My Brush with Law

Just like every other idealistic college student, for four years, my career aspirations changed every three seconds. One enjoyable music class, and I was sure I’d be a brilliant composer. One insightful physics lecture, and I was bound to be a revolutionary scientist. During my sophomore year, I took a course on the United States’ law and legal system. From there, I had the briefly-lived notion that I’d study law. This idea died a grisly death during the spring of my junior year when a Constitutional law class manhandled me. However, during that fall, I enrolled in a legal reasoning course.

The legal reasoning course was taught by the same professor as my previous year’s U.S. law course. This one, however, was a small discussion-based forum where we discussed a series of readings and cases. At first, I felt handicapped, having a remarkably limited background in politics or law. Eventually though, it became apparent that politics is just what you call it when people talk with enough conviction to conceal their actual ignorance. I still usually lost debates that involved knowing domestic policy, but I quickly caught up to having an adequate awareness of the legal system.

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One memorable class took place when the professor had us all read a case involving a legally questionable use of medicinal marijuana. We debated the legality and ethics of the case and largely kept our personal opinions at bay. Not one student though. I forgot his name, but he seemed seedy, so I’ll call him Kael. Kael launched into an argument that floored our poor teacher. “Ya see, this is what I’m talkin’ ’bout. You can’t jus’ go buy an eighth ’a weed for 30 dollars, 40 dollars, e’en 50 dollars an’ go tellin’ everyone ’bout it. This man din’t do nuttin’, he was jus’ sick. I wouln’t say nuttin’ to someone who was jus’ sick. He prolly bought a G or two, meb’ three or four Gs, an’ he prolly paid, oh, 20 or 30 bucks fo’ it. In fact, because he was caught, he prolly paid more—40 or 50 bucks fo’ it. Now that’s jus’ too much.” When he was done, I’m certain he did not name a single detail of the case, discuss the ethics of medicinal marijuana, or even give the slightest indication he was coherent enough the previous night to read an essay. Someone in or out of law school, please reassure me these people don’t make it that far.

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Kael has nothing to do with my story though. Actually, Kael and I became friends. We had a mutual fondness for rambling on about nothing for hours. The bane of my legal reasoning class ended up being a short blonde girl named Darcy. She was a bit overweight, wore wiry John Lennon glasses, and spoke with a growl that was unpleasant but, for the most part, tolerable. Throughout most of the year, we had no bitter feelings toward each other. In fact, at times, we were downright friends. We shared a coffee a few times before class, and we gossiped about Kael whenever he was hazily distracted by shiny objects. We were paired together in our class’ final project, and initially, we were excited about it.

For the project, the professor had us all read a lengthy case involving a man accidentally shooting, but not killing, another man. The case had a number of fine legal points, at least as fine as a single undergraduate course could allow: whether the court should admit certain evidence, whether the case remains within a particular jurisdiction, and so on. My class was paired off, and we were each instructed to defend one of the point’s sides. The professor had a friend who worked as an actual judge who was going to preside over our undergraduate tomfoolery. The judge would determine, from an unbiased standpoint, who was most convincing. Darcy and I were assigned opposite sides of perhaps the most interesting question: was the gunman guilty? Darcy had to prove him guilty, and I had to prove him not guilty.

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After class, Darcy and I were walking back to our dorms, and I ran an idea by her. “Would you want to meet up one night and practice? We could each pretend we’re talking to the judge, give our arguments and counterarguments, and make our cases stronger.” Darcy agreed, thinking it would be helpful. After all, nothing huge was at stake. Winning the argument did not influence our grade in the class, and no man’s freedom was truly being determined. What was the harm in strengthening our speeches? We decided on a night and time to meet.

I spent the next couple of weeks working out my arguments. The professor specifically told us not to attempt actual legal research. In other words, we were not supposed to try and track down prior cases or laws. Instead, we had to use a few legal details she supplied us, cases from previous classes, and pure logical reasoning. Even after all these years, I remember there was reason to believe the defendant did not know the bullet would actually hit the plaintiff. To prove the shooter not guilty, I thought of an analogy. Say you became extremely upset one day and recklessly fired a gun into a wall of your own home. However, someone was walking around outside of your home, on your property, and happened to be in the way of the bullet. If you hit him, is it your fault? It was a neat way to personalize the case and call into question whether the shooter was at fault. I liked it so much, in fact, that I decided to begin my argument with it.

