Jury Day
by Michael Kozart
It’s ten a.m. and the opening credits of Savage Passion give way to Rex Hausmann in tattered pants washing ashore on Puerto Seguro. He’s escaped from a pirate ship where, for several episodes, he’d been shackled and fed mostly moldy bread. Exhausted, he limps to the island’s interior, discovering a coca plantation run by a kingpin.
The screen cuts to a commercial. I nibble chocolate chip pancakes, waiting for the show to resume. There’s a knock. Shamus, curled up on the floor, flares his canines. I head to the front door and look through the spyhole. There’s no one, though that doesn’t mean there is no one. Of course, they’d send someone around to rope us in.
Slipping into sweats and cross trainers, I sneak out the rear, Shamus prancing behind. We scamper through the neighbor’s yard and back to the street where the car’s parked.
Racing to Costco, there’s no sign of the government, at least from what I can see in the rearview. In the electronics department, with the sales rep super busy, I punch in Channel 5 on the remote-control. Rex Hausmann returns, on 200 screens no less.
Blonde hair flapping, pecs flexing, he races up the slope of a volcano, chased by a burro-riding posse which includes the kingpin. Then the picture cuts to a mysterious priest on a pulpit in a dark chapel, stone goblet in one hand, crucifix in the other.
Another commercial break. Scrubbing Bubbles toilet bowl disinfectant. I look around. There are just some bored security guards here and about. The action resumes, again, on 200 screens.
Rex is at the rim of the volcano, lava bubbling like tomato sauce. The posse reaches for shotguns. I reach for Shamus. The priest’s voice bellows in the background, Benedictus Dominus Deus, deep and serious. A fireball erupts and the posse scatters, but not before firing shots. Rex is twisted in pain. A brunette in a leotard appears out of nowhere and leads him through a secret door in the basalt.
There’s a tap on my shoulder. The sales rep wants to know who said we could change the channel. He says we even though Shamus is hardly in on it.
Run, I say to Shamus. We break for the parking lot. There are sirens in the distance, so I motor through a yellow-light to the next best option, Nails by Laura, in a strip mall next to Baskin Robbins, keeping one eye on the rearview.
Ms. Laura greets us in a blue kimono, says I look pretty, and directs me to a recliner. A tub of water appears at my feet and my sleeves get rolled up. Shamus receives a rawhide. Fortunately, they have a nice 55-inch. I request Savage Passion instead of the noisy game show that no one’s watching.
No English, says one attendant, followed by all the other attendants. There are at least six. I’m the only customer. Kids peek through a curtain that leads to a room with bicycles and futons. I smell steamed rice. Ms. Laura’s on the phone talking about tonsilitis. I reach for the remote control, knocking over another tub, and Shamus scampers away. Sorry, I say to him while racing through channels. There must be a thousand, mostly international. Ms. Laura approaches, seizes the remote and the TV clicks to Channel 5. Thank God.
Now Rex lies on a cot in the chapel, bleeding, organ music in the background. The priest leans over him while the leotard lady tears up, beating her chest.
The attendants giggle. Why? There’s another break: Arctic Crystal window cleaner followed by Sheen and Shine, four detergents in one.
A man without teeth in flappy corduroys, needing a belt, hobbles through the curtain. America number one, he says, smiling, and all the attendants smile too.
Action resumes. Rex kisses the leotard lady and assumes a yoga pose (cobra) while the priest looks to the sky and the closing credits arrive with violin theme music.
As I get up—now with turquoise nails (feet and hands)—Ms. Laura offers coupons and lets Shamus keep his chew toy while everyone cleans up around the recliner and the old man disappears again.
Back home, I expect a bench warrant taped on the front door, but I know they have to serve you in person, so it will be illegitimate.
What I find is a nice handwritten note inviting me to a church service in the neighborhood. Inside, there’s been no break in. Nothing’s ransacked. I glance at the summons and my eyes catch the date. Oops. I am supposed to appear tomorrow, not today. Best to read the instructions, I suppose. I put on my glasses:
Prospective jurors must call the night before to see if they’re required to appear the next day.
That’s a ploy to ensure that the government knows that we know so we can be held accountable. Do they think we’re naïve? I rip up the letter, exactly what Rex Hausmann would have done because there are times when you follow what’s in your heart even if there are risks attached.
Shamus barks.
Good boy.
It’s settled. We’re staying home, and if they send someone around like a truancy officer, we’ll just give them the slip. I have a feeling that love is in the air for Rex Hausmann and Ms. Leotard, and peace will prevail on Puerto Seguro no matter how many commercials get in the way. We just have to keep watching. I’m sure there are some who’d rather serve on a jury, but to each their own. Not to get melodramatic, but that’s what makes this country great.
Michael Kozart lives in Northern California where he works in a non-profit community health center. His story ‘Polaris’ won the Summer 2021 Sixfold competition, and his flash piece ‘Hock’ placed second in the Fall 2021 Flash Fiction Magazine contest. His work has been nominated for Best Small Fictions and been published in many literary journals including Into the Void, Every Day Fiction, MoonPark Review, and more.