The Sidewalk Is Haunted

That's where our walk from one end of campus to the other started. That's where we were when a sleepy student yelled out his window to tell us our laughter was too loud. That's where he ran ahead to hide behind a corner, and that's where we screamed when he jumped out from the corner. That's where she got her running start, and that patch of grass is where she tackled him to the ground. That's where I doubled over in laughter.

Way over there. . . that's where I sat alone when I needed to think. And way over there, in the opposite direction. . . that's where I sat alone when I needed to escape. And way over there, there's a bench hidden beside some bushes. . . that's where we sat when we needed to escape together.

That's the route we took when we walked in the rain for no reason. That's the route we took when we walked and talked about "us." That's the route we took when we needed late-night caffeine before finishing our work.

And this is the route I take when I remember. When I see life playing out as a film. When I wish that I could have the past four years back. When I wish that the sidewalks were alive, rather than haunted.

Torn

Today, I watched my boss ruin a man's life. In the name of justice.

Today, I found a reason to doubt my desire to be a prosecutor. Because I don't want their brand of justice.

Two years ago, a young man was out partying and found himself engaged in an argument. Another young man approached, trying to stop the argument from turning into a fight. The good samaritan was assaulted by the young man.

The good samaritan suffered serious head trauma. He can't remember that night. In fact, because of memory problems resulting from the head trauma, he can't remember simple, everyday things. He's been rejected by thirty prospective employers because his health problems are an insurance liability. All because of one stupid altercation on one stupid night.

The young man was a gifted student and athlete. He was attending a university on full athletic scholarship, set to graduate in December, leaving one semester on scholarship during which he planned to start his MBA for free. But as of today, he is a convicted felon, serving a two-year prison sentence. No more scholarship, no more graduation, no more MBA. All because of one stupid altercation on one stupid night.

The defense attorney asked for a stay on the prison term, so that the young man could finish his degree. The judge denied the request.

I asked the prosecutor, my boss, whether he felt any remorse for what he had done. The question confused him. To him, it was simple: Actions have consequences. If you fight with someone and cause serious harm, you'll go to prison. End of story.

I argued that taking away the young man's scholarship and college degree doesn't change anything. It doesn't make the situation better. It only makes the young man's life harder. How do we expect him to do anything after getting out of prison when we're taking away his chances now?

The prosecutor was unmoved. If the young man wants to get his MBA, he'll go back to school and finish the degrees when he gets out. In fact, he'll probably serve only six months before being paroled. But he should feel lucky. The victim, the good samaritan, can't even dream about a college degree. He can hardly find work. He can't even think about being in a relationship without being overwhelmed by sadness, because he knows for a fact that he will not be able to remember his anniversary. The good samaritan sat in the very chair I was sitting in, and he was overcome with frustration by his inability to remember the simplest, most stupid little things that we all take for granted.

And as I listened to the prosecutor, I found myself ready to cry. The good samaritan will never be the same again. But neither will the young man. And putting the latter in prison won't make the former whole again. It's a lose-lose situation.

Today, I was disappointed by humanity. One man crippled by a stupid altercation on a stupid night. And another man crippled by a misguided sense of justice in a misguided justice system.

So I stood up, and with my back to my boss said, "I need to quit thinking like a social worker. I'll see you tomorrow." And as I walked away, he laughed.