a morning in court

[Note to readers: Caps used!]

"In two weeks time, I'll be sworn in as a barrister of this Court," said the graying lawyer to his elder friend, who was thinking about pancakes. If only he had heard his alarm the first time it went off; then he wouldn't have had to skip breakfast. Legal jargon left him unmoved. He was here for a different matter entirely. He was here for the Court's architecture.

The room consisted only of imported resources, the clerk had told the girl in blue yesterday. Although friendly enough, a hint of that East Coast supremacy floated about him as he pointed out the figures of Moses, Napoleon, and Confucius, each a seven-foot tall engraving in the Supreme Court frieze. I'm sure Napoleon would have appreciated the exaggeration of height. She was sarcastic at heart.

"The marble for these columns-" he gestured to the monstrous pillars behind the Justices' seats- "came from Siena, Italy."

Siena! She'd seen those quarries summers earlier, knee-deep in thistle weeds near a bus stop in Piombino. The scent had reminded her of her Thinking Hill in California, where she'd watch fireworks and write in her journal, but, that summer, she was eight thousand miles away from that haven. Eight thousand seven-minute jogs. Ignoring the obstacle of the ocean, it would have taken her almost thirty-nine days to run home without stopping. It was cold that evening near the coast, that evening at the bus stop. Her heart had felt the chill. Giant quarries to the East exposed wounded mountainsides, parts of which had been carted thousands miles away.

To her left, the lawyer re-crossed his legs. "Been here before?"

She shook her head. Photographs in high school text books epitomized her prior exposure to the United States' highest Court. Although she was a newcomer, she knew each Justice by name, seated in descending order of seniority, starting in the center with Rehnquist and alternating from left to right, ending with Justice Breyer, who had already spent eleven years in the junior seat. Poor guy. Eleven years on the job and still the most inferior of the gang, Breyer's duties included defending the constitution of the United States and making Starbucks runs for his eight other colleagues.

The Court sat down as the Justices took their seats. And what a clan they were! Rehnquist, in the center, was hunched over notes constantly shuttled to him by his aide. Although the Courtroom had to strain to hear his withering voice and his aide had to help him out of his chair every time he needed to excuse himself, Justice Rehnquist exuded nothing but authority and honesty.

The case, concerning a Mexican national on death row in Texas (surprise, surprise), began as a clear monologue presented by [insert stereotypical lawyer here] but soon became a Q&A with the Supreme Court. The thirty minutes allotted to each side would not be enough for both the lawyers' speeches and a quiz session, and the Court preferred the latter. So it goes.

His hunger having overtaken him, the elderly man had fallen asleep in the third row. So had Justice Thomas, or so it seemed. His arms were crossed and his head rested on the smooth leather backing of his reclined swivel chair. Justice Scalia cornered the lawyer with a question while Justice O’Connor’s eagle eyes took in every detail.

The girl with memories of Tuscan travels smiled at a boy with olive skin behind the Justices' bench. They'd known each other for nine years. Although he was no longer an awkward freshman in high school, he hadn't changed one bit. She had gone to DC to make sure of it.

[Unfinished.]