Innocent

The photos in his office told a story.

I thought I knew him well.

When we grew close, he added details explaining the relevance of each.

One photo had him standing with a soccer ball and a trophy.

A young boy of thirteen with a wide grin, intense eyes and mud all over his body.

He told how his middle school team had just won a championship

And he was chosen as the MVP.

But that year, his parents divorced and he changed schools.

The next photo is of him in his graduation gown from high school,

With an array of ribbons signifying his accomplishments.

He remarked that two years before he’d been hospitalized for trying to hurt himself,

But he picked himself back up

And got through it all.

The next photo was him being sworn in as a judge,

Smiling confidently, and looking amazing.

He told how he had worked so hard defