The jury summons arrives in the mail while I’m at my twenty-week scan, watching the curve of my boy’s spine.

I show up Monday, expecting to be excused. The judge disagrees. Six months’ postponement would only mean showing up with a newborn “on the outside.”

When I’m called to the box, I push my belly out as I sit, exaggerating the effort.

“Please state your name, where you live, what you do, any kids in your home.”

“Not yet,” I say, pointing to my stomach. No reaction. No dismissal.

Juror after juror is questioned. I’m still in. I panic, listing every excuse: ultrasounds, sciatica, peeing when I sneeze. The judge gives me a look. The bailiff calls the next name.

We’re sworn in.

The defendant wears an orange jumpsuit. “His choice,” the judge explains. He fires his lawyer before opening statements, then spends the morning scratching his eyebrow raw. Like he’s trying to erase himself.

“Those weren’t my drugs,” the man blurts, tugging at his sleeve as he cross-examines the officer.

The judge sighs. “That’s not a question.” His first of many warnings. We shift in our seats, eyes down.

“Did you know they weren’t mine?”

The officer doesn’t blink. “They were in your pocket.” I wonder how often that’s all it takes.

By week three, his eyebrow is red and swollen, his jumpsuit stained and wrinkled. I scan the courtroom for anyone watching him, worried about him, rooting for him. No one. He lowers his head to the desk, like he’s already been sentenced. As the judge reads instructions, I catch fragments: evidence, burden, credibility.

The twelve of us are sent to a small, windowless room that smells like sweat and sanitizer. I sit quietly as they debate the case, the testimony, his mental state.

The foreperson passes out slips of paper. I write guilty and slide it forward. They all match and the room exhales. Then empties.

I rest my hand on my belly, a hard kick beneath my palm. Like he felt the weight of it, too.

 

Rachel M. Hollis lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, child, and a deeply unmotivated dog. Her work appears or is forthcoming in River Teeth’s Beautiful Things, Midway Journal, Gone Lawn, Funicular, and elsewhere.