Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in To Kill a Mockingbird
None of them look at Tom. Of course, I knew they wouldn't. After all, no jury looks at a man they convicted. It surprises me that I allow myself a tiny shred of hope; thinking that maybe reason will penetrate their so very human hearts. They are human. That's what I tell myself when I feel so discouraged I can't think straight. That thought is what keeps me sane in this ridiculously cruel time. These men can't help but bring their prejudices to the courtroom. I wish I could expect more, but I know that's impossible. That's why my hope for an acquittal, no matter how minuscule it is, shocks me. The jury was deliberating for so long, I tell myself, that's why I'm not as certain as I thought. That's just justifying my feelings, I know, but I'm human too.
I wonder what Jem and Scout are thinking. Scout is so young that I doubt she truly understands the enormity of this trial. I know Jem thinks we won and he will be confused and shocked. Strangely, I wouldn't have spared them this trial if I could have. Maybe this experience will teach them not to make the mistakes of my generation. If I can only teach them, my own children, the value of equality then I will have done my job.
The jury foreman hands the clerk the verdict and he gives it to Judge Taylor. As the judge polls the jury each word tells me what I know already. Tom Robinson, a black man, is, in the eyes of these white jurors, guilty of raping Mayella Ewell, a white woman. Usually I take a minute to digest the verdict, to think, after a trial. Today, I just open my briefcase, the one I've had since I started practising law, and put my papers inside. There's nothing to think about this time.
I force myself to walk over to the court reporter and thank him. That faceless recorder who strikes remarks from the record, even though they can't be erased from the human memory. I nod to Mr. Gilmer on my way by and catch his eye. His face wears a blank look that I know resembles mine. When I reach Tom I put my hand on his shoulder and lean down to look into his defeated black eyes. "I'm sorry, but we knew…" I whisper. I'm uncomfortable caught without words but know there are none. We both knew how this trial would end, though I'm sure he shared my secret optimism.
Suddenly I feel the court is stifling. I take the coat from the back of my chair and move towards the middle aisle, the quickest route out of this room. As I walk between the rows of seats, avoiding the stares of my friends and neighbours, out of the corner of my eyes, I see the Negroes in the balcony slowly rise to their feet, in a great wave. When I realize they are standing for me, I feel slightly ashamed. They want to act as if I'm a hero, but I'm human too.