Last year, my ex-boyfriend and I were put on the same jury and I delayed the verdict by four weeks because, well, I just didn’t want to agree with him.
Sure, the case (a murder trial, actually) was slightly bigger than the two of us, but that didn’t matter to me. What mattered was me being right and if I stopped holding us back and agreed with the everyone else on the panel, I would be agreeing with Ben, and nothing would make that smug bastard happier.
Yes, I delayed the verdict and kept us in that room for almost a month, but he wasted a year and a half of my life and that’s time I’ll never get back either, so lose-lose, I guess.
Some people wonder how we ended up on the same jury together because of the potential “conflict of interest.” It’s weird, Ben used to say that introducing me to his parents would be a “conflict of interest,” whatever that means. The truth is, when the judge asked me, “Do you know anyone on this jury?” I answered honestly. “I…thought I did, your honor.”
I’m sure the victims in this trial, a family (definitely) murdered by their son (who totally did it, who are we kidding), thought they knew someone, too. As the seasons changed and the verdict remained unreached, I sat in the room and thought about the case, but mostly thought about my relationship with Ben, and I reached my own verdict: You can never really know someone.
As deliberations began, I told the rest of the jury I didn’t want to rush into anything, or commit to a decision right away, which is ironic, considering my ex-boyfriend is the one with commitment issues. But truly, we had a very heavy decision to make. We were considering a death sentence. A death sentence, which is exactly how my ex described marriage. But that’s not important. What’s important is remaining fair and impartial and examining the evidence. Exhibit A: He never made time for me.
He used to tell me he was too busy “focusing on work” to make time for me. I know that working as a club promoter can be demanding, but Beau was a book club promoter. He drove for Lyft and told people to join his book club.
Exhibit B: The bloodied clothes of the Macalusos’ teenage son, found in an alley blocks away from the crime scene. Damning evidence, almost as damning as Exhibit C: How rarely Ben told me I was beautiful. He would use words like “gorgeous” and “hot,” but I just wanted to hear that I was beautiful. Especially because I was in a bad place with my self-esteem, considering that I had two skin tags when we were together. How is a person supposed to feel beautiful with two skin tags?
Sure, I considered ignoring him, but Ben was the foreman. Also ironic, considering that he used to make me dress up as a construction foreman when we roleplayed, which is a… glaring red flag looking back now. But I’m sure the Macaluso family certainly had their own red flags that they overlooked, too.
Eventually, they just selected a new jury and retried the case, which cost the state hundreds of thousands of dollars. And as the self-help books I bought after the breakup tell me: I’m worth it. Apparently, we had ourselves a hung jury. But then again, what would my ex know about being hung?