I’m relieved to see Chase is already here, sitting in the front row, right behind the defense table. As we pass that row, I risk a glance at him. His hair, uncombed, makes him look wildly handsome. His head is in his hands, so I can’t see much of his face, but enough to tell he hasn’t shaved. I try to catch his eye as we walk toward the judge, but he doesn’t look up.
I can’t think about Chase now. I can’t worry about anything except Jeremy.
My brother is already sitting behind the table, looking like his skin won’t hold him, like everything he’s knotted up inside is fixing to bust out.
The courtroom grows silent as Raymond and I stand in front of the judge. It’s a packed house. I scan the back row, and there’s T.J., sitting with his mom. He nods at me, and I nod back. I’m not sure if I’m glad to see him or not. I think I’m a different person than I was when we were best friends. Is it possible to change so fast? All I know is that the old Hope wouldn’t be standing here, fighting for a chance to speak in front of everybody. But I am.
Prosecutor Keller strolls up, shoving between Raymond and me so he’s closer to the judge than I am. I watch Keller’s eyebrows arch up and down, like a couple of woolly worms doing calisthenics. Raymond talks fast. Keller interrupts. Raymond talks louder, waving his arms almost like Jeremy.
“Your Honor, this is ludicrous,” Keller says. I think he also says something about Raymond trying to bring elephants into the courtroom, but I’m having trouble focusing. I want to go sit down with Chase and Jeremy. “The defense’s entire request is absurd.”
“Absurd?” Raymond shouts back. “Absurd is you bringing in half your staff for your high-tech show-and-tell performance and then having the unmitigated gall to accuse us of wanting to put on a circus!”
“Mr. Munroe makes a good point, Mr. Keller,” the judge observes calmly.
“All I’m asking, Your Honor, is to be allowed one assistant and a few glass jars for demonstration and re-creation,” Raymond finishes.
“With glass jars?” Keller mocks.
“Unopened jars,” Raymond explains. “And the prosecution is welcome to test each jar for fingerprints and age to ensure they’ve not been opened by the defense or the defense’s assistant, if-”
“Ridiculous!” Keller throws back his head in a fake laugh.
“If it’s so ridiculous, then you have nothing to worry about,” Raymond says.
“Worry? Who says I’m worried?” Keller snorts. “I just don’t want to waste the court’s time with a-”
“That’ll do,” says the judge. “I’ll be the judge of what wastes the court’s time. I’ve heard enough.” She takes her time leaning back in her chair. “I’ll allow the defense’s request.” She turns to Raymond, who is beaming like he’s won a gold medal. “But, Mr. Munroe, let me remind you that I’m paying close attention. Be careful out there. And tell your assistant to do the same.”
I smile up at her, but she doesn’t smile back.
It doesn’t take long for the trial to officially start up again. This time it’s Raymond’s turn to talk to the jury. He starts off his closing argument by recalling the nice things people said under oath about Jeremy. I’d like to listen, but I can’t. I block out everything except Jeremy and his jars. As quietly as I can, with my back to the jury, I put my backpack up on the defense table and start taking out jars. One by one, I set them in front of me, straightening them, arranging each jar in chronological order. I have notes that go with each jar, if the judge lets me get that far. So I set out all my notes.
Only then do I let myself look at Jeremy. Jer isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at the jars, his eyes soft, his mouth open, lips turned up slightly, like he’s just run into old friends he hasn’t seen for years and missed something awful. When I’m all finished lining up the jars, I take Raymond’s seat next to Jer.
Raymond is still repeating testimony of the character witnesses, but the jury isn’t looking at him. They’re watching me. Me and Jeremy. Raymond must see this too, because he stops suddenly. Then he says, “I could go on and on and tell you what you’ve already heard, but I don’t want to do that. Instead, I’ve brought with me my assistant. I think you’ll remember her from when she testified before you in court: Hope Long, Jeremy’s sister. I’d like Hope to walk you through what we believe really happened on the day John Johnson was murdered.” He comes over and waits for me to get up so he can sit down.
My knees wobble when I stand. Something that doesn’t belong in my throat is pounding there. I cough a couple of times as I step around the table and face the jury on the other side of the courtroom. “You guys may be wondering why I brought these empty jars to court this morning,” I begin. “These are just a few of over a hundred glass jars my brother has on shelves that go all the way around his room. Jeremy collects them. You already heard that in court.” I hate my voice. It’s weak and shaky, but I make myself keep going, like I rehearsed. “Collecting empty jars is a weird hobby, but so’s collecting stamps or aluminum foil, or string, or Barbies, or glass fairies, or sea glass, right? My whole life, I thought these were empty jars, that Jeremy was collecting the jars themselves. But I found out different last night when I accidentally knocked into a shelf full of these jars. One fell off and broke.” I glance at Jeremy. “I’m sorry about that, Jer.”
“Louder, Hope,” Raymond whispers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse Keller, itching to stand up and object. I clear my throat and try to speak louder. “Anyway, that’s when I discovered that these jars aren’t empty at all. And that’s why I brought these here-to demonstrate and re-create that day of June eleventh, when somebody murdered John Johnson.” Raymond told me to work those words in, so now I have. “See, each jar is labeled on the bottom with a time and a date.” I hold up the first two jars, one in each hand, and walk them over to the jury and back. “There are labels on the inside, on bits of paper tucked under the lids, so you can’t see them. That’s what I discovered when I broke that jar last night. And I discovered something else too. My brother didn’t collect empty jars. He collected air. Air and moments and memories.”
I let that one sink in while I set down the two jars. “I brought a few jars from different years so you could get an idea of how Jeremy stored things, all in perfect order. Some days, he collected moments that meant a lot to the whole nation or world, like this one, dated November 4, 2008. I can read the date on the bottom of the jar, but I can’t see the inside label unless I take off the lid, which I don’t want to do, if it’s all the same to you. I’m pretty sure the label will read something like Obama is elected president. ”
I pick up a Mason jar, and it strikes me that the glass is the color of Chase’s eyes early in the morning. “The date on this one is five years ago, July second. I have no idea what’s in here. But if Jeremy doesn’t mind, I’d like to find out the same time you do, just to give us a better idea how this all works.”
I glance back at Jeremy. He doesn’t give me a go-ahead nod, but he doesn’t freak out either. I take that as a yes and twist the lid. It takes muscle, and for a second I’m afraid I won’t be able to get it off. Then it gives. As I lift that ridged silver lid, I imagine a whoosh of air in my face, and I blink.
“Yep. There’s a piece of paper wedged in here.” Fingers trembling, I dig out the note and read it, my voice breaking: Air of a sunlit afternoon in Enid, Oklahoma, when Hope and I write funny notes.
I bite my lip hard enough to keep back tears. I have no idea which afternoon that was or why it meant enough to my brother to save. “I can do another jar like this, if you want,” I say to the judge. “But I’d rather skip to these last ones. They’re all dated June eleventh, the day of the murder.”
“Why don’t you move on to that day, then, Hope?” The judge widens her eyes at the jury, then turns back to me. “I think the jury understands the collection.”