Sitting between a woman in a suit and a man in sweats, holding his lunch in a crinkly plastic bag, she waited to be called. The head of sandy hair in front of her belonged to a man, tapping out a rhythm on his book. Several people looked his way, but his rhythm never faltered.
One at a time our names were called. After a few quick questions, answers that were never quite as quick, the Judge either told them to sit, stay, or go on their merry way.
Young woman, after young woman exited; they were all excused from serving. Whispers circulated; Tapping Man slowed his beat when the Judge spoke up.
“They’re all college students, in the middle of their semesters. This case is a capital offense and expected to last at least five months, which would delay their ability to graduate by an entire year, creating undue hardship. So, ‘no’, I’m not just excusing pretty young women.” Chuckling, he returned his eyes to his list and the next person on it.
Tapping Man’s rhythm picked right back up, but the beats shifted more erratically. The process of waiting to find out if she has to serve seemed more tiresome than actual jury service. If selected, would they call her yet again when another eighteen months pass?
Silence was suddenly startling; it was Tapping Man’s turn. Three abrupt pounds to his book signaled he was asked to stay. Sitting, his rhythm resumed fiercely.
The institutional room was still quite full. Tapping Man’s drumming was so incessant, she began pairing notes to it in her head while she waited. She always waited; not many people had last names that came after Zavattoni.
Waiting might as well be taken as a middle name. She was waiting, always waiting; waiting to take her path, waiting for her family’s path drenched in tradition to take her, waiting.
Eyeing her wrist’s new tattoo, she heard Tapping Man’s staccato end to his beats. The Judge had reached the ‘T’s and had as many people as the lawyers needed for this round of jury selection. Abruptly, they were excused.
Reaching the door to leave, the clerk recognized her, “Computer sure does like you. Guess we’ll see you in another eighteen months, huh?”
Adrianna returned the clerk’s impish smile. But, she was done waiting. Walking out the door, she was sure she would not be back.
My fiction muse has been on vacation, it would seem. Not quite sure she's back, but like Adrianna, I don't want to wait anymore. When I realized the last bit of fiction I shared was at the beginning of December, I decided to just write. Maybe she'll see me waving flags filled with color - begging her to return! lol
In the meantime, I've jumped back in with Write on Edge's prompt this week to use music to inspire a character or move a storyline. It didn't need to be any specific piece of music, so I ran with the beat of Tapping Man's drumming fingers here. Does it work?
Adrianna is part of a close friendship of four kindred spirits and this takes place in the week after Loose Spring.