entering courtroom 101
Janet Kuypers
Started 4/14/15, finished 4/17/15, streamlined 4/18/15
The day arrived.
We searched for street parking
and hoped the rain would stop.
Opened the door.
Greeted by a large glass wall,
where we all waited
for the government’s inspection:
to drop our objects into a bin,
to walk through a metal detector,
to have guards with wands scan us.
Walked to a wall
that listed the locations of the courtrooms,
so I could find
courtroom 101.
Found the courtroom.
Read the sign, “Only one person
per court case is permitted
within these walls.”
So we looked at each other.
I knew it was time.
We said an abrupt good-bye.
I walked in.
Panicked, I wondered what my
lawyer looked like, what if I’m called up
and she isn’t here, what do I do.
I looked down.
There were three rows of bench seats,
so I just sat down, close to the door.
I turned my legs to let everyone else
pass to sit down.
Rows of chairs flanked the right half
of the room instead of long benches.
I figured that’s where the lawyers sit.
I checked my watch again. Court
should have started ten minutes ago.
Someone asked
for defendants who don’t speak English.
There’s a translator there for them.
A lawyer called a Hispanic name.
A man came out from my row.
I moved my legs so he could leave
courtroom 101 to talk to his lawyer.
Eventually a woman in a business suit skirt
and knee-high galoshes walked over
and called my name. My lawyer and I
walked out of courtroom 101 to talk.
Apparently all people like me
go through this; just answer the judge’s
questions. She’ll take care of the rest.
Came back in.
My seat was taken. A woman
moved so I could sit and wait again.
Looked at my watch. It’s twenty-five
minutes since court should have begun.
The judge walked in.
They told everyone to be quiet,
and asked one man to remove his cap.
The bailiff called a name I didn’t know;
someone walked to the yellow line,
and they started their drill,
and the din in courtroom 101
started to grow.
One defendant down.
Then another. Then another. My mind
just started to go numb, like...
Like I just jumped out of an airplane.
No. It’s not like that...
I’ve jumped out of an airplane,
that’s something I chose to do.
I didn’t choose this.
But, like falling 120 MPH,
and, like courtroom 101, I couldn’t
catch my breath. I couldn’t breathe.
The room stopped.
I heard my first name, then my last
name, pronounced wrong.
I walked to the yellow line.
My lawyer walked to the bench.
The judge then asked
for my name. I pronounced it, correctly.
The judge then spoke. “With this charge,
you could be sentenced to up to one year
in prison. Are you aware of these charges?”
Yes.
The din of courtroom 101 grew louder.
The judge spoke again.
“You do not have to be in court
for your sentencing; you may
be sentenced without being present.
Do you understand the value
in appearing at your trial?
Yes.
That’s when my lawyer started to talk
her lawyer talk, words I really couldn’t hear.
Then they nodded, set a date for me
to come back, loud enough for me to hear.
I agreed. Then I was free to go.
Another date.
I have to come back to courtroom 101
where they decide what to do with me,
while I sit in silence, then stand in silence,
and acquiesce. That sounds so like me.
We walked out.
I looked for my ride.
Me knees started to buckle.
And I tried to breathe again.
long version:
entering courtroom 101
Janet Kuypers
Started 4/14/15, finished 4/17/15
The day arrived.
We drove to the courthouse early.
Still, the parking garage was full,
so we searched for street parking
and hoped the rain would stop.
Opened the door.
Was greeted by a large glass wall,
where a line of people all waited
to be scanned by guards with wands
before dropping objects into a bin
for the government’s inspection,
then going through metal detectors.
Walked to a wall.
It listed locations of all courtrooms,
so I’d know which way to go
just to get to courtroom 101.
Got to the door.
Read the sign insisting that only
one person per court case
was allowed within these walls.
So we looked at each other.
I know I was early, but I knew it was time,
so we immediately said good-bye.
I walked in.
Panicked, I wondered what my
lawyer looked like, what if I’m called up
and my lawyer isn’t here, what do I do.
I looked down.
There were three rows if bench seats,
so I just sat down, close to the door.
More defendants from different cases
kept walking in, so I turned my legs
to let everybody sit down.
I glanced over.
Rows of chairs flanked the right half
of the room instead of long benches.
I figured that’s where the lawyers sat.
Occasionally
some uniform there would tell us
that we have to leave room for
others; this courtroom will get full.
I checked my watch again. Court
should have started ten minutes ago.
Someone asked
for defendants who didn’t speak English.
There’s a translator there for them.
Then a lawyer called a Hispanic name
and a man came out from my row.
I moved my legs so he could leave
courtroom 101 to talk to his lawyer.
I never met my lawyer.
I kept looking at all of the women there
dressed like me, and wondered
if any of them could be here for me.
Eventually
a woman in a business suit skirt
and knee-high galoshes walked over
and called my name. We walked outside.
But, there wasn’t really much to say,
this is apparently something all people
like me go through. Answer the judge’s
questions. She’ll take care of the rest.
Came back in.
My seat was taken. But the woman
from another case who saw me there
moved over so I could wait again.
Looked at my watch. It’s twenty-five
minutes since court should have begun.
The judge walked in.
They told everyone to be quiet, and
they asked one man to remove his cap.
The judge then called a name I didn’t know;
someone walked up and they started
their drill, and the din in courtroom 101
started to grow.
One defendant down.
Then another. Then another. And
my mind just went numb, like
I just jumped out of an airplane.
No. It’s not like that...
I’ve jumped out of an airplane,
that’s something I’ve decided to do.
I didn’t decide to go through this.
But, like falling 125 miles per hour,
like this courtroom 101, I couldn’t
catch my breath. I couldn’t breathe.
The judge called.
I heard my first name, then my last
name, pronounced wrong. I walked
to the yellow line to hear my sentence,
and they told me I had to put my purse
down on the floor three feet behind me.
I did as they said. My lawyer walked
to the bench.
The judge then asked
for my name. I pronounced it, correctly.
The judge then spoke. “With this charge,
you could be sentenced to up to one year
in prison. Are you aware of these charges?”
Yes.
Although the din of courtroom 101
got louder, the judge spoke again.
“You do not have to be in court
for your sentencing, but you may
be sentenced without being present.
Do you understand the value in attending
your court hearings?
Yes.
That’s when the lawyer started to talk
her lawyer talk, that I really couldn’t hear.
Then they nodded, said a date loud enough
for me to agree with, and then I was
free to go.
Another date.
I have to come again to courtroom 101
where they decide what to do with me,
while I sit in silence, then stand in silence,
and agree. That sounds so like me.
We walked out.
I looked for my ride.
Me knees started to quiver.
And I tried to breathe again.
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