20 Years to Life

 

A Captivating Sentence

I’d have made a terrible judge. I tend to believe any story told convincingly. I’m much more gullible than I let on. A gullible judge would be about as useful as a dead house painter—technically there, but not much help.

A few good sentences, though, can make my hairs stand or settle. I can read a truly great paragraph over and over again. There’s something about it that holds me still, keeping me from glancing back at the rest of the world. I’m drawn into the action. I can hear the sputter of the two-seater plane flying overhead, or the faint heart murmur threading its way up a stethoscope to the doctor’s ear.

“Once more. Breathe in. Hold it.”

On the other hand, I might have made a decent lawyer. The law is argued with English at its most skillful, and a heartfelt sentence can grab a juror like teeth pulling at a hangnail.

Of course, there’s the stage fright—the entire courtroom watching, the judge and prosecutor waiting to pounce on every mistake. But still, I think I’d have enjoyed being a trial lawyer.

Naturally, I’d insist on a “Fingers Crossed” clause, just in case I ever got myself into trouble. I’d always put the interest of my client before my own dignity.

Assuming I bought a lotto ticket—and further assuming I won—I could sign up for law school. In four short years I’d be eighty-two and a fresh graduate, but with no practical experience. Most likely I’d be ninety before ever seeing the inside of a courtroom. I’d look old and seasoned, even though I’d really just be old. I’d hope my client wouldn’t ask how many cases like his I’d handled, or what my success rate was.

On second thought, if I hit the lotto, I probably wouldn’t go through all that. I’d pour myself a refreshing beverage and watch Matlock. After all, who’d hire a lawyer foolish enough to think he could win the lottery—let alone life?