My Fellow Americans

Glancing out over the 30 or so persons seated in the crowd it seemed an odd bunch.
A twenty something brown haired mother with pale skin, accompanied by her child. She wore thick makeup which cloaked her face a lighter hue than the tan on her neck, and her deep red lips were littered tiny specks of chunked deep-red lipstick. Her eylashes were heavily dowsed with black mascara, bordered by subtle crows feet deepening upon an otherwise young face. She wore large red heels, a blouse and tight knee length skirt. Her boy was probably 6 or 7 .

Next, it was hard to miss the tall clean cut, close-shaven twenty something blond guy. He's the type that rich girls from suburban Sandy like to date. He looked sharp. Ironed and starched collered white short sleeve button up shirt and pressed tan slacks--the type of clothes typical for yuppy college preppies. No doubt he carried either at Nordstroms or Abercrombie credit card. He had blue eyes and, had it not been for curl of his locks drifting just to the collar in the back, one could easily see him in the CougarEat cafeteria on BYU's campus. He sat behind the first lady, alone.

Next to him sat a latino kid, probably 18 but could have passed for sixteen. His black hair was buzzed short, chin baby smooth and chin postured upward as if in defiance. The deep dark lines of the top of a large tattoo broached the line above his collar climbing halfway up his neck. His baggy pants and T-shirt were too big for him. He held the hand of a similarly aged girl--maybe his uptown girlfriend. She was latino too. Her skin was smooth and unblemished by ink. Her makeup a bit heavy but not overdone. Her most striking feature was her almond shaped eyes--they were a soft brown.

On the other side of the aisle sat a primped woman, probably in her early thirties. Her thick long curly blond hair fell down the back of a stylish dark brown suit jacket. She also wore a matching skirt. Her nails were long, perfectly smooth and a reddish chocolate color. Similarly, her meticulous makeup was conservative and tasteful. She could have been a real estate agent selling homes, a legal secretary for an upscale firm or perhaps just a professional you meet after hours at a nice restaraunt.

In the row in front of her sat a middle aged lady, probably in her late 40s. She also must have shopped in Nordstroms--maybe she saw the preppy blond boy there - maybe she knows his mom. Or perhaps she was just a savvy Target customer? Either way, she seemed like the type who would have been the preppy college boy's mom; or a relief society counselor. Her hair was dark reddish blond, short and curled--like many mothers wear. She dressed conservatively in a flowered dress cut like one you'd see in church. A thin expensive gold necklace with a pearl pendant adorned her neck. Her makeup was expensive and perfectly done, to hide deeping lines upon the brow and around the lips. Her shoes were short black heels and wore sunglasses and carried a tissue.

There was an old weathered guy in faded jeans, a long sleeved red button up plaid shirt and dressy cowboy boots. He stood in the back next to the door, as if ready to leave. His calloused and gnarled hands rubbed one another in nervousness. He could have been sixty. But with farmers it is hard to tell.

There were many more, in the audience and I looked over all of them in wonder. No patterns, no predictability. They were everywhere and anyone.

"All rise" said the bailiff in the corner. He was a stout balding man dressed in a sheriff's uniform.
"Be seated. Bring the first one in--Morales."
The attorneys at both tables shuffled papers. The public defender, who could not yet be thirty years of age with trendy long hair past his ears and a dark brown tweed coat leaned over the defense counsel's table--back to the judge--and stated without turning around, "Didn't come Judge. Jail said she refused."
"Alright, we'll move it to 24th. Is she done with evaluation?" said the black cloaked judge, seated behing a high podium.
"I don't know. I'll talk to her later." Said the Public defender.
"Campbell?" asked the judge.
"She's here" said the prosecutor.
The bailiff walked out of the room through a heavy reinforced steel door located on the far wall. He shortly re-emerged, escorting a dirty freckled 20-something kid with, reddish hair and tattoos running up and down his arms. His prisoner's uniform was peach.
"Chase, this is disappointing, you got picked up for possession" said the judge from above as Prisoner Chase Campbell shuffled to the speakers podium in front of the judge.
"It wasssnt mine. It was innabag uh friend gave me...uh...I-dinno." stammered the the young man...never looking up from the floor.
"90 days. Drug Court is a no tolerance program - if you are telling the truth--you need new friends. See you in 90 days." said the Judge sternly.
"Yes Judge, thanks." the young man said, refusing to let the tears roll down his cheeks. "uh. Sorry." he never looked up from the floor.
"You can't give up, this is just part of it. Be good." said the judge, as the kid was escorted out.

