Unsuspecting Blessing.

xxxiv

xxxiv

"Julia!" Brian shouted, pulling the blinds up and letting the burning sunlight flood the room with an ounce of unexpectedness.

"You know," I groaned, while stretching softly to avoid putting myself through more pain than necessary, "you shouldn't really wake a girl up like that."

"With excitement?" he asked, as he left the room and surely made his way to the kitchen.

"With sunlight!" I hollered. An aroma of cooking breakfast swept through the hallway once I found the floor with my feet. I used the walls and sturdy furniture to hobble around out to the kitchen, and saw the eccentric sight of giant fluffy pancakes and diced bananas. The two smells collided to make a sweet fusion in my nose.

"I figured," Brian said while flipping a pancake on the stove, "that today could use a little extra fuel."

I sat down and watched him cook as I always did.

"The pancakes are strawberry, says the mix that I used, but we will see about that."

They were strawberry and delightfully so, a little bit artificially so as well but mostly delightfully. I put the bananas on top of each bite and they helped to make a balanced fruit flavor. I took a deep breath unknown to myself while eating with an accompanying sigh and caught Brian's attention.

He passed his look at me, and said: "It's going to be okay. Win or lose."

...

When we entered the courtroom, it was smaller than I had imagined; no bigger than a highschool science classroom. There were desks and chairs all set up in two columns and then a microphone at the head of each column to signify where I would be standing and where the driver would be standing. Not many people were there when I entered, but as the time passed on a few more filled out the seats behind me. Including an officer that I vaguely remembered seeing at the accident, but somehow the feeling felt false; manufactured by the thought that there should have been an officer most likely. But, nonetheless, he shook my hand when he greeted me and did not state his name.

The judge had not shown up yet, and to my surprise there were no jurors to watch the case. Then they all showed up, the jurors and the judge. Eight jurors and a single judge—like there would be more than one judge, I thought. The jurors ranged from many ages and were an uneven amount with more men than women. That sight made me fret, and the pressure to look innocent came over me and I waved to the jurors instinctively.

"Ms. Greenwood, do you know any of the jurors?" The Judge spoke on the microphone set up for him and the sound boomed all around me.

"No," I said, my voice hesitating in my throat.

"Then please do not interact with the jury." His voice surrounded me again.

The judge was older, with white hair and a wrinkled, haggard face that reminded me of a stereotypical fantasy character after the age of sixty. His voice surprised me and had sent a tremor through my chest and into my stomach. I turned around and faced Brian who sat behind me, and he gave me a look of encouragement that somewhat restored my sanity in the situation. His aquiline nose and heavy head of dark hair felt comforting to me in that moment, like a sort of dominance over the situation.

Minutes of silence and muted shuffling feet of more people coming into the courtroom passed without any progress on the driver. My heart rate started to heighten, and the amped feeling that it gave me shook my flesh with lunatic anxiety as I started to feel more and more paranoid that the jury had already made their final decision. It was my understanding, however, that if the driver failed to appear the case would be pushed to a later date just once before being dismissed. Then, a man came into the courtroom behind the judge and whispered in his honor's ear. The judge then wore a smugly curious face, but after whatever message was being delivered got through it was merely one of surprise.

After a while he spoke: "It has come to my attention," he bellowed on the speakers, "that Mr. Zane Symons will not be attending today," he paused seemingly unintentionally, "because on his way over to this courthouse he was in a car accident."

I was stunned, and almost spoke into the microphone instantaneously.

"Another one," the judge said, "ironically enough. And he will be taken to jail after this one, and be deported, but it seems to me that you are legally in the right in this trial and should justly be awarded the amount owed."

"And how much is that?" I asked, alarmed by how much my own voice echoed in the room's speakers.

"Fifteen thousand dollars, Ms. Greenwood."

I lost my voice as soon as he informed me of the amount, audibly gasping in the microphone and hearing my breath bounce all around the room for a moment. Once the realization of the amount of money settled in my skin, I nearly fainted as my vision flickered and my head grew light. Before I knew I had stumbled, Brian supported my balance.

"Are you okay, Ms. Greenwood?"

I bent to the microphone, "Yes, yes, yes I'm spectacular!"

The judge spoke legal words, to which most I did not understand, but then finished with: "Thank you, Jury, for your service today. Court is adjourned." After a while of me standing at the microphone still, he said to me: "You are free to go for now, Ms Greenwood. You will have to speak with our court secretary, and get an order for the sheriff to receive your awarded amount."

"Th—thank you, have a nice day," I said, still stunned.