July 21, Tuesday
THE POOL had shrunk again—not dramatically, but noticeably, the way a sweater loses an inch in a hot dryer. Fewer faces. More space on the gallery benches.
When my number was called, I walked to the front of the courtroom with measured energy. I had retrieved a pair of aged slacks from the bottom of a dresser drawer and paired them with a blouse I'd borrowed from Lily's closet. This jury stint was revealing the limitations of my adult wardrobe.
"Of course."
"Can you give us an example?"
I thought for a few seconds. "I was in an HOA meeting. A homeowner had fallen behind on their dues, and the association wanted to put a lien on their property."
The judge waited.
"It felt premature to me. I didn't know the circumstances, but I knew that liens have consequences and I thought we were moving too fast. So I volunteered to speak with the homeowner directly before we went that route."
"And what did you find?"
"Their automatic payments had stopped processing because of a banking error. And late notices were being mailed to an old address. The homeowner had no idea they owed anything and caught up on their dues immediately. There was no need for a lien."
The judge made a note. Across the room, the U.S. Attorney was writing something too.
"How comfortable are you expressing an unpopular opinion?"
"I'm a mom," I said. "I'm used to being unpopular."
The gallery laughed—a proper laugh, the kind that fills a room briefly and leaves it feeling looser. Even the judge's expression shifted in a direction that suggested amusement.
"One more question," he said, when the room settled. "Can you think of a time when everyone around you believed one thing and you believed another?"
I sat with that for a moment. The honest answer was not the impressive answer, and by now I'd learned that this judge could tell the difference.
"I can't think of a time when I was the only person in the room who disagreed," I said. "But I can think of times when everyone around me reached a conclusion faster than I did. I tend to make up my mind more slowly than most people because I want to know all the ramifications of that decision."
"Thank you," the judge said with a nod. "You may return to your seat."
I left the witness box, walked back to my seat, and picked up my knitting. My eyes flicked to the deputy holding up the rear wall. His eyes flicked to mine.
Then we both flicked away.