I Can Be

She stood there, reviewing her notes. The Judge would be in any minute. I haven't even met the child yet, she thought. She checked her watch. Five minutes.

"Counsel, step into chambers, please." The Judge disappeared behind a large steel door. The State followed her inside. Judge looked up from his papers, "I hope to hear that you both have a creative solution for this young fellow?"

"I—I'm not sure what you mean, Judge." She pulled on her jacket and picked her thumb with her index finger.

"Well, I think the only option is incarceration, Judge, we don't have anywhere to send him." The State was dressed in a sharp blue suit and wore her hair straight. She shifted her weight onto her non-dominant leg and looked at Defense Counsel, crossing her arms.

"Unfortunately, I would have to agree, Your Honor. The only facilities that would take this young man require a mental health diagnosis. There's no alternative for youth in our community. His family life is terrible; he has a father who glorifies criminal behavior, and an absent mother. I hate to say it, . . ." she sighed, ". . . but incarceration seems to be the best plan."

The Judge pondered over his papers, and with a swift nod, the meeting was over.

She walked out into the hallway, a sentencing argument in her hand to review with the fourteen-year-old boy. He sat in a chair next to his father, slouched over, hiding his face with his greasy brown hair. "Will you follow me?" She turned on a black heel and walked him into a sterile room with white walls and blue chairs. "I just had a meeting with the State and the Judge—you can sit—you are most likely going to be sent to the Juvenile Detention Center. They have good programs there, and they will get you a decent education. Most of all, I think it is best for you to be away from your father for a while."

He lifted his chin at her and scanned her with his eyes. Then he puckered his lips. "So, how are you doing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you know what I would do if you were my son? Most children are not wandering around the streets at the age of fourteen until one or two in the morning let alone vandalizing property."

He sat up straighter, but now there was a half-cocked grin on his face. "Yea, but I aint your son."

She straightened her black jacket at the hem line and asked him if he had questions. Hearing none, she led him into the court room.

"I will first hear from the State and then Defense Counsel," Judge said. He listens to the State's argument and turns his attention to Counsel with soft blue eyes and a flat affect. "Go ahead."

"Your honor, I-" for the first time in her life, she wasn't sure what to say. How could I argue that the best place for a fourteen-year-old boy is locked up until he is eighteen? But, where would I send him? Am I wrong that his parents can't handle him on probation?

She glanced over at the boy's father, who was dressed in a black t-shirt, tattoos lining his arms, one of which was slung around his boy, the other in his lap. He was slouched back in his chair, no respect for the Court. His hat had been removed to uncover a balding hairline, scabs and sweat across the man's forehead. The boy was positioned as far away from her as possible, leaning into his father for support. The boy smiled at her.

She looked back to the Judge. "I am speechless for the first time in my career. I know this boy wants to go home, but I don't feel it's the best place for him. I have to argue for probation because that's what he wants, however, I cannot sit here and tell you he has any remorse for his actions and that the State's request for incarceration is unreasonable."

The boy sat up, wide-eyed and intertwining his fingers.

The Judge raised his eyebrows and sat silent for a minute. "Well, it certainly seems, young man, that your attorney is trying to argue for probation on your behalf. However, it also seems that you don't think probation will help in re-directing your behavior because you do not feel you were wrong in vandalizing private property, is that correct?"

The boy shrugged.

The Judge glanced back at counsel, a crease between his brow forming. "It is the Order of this Court that the boy be sent to Juvenile Department of Corrections, to be kept, clothed, and monitored under their jurisdiction until discharge or until the age of majority." The Judge smacked the stack of paper onto the desk in front of him and with a loud whack the proceedings were over.

She watched the boy hug his father in the hallway; her stomach in knots. There had to be something that could be done to provide for an alternative to sending these kids to a life of imprisonment. But what?

Four weeks later she sent out an e-mail to the Judges in her circuit informing them that she would no longer be accepting court appointments. "I have decided to open up a day camp for youth to provide alternatives to detention."

"What do you mean? You're just going to stop being a lawyer?" One Judge asked her one afternoon after court.

"Sure, why not? I have an art background, music background, writing background, multimedia and animation background, and interests in farm to table practices, cooking, meditation, yoga, gardening . . . " She tucked her blonde hair behind her ear and smiled at the baffled expression on the Judge's face.

"Don't get me wrong, we need someone like you providing services like these to our youth. I am especially interested in the skills-based curriculum you are indicating. But, we will sure miss you around here, you have been an asset and are a promising young attorney." Judge smiled at her like a father would his daughter on her graduation day.

"Thank you. I will miss everyone, but I won't be far. I plan to figure a way to use the courts to send referrals for at-risk youth to get involved in my programs." She winked at Judge, chuckling. "But in all seriousness, I just feel that this is right, and that this is needed, and that I am being asked to answer this call." She smiled at Judge again and said her goodbyes.

It will be amazing, she thought, after I find funding for a facility, training, art supplies, indigent clients . . .