Always Called, Never a Juror

As I took my seat in the packed courtroom, the defendant and his attorney surveyed the pool of jurors. Were they looking for a sympathetic face? They scanned us like someone desperate to make a friend. I averted my gaze lest they think I was too friendly, or too likely to sympathize. Surely this young man with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair with streaks of white was the defendant. Once his name was read I was certain. With a name like Mr. White Trash Insect, he was doomed. Ms. Christmas, representing the people, would make sure Justice was served.

Two young women in headscarves sat at the front of the room. They seemed very serious. They were not part of the jury.

The judge was passionate about justice. She spent nearly an hour explaining the process to us. Her idealism moved me to tears. Her voice carried the strength and resolve of the institution she represented. Yes, ma’m, I would feel honored to serve our country on a jury.