By definition I knew no one. Not even their names as we were addressed by the numbers on our badges. The odds of being called for jury duty on the exact same day as anyone in your social circle are remote, so most of us kept to ourselves. With books and phones as our companions, a hundred plus people left their routines behind and participated in the judicial process. 

 

I do know four or five lawyers, and entertained curiosity about whether any of them work at the courthouse. It would be fabulous to bump into one on our lunch break, as an interloper into their world. But no such serendipity was spent on me and I was left to my imagination. 

 

There is something fascinating about being part of a herd. The only qualifiers for being summoned are either driving a car or voting in the last election. I secretly hoped there would be a team building exercise, where each person could reveal a few riveting details about themselves. 

 

How many jobs, languages, and talents were represented? Being a fan of color, I noted ten people wearing raspberry. Three dozen had glasses. One person was outrageously dressed, and I wondered if it was to escape being picked. Another looked stunningly like Steve Martin. 

 

No doubt the group included professionals accustomed to calling the shots, and others who jump when told to. Only a handful looked under thirty. Several in pinstriped shirts gave the impression that they are in the habit of earning hundreds of dollars in the time we'd been sitting dormant, as hostages to an inefficient system. A few students managed to study standing up in lines that didn't seem to move. 

 

The theme of acquaintances resurfaced in the courtroom. The judge, who smiled when she came in, asked a stream of questions pertaining to whom we knew: herself, the attorneys, (both of whom were female and one was pregnant), the accused, the witnesses, the police officers involved. She went on to inquire about our familiarity with any judges, or police, or anyone who was convicted of child abuse, or the victim of such offenses. Hands, with our assigned numbers, went up and down like corn popping without the sound. 

 

The defendant looked vulnerable. Each time the allegations, or names of victims were read aloud I wondered what memories sped across his eyes. How is it to realize that a dozen strangers have the power to decide your future? How does it feel to know you have tarnished someone else's past? 

 

In the end I was not chosen. I was relieved to go home without knowing more about painful events. But I did wonder about those left sitting in the box. The ratio of men to women was five to one. 

 

John hugged me when I came in the door, as did my girls. Supper was waiting, and I felt grateful that at least for today, my daughters's biggest problems involve pencil and paper.