Jury Duty Questionnaire

by Jadzia Santiago

 

After “A Field of Onions: Brown Study” by Vanessa Angelica Villarreal

  1. I fill out the questionnaire in the hall bursting with tired people. I will be free to go when my name is read from the list, when I have lifted my body and the hardship bursts through me, a quick, shaky disqualification.
  1. To check: Sex, race, grudges. The lawsuits piled by front doors. That is where it says to put the boots.
  1. On the sidewalk, a nineteen-year-old is beaten by the police into the shape of a monthly government check. This is my uncle. Years later, a woman flies from the hood of a squad car and lands in the same spot, arm dangling, snapped in two. This is his mother.
  1. Question: Would you be less likely to believe the testimony of a law enforcement officer simply because of his or her job?
  1. Answer: SANTIAGO vs. CITY OF NEW YORK, et. al. If the award was several thousand dollars, twice, how many soles were on the ground?
  1. To ruin a life is to crush its potential; to break; to stain.
  1. Could you forget the crimson sound of the screams, hypothetically? The family takes the subway to the courthouse, through those uniforms swarming on the platforms. Hear the crunches, echoing.
  1. Uncle at his mother’s funeral: insisting he is next in his ramblings and undone tie. For now, he works nights at the stadium and walks around as if lost.
  1. Good morning, grandmother carrying her groceries, bags of rice and beans. Heal, you struggling teenager. Not you. I know the color of your bloodied face.
  1. Solution: black rubber.
  1. My father says, The only benefit to Mamí being dead is that the NYPD doesn’t get to kill her.
  1. Your tío always wanted to go to school, you know, but he missed a lot because none of us could ever take him. He was very smart, before.
  1. Natural death is a method of resisting arrest.
  1. I think about a teenage boy walking on the broken concrete, before slipping and falling into a void he can never return from. Right now, he thinks of life as an expanse of hope. Step, crunch. Step and crunch. Right now, he is a grain of rice in a grocery bag. Right now, the world gives way underneath him like the weight of his body means something.
  1. Afterward, at least four officers take off their boots by their front doors — at least four pieces of exposed white bone.
  1. The tips of government laces, tied bureaucratic knots, red-stained windshield. A family tree, an axe.
  1. There are multiple forms of bias that have the same justification: blood.
  1. And even if I could put this all aside, these questionnaires are marked for their destination solely by color.
  1. Your Honor: I remember the blood on every pale sidewalk stained. I am a bruise darkening. I request to be dismissed for this reason.

 



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