Scales of Justice

“You ever been on jury duty before?” Stanley, a heavyset middle aged man, was interested in everyone.

“Me? No,” Barry said.

“I’ve been a juror twice. I hope I get picked again.” He bit on his prince shaped pipe for a moment. “One time it was an embezzlement scheme and the last time it was a guy on trial for running a meth lab,” Stan said.

They were sitting in the jury pool waiting room at one of two large conference tables. Their table sat next to a long row of high windows. Anyone who stood up could easily see a panoramic view of the street below. It was raining and the streets below were filled with umbrella carrying men and women walking with their heads down.

Barry, not yet 30, a tall and very dark, black man, stood and stretched. “Were they convicted?”

“Hell yes, they were convicted. It’s not that hard really. The guilty have a way of telling on themselves.”

An officer of the court stepped into the room and said in a loud voice, “Anyone holding the numbers 19 through 36 please follow me to the court room. Take a seat in the jury box and wait for further instructions.”

Stanley’s number was 39. Barry had number 44. “Won’t be long now, my friend. We’re in the next group,” Stan whispered as if he was revealing a secret.

A woman was seated on the opposite side of the table looking at the two men. She spoke to Stanley. “You make it sound like you’re going to a party, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Barry laughed. “Stan here is an expert. He’s been on a jury twice.”

The woman waved away this news. “I’ve been in five jury pools, but they never pick me.” She picked up her carry bag and pulled out knitting needles and what looked like a blanket. It’s not a big deal.”

Stanley smiled good naturedly. “I always take it seriously, ma’am. A man’s future is always at stake in these matters. We can put him away, or set him free. Most of them deserve to be put away though.”

“Is that right?” The woman’s face turned sour. Her knitting needles which had been softly clacking away stopped. “The reason I’m never selected is my son. He’s serving time at the penitentiary in Memphis. Soon as the lawyers hear that, I’m dismissed.”

“Why don’t you just tell them that when you get the questionnaire in the mail?” Stanley asked.

“How do you know I don’t?” The woman started knitting again, furiously this time. “My boy didn’t do it. I know, that’s exactly what every mother says, my son is innocent.”

“What’s he in for?” for Barry asked.

“They say he shot a man in the back after an argument, as if he was a coward.”

The two men looked at each other, both of them now hoping their numbers would be called soon. “I sat through every minute of his trial. My boy’s lawyer wouldn’t let him testify. Big mistake.” She took out a tissue and dabbed a tear from her eye. “Innocent men are convicted more than you know.” She turned to Stan. “What you said about this being serious business. Well it is, and you ought not to go in there with the attitude that just because a man, or a woman for that matter, is on trial, they must be guilty. If you’re going to make up your mind before the trial even starts, then maybe you should tell that to the judge.” 

Barry stood up again and went to the window. The rain was down to a light drizzle and the sun was beginning to work its way through the clouds. He took a look around the room. Nearly everyone looked bored.  Some prospective jurors fidgeted, others read. One man was playing solitaire. He turned to face the woman. She was very thin, her plain dress clinging to her bones. “I’m sorry if your son was wrongly convicted.”

“If, if, if, that’s what they all say,” the woman said. Barry turned his attention back to the window.

“I always give a defendant a fair shake,” Stanley said. The woman didn’t respond right away. She put her blanket down and folded it. “Didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that talk like that makes me wonder whether there wasn’t some fool on that jury who had his mind made up before the gavel even went down to start my boy’s trial.”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” Stan said, now feeling a bit sorry for the woman. He put his pipe in his mouth again.

“Promise me both of you.” She waited for Barry to turn around again and look at her. “If you get picked for a jury, you’ll bend over backwards to be fair.”

Both men promised. The woman nodded and got up and moved to another table. Twenty minutes later the court officer was back. “Numbers 37 to 54 please step this way.”

As they headed to the door, they walked past the woman. Barry asked her, “They didn’t call your number yet?”

“I don’t have a number,” the woman said. “I come here almost every day though.”

“Why?”

“To set people like your friend straight. It’s the only thing I can do. Too late to help my boy.”