"Alright, 3rd phasers?" asked the judge.
A large group in the crowd rose and walked forward, through the gates which separate the audience from the court and onto the courtroom floor in front of the judge. There were eight. Each picked a folded red square of paper from a plastic jar and took thier place in the circle.
"Ok, James you start." said the judge, nodding his head to the tall blonde Abercrombie college boy who had walked up with the rest of the group.
James unfolded the little red paper and held it up and read loudly and quickly,"The only one who fails is the one who falls and fails to get up again."
"You back in college?" asked the Judge.
"Yeah, they said I can graduate this spring" replied the James. He stood erect, shoulders square and looked up at the judge.
"Good, everything else going good?"
"Sure, I'm applying for a job, no dirties, no dilutes and haven't missed for a long time." replied James.
"Well, I know you've been clean because you've made every drug test and passed them all for several months. How many days?" asked the judge.
"147 days Meth. 77 alcohol." Everyone in the room clapped, including the judge, including me.

It continued until each group member had finished reading thier paper and announcing the number of days they'd been clean. Some also read personal letters out loud expressing how grateful they were to participate in drug court and the difference it was making. When the last finished, a large girl with a dirty t-shirt the judge excused them and they filed out of the court.


"Martinez. Maria Martinez?"spoke the judge.
"Here. The pretty girl sitting next to the young latino kid rose and walked to the podium."
"Ms. Martinez, you got a dirty." said the judge sternly.
"I know, I know, my sister had her little boy and I had a few beers and well, it came up on the test." her voice was steady and calm, but tears flooded down her cheeks.
"3 days." said the Judge. The bailiff walked over turned Maria around and handcuffed her arms behind her back.
"Judge?", said her inked boyfriend. He was now standing in the audience. "Judge? I need her keys, we parked out front." said the boyfriend.
The girl awkwardly tried to get the keys out of her jeans pocket, the large balding bailiff, even more awkwardly tried to help. Finally he walked the keys over to the separating gate, where the boyfriend was waiting and handed them over. The boyfriend looked Maria in the eyes and nodded. He turned and walked out the courtroom doors. Maria turned toward the steel door, not making a sound, her face a mess of tears. Again, awkward as the bailiff tried to help her by wiping her tears with a tissue.
"You're doing good Maria. This is only a small thing. You're doing real good. I'll see you soon." said the judge compassionately.
Maria nodded as she was escorted through the thick steel door. It closed behind her.

One by one members of the audience were called up in front of the judge. One by one they admitted, denied or explained thier drug related infractions. Some left out the courtroom doors, others through the steel door on the side.

The professional looking thirty year old woman had an addiction to painkillers and anti-depressants and her doctor disagreed with the Courts order of abstinence, arguing through a note that she needed to gradually wean off. The judge responded to the note by asking her if she would like to opt out of drug court, because he understood the doctor's point, but drug court was a court of abstinence. She declined opting out, instead asking to stay and expressing appreciation for drug court. She'd entered through the courtroom doors, she left through the steel one.

The relief society counselor--looking lady is a mother of 3 and addicted to prescription medications relating to depression. She had been convicted of felony possession with an intent to distribute. In order to secretly fund her habit she'd sold the extra anti depressants to neighbor, who had been caught and turned her in. She was accepted into drug court just weeks ago, and if she completes it successfully the drug court the felony charge will be dropped.

And on it went. Person by person.

Last was a young 21-year old girl. Beautiful generic blond. Cute face, prettily shaped body with a trendy pink purse. She'd been sitting with her dad. She was really hot. I had to remind myself that there might exist dumber things than picking up on girls called into drug court...but not many. She'd been convicted of felony DUI. She was just beginning drug court. She must have already exhausted all of her tears because her face was stone the entire time she spoke with the judge.