"The Verdict" by Michael ConklinMy heart raced as the jury marched back into the courtroom with the verdict. I quickly assessed all twelve of their facial expressions in the hopes of gleaning a clue as to what the verdict might be. Juror #2 avoided eye contact with me. Juror #8 looked relieved. Was that good or bad?
In the fifteen-seconds it took them to sit in the jury box and deliver the verdict, my mind recounted all six days of the trial. The fourteen witnesses, the nineteen pieces of evidence, the countless motions from the attorneys—most of which I still didn’t understand. I thought about my experience on the witness stand. I naively assumed that if the jury simply listened to me tell the truth, they would understand. Now I could only wonder if it did more harm than good. The trial was nothing like they are on TV. No dramatic music, no surprise witnesses, and no ability to turn it off and go about my life like nothing happened. The jury foreman rose, unfolded a sheet of paper, and began to read from it; his hands were shaking almost as much as mine. “We the people in the case of State v. Sanders, find the defendant...” I knew that no matter what the next word was, it would alter the rest of my life. “...Not guilty.” And that’s it. The rest of my life would now be separated into before and after hearing that sentence. The man I watched kill my son was free to go.
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