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Eventually, it was time for Darcy and me to meet, and we agreed on a room in her dormitory’s basement. We went through our usual routine of gossiping about Kael behind his back and complaining about the general plight of the vagabond twentysomething. I proposed that we get started, and both of us sat down on the opposite sides of a long rickety table. We took out our copies of the case and our notes so far and spread them out in front of us. I volunteered to go first and stood up. I paused a second and eased my gaze into Darcy’s eyes. I craned my chin up, hunched my shoulders back and began. “Say you became extremely upset one day and recklessly fired a gun….”

There was no use continuing. The idea of talking to an imaginary judge was comic gold to Darcy. She started laughing hysterically, her cheeks turning a purplish red, and her glasses cocked towards the end of her nose. I knew practicing a mock trial in a dormitory basement was not exactly a matter of grave importance, but I still wanted to get through this. “Calm down, Darcy! You’ll have to speak soon too, you know!” I was beginning to see the sinister side of Darcy. She threw herself onto the table, her laughs turning into high-pitched wails and her ears becoming the same hue as her cheeks. I began to feel embarrassed, as though if I looked down, I would suddenly realize I was naked from the waist down.

At first, I tried to handle this as though a rambunctious nine-year-old kid were trying to disrupt me. “Okay, okay, I know this is ridiculous,” I said calmly, “but we’re going to be doing this in a few days anyway.” It took a few seconds, but she straightened her back, and her laughs turned into a few involuntary pops, similar to a pot of water on the verge of boiling. I smiled at her, trying to ease the awkwardness, and began again. “Say you became extremely upset one day and recklessly fired a gun….”

The outburst of laughter erupted like a volcano, swallowing my dignity with an endless flow of ridicule-tinged lava. Her glasses were now fogged with tears, and her entire face was instantly a deep crimson, seemingly unable to control spasms of snickers and grumbles. “Fine!” I shouted, with a mixture of anger and resignation. “Why don’t you go first, and I’ll follow you?” As I waited for her to wipe tears off her cheeks and adjust her glasses, she hiccupped “Okay, I’ll try” in between restrained chortles.

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As I hesitantly lowered myself on my chair, she stood up. Her body was practically shaking, and there was still color throughout her face, but finally, she made a concerted effort to stop laughing. She adjusted the sheet of notes in front of her and cleared her throat. “Okay, your honor, I would like to…,” and then she stopped. She could no longer speak, and the pent-up laughter roared out of her while she fell down onto her chair. Her notes flew out of her hand, and she had to catch her glasses as they tumbled off her convulsing face and nearly crashed onto the floor. Her laughs were now unrestrained shrieking outbursts.

We continued like this for another fifteen minutes. I did eventually make it through around a third of my speech, but that was all. Eventually, we admitted there was no use continuing. She never learned what cases reminded me of this one, and she never heard my argument for why the person who was shot should be held liable. Similarly, I never heard a single one of her thoughts. Instead, I mostly learned that Darcy was a bumbling idiot.

Or so I thought, anyway. Several days later we had the mock trial. The professor elected me to speak first, and I walked up to the podium and greeted her friend. “Good afternoon, your honor,” I began. “Say you became extremely upset one day and recklessly fired a gun….” I half-expected Darcy to roll over laughing during my opening speech, but she didn’t. She remained calm and emotionless, nervous even, and she spent most of her time jotting down notes and preparing her own arguments. I finished my speech, the judge thanked me, and I returned to my seat next to Darcy. It was her turn now.

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“Welcome, your honor. The claimant mentioned an analogy where you fire a gun in your own house and accidentally shoot someone on your property.” I froze. She knew my analogy, the crux of my argument, and had days to prepare a rebuttal. “Although, what if,” she continued, “he was no stranger, but instead someone you knew and had reason to assume might be on your property.” Not only had she prepared a counterargument, but she had found a good one. She had thought through my analogy, found a way that it differed from our case, and exploited it for all it was worth.

I wanted to scream to the judge, “You don’t understand! Darcy’s not actually clever! In fact, she’s an idiot with the self-control of a chimpanzee! She only had a good argument because she knew mine in advance!” Unfortunately, I doubted that the teacher would approve of us sharing arguments, even if it was ultimately damning for me. Moreover, unlike Darcy, I had matured past the fourth grade. I accepted that I had just been played like a Neo Geo.

Needless to say, I lost the trial. Darcy’s gumption won her this round. The good news, though, is I suppose I had an early taste of the “real world.” I did not lose because I tried hard but fell to the better man. Rather, I lost because I trusted someone and got laughed at. I think this is also why most bills never become law.

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