaned in on the judge's bench. "I'd like to say yes, but I fear the opposite may be true."
The defense attorney leaned in. "I'm sorry, what did he say?"
The judge repeated me, near-verbatim. "He says he would like to say no, but he fears the opposite may be true." I stifled a momentary chuckle at hearing my arch English from another's mouth.
The attorney turned towards me. "I'd like you to elabourate upon what you just said, please."
"Well," I said, "to be candid, when the charge was announced my blood ran a little cold, and I found I could not look upon the defendant with the same eyes I entered the courtroom with." I looked back at the judge. "I know that's not fair of me to feel, but it is the truth."
The defense attorney stammered something, and the judge said, "Alright, Mr Mahone, I am going to dismiss you from this trial." As I turned the prosecutor thanked me, sincerely as if I'd done her some favour, and I returned to the jury box, collected my book and my glasses-case, passed between the packed pews, and departed the courtroom a free man. The clock read ten-forty-five. My disappointment was fleeting- I'd been dying to serve on a jury since being called, but I'd opened myself to these people and found myself in that aspect wanting.
I left the courthouse, and headed directly down St Claire mall, for the coffeeshop.
"A 'Malfoy's Pumpkin Spiced Latte,' please, and a blackberry cobbler muffin for here." Attached to the bookstore, the menu was updated with monthly crossovers, July's being Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. The pumpkin latte's weren't bad, and in the seasonal heat the spice reminded my of my beloved New England Autumns.
I took my coffee and my muffin, book in hand, and headed for the seating. At the first table was the beautiful nut-brown brunette, the star of County Franklin. She noticed me, closed her book and set it down before her on the table... and smiled. | 
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