Juror Number 9

Three weeks in. I believe today is Tuesday, although who really knows. I glance down at my watch to see that it is, in fact, Wednesday. The long, skinny, windowless room feels suffocating. To make matters worse, my designated spot at the long boardroom table, happens to be smack dab in the middle. I’m the first one you see when you enter the deliberation room. I might as well be on a stage.

This is my worst nightmare.

My name is Angelica Renaldi, or Angie, and I am Juror Number 9. When I first received my official summons to appear in court for juror selection for a murder case, I was intrigued. Excited even. I’ve always been an avid reader, and murder mysteries have always been my favourite genre.

I can now confirm that a murder trial is neither intriguing nor exciting. For the last three weeks, we’ve been meeting in this room, forbidden to talk about what goes on inside. Week one, day two, everyone decided that the defendant, Mr. Landry, was guilty. That is, everyone but me. The bitterness and resentment these 11 jurors have for me has now turned to pure disdain.

“How can you possibly think he is innocent?” Juror number 2 asks. A question that I am asked every day.

Every day I go through the evidence, the lack thereof, and I can’t help but focus in on the discrimination that seems apparent. Only, it seems no one else sees it, or is bothered by it. As I sit at the table yet again, with one juror at each end, and five along each side, I look to each and every person before I start to speak.

Just breathe. In and out. In and out.

The box breathing I learned from my therapist to deal with my PTSD has come in very handy.

It’s been three weeks. How can I better communicate my thoughts on this? I want to go home just as badly as they do. Don’t they see that? I’m not going to send a man to prison because I want to go home and eat spaghetti with my family instead of the sandwiches from across the road we’ve been eating every day for the last three weeks. I don’t want to be here either.

“Everyone, I know this has been a long three weeks. I know we are all anxious for our lives to go back to normal. I understand and I feel the same. We’ve been called here to objectively look at this case, to find any reasonable doubt. Only if there is none can we issue a finding of guilt.” I pause dramatically, shifting my weight slightly.

I take another slow breath and fold my hands on the notepad lying on the table in front of me. “I can’t help but think that this isn’t the open-and-shut case the prosecutor has told us it is. I also can’t help but take issue with the fact that this defendant is a man of very little means, and his court-appointed representative has done nothing for his case. He has called only a single witness, and that witness was the defendant’s mother.” I pause again, waiting to be interupted. Usually I don’t make it this far without being interupted.

Huh. No one is interrupting. Maybe they’re really listening to me today.

“Now, I don’t know about you, but my mother would come to my defense, too. However, is it much of a defense if she wasn’t even in the same city at the time the crime I was accused of committing occurred? I mean, I’m sure she would think so!” I let out an awkward laugh before realizing no one else is laughing, or even smiling. I clear my throat and continue, “And the weapon? The gun used in this murder is registered to someone else, and yet we are to believe the defendant just magically found it? I don’t buy it.”

Finally, Juror number 5, aka Sandy, spoke up, “Angie, I know you feel strongly about this case. I know. But this guy has a record. He broke into a car and stole someone else’s property. So, is it that big a leap to say that he stepped up his criminal behavior?”

Ugh, here we go again with the “record” bit.

“I smoked weed as a teenager, which was illegal at the time, so is it fair to say that if I’d been caught, the next logical step in my criminal behavior would be murder? Mr. Landry even stated that he felt remorse about breaking into that car and taking something that wasn’t his. He was trying to find money to buy food for his younger siblings. It was hardly malicious intent that led to the crime.”

Round and round we go. Where this stops, no one knows.

“All I’m trying to say, is in my mind, there is reasonable doubt. And that Mr. Landry deserves a fair trial. I don’t feel this has been a fair trial or that he has had reasonable legal representation. I think if it was any one of us facing these charges with that particular lawyer being the only thing between us and prison, we’d be very, very concerned. I think each of us would be looking to the jury and praying they would stand up for us. Thank you, I rest my case.” Another awkward laugh escapes my socially awkward mouth.

They really should not select introverted, socially awkward jurors with fears of public speaking.

At any rate, I sit back and breathe deeply. I don’t know where that came from, but I feel a weight leave my shoulders as I sit up nice and tall for the first time in three weeks. I know in my heart this is the right thing. The good thing. The true thing. And I leave the rest of it up to these 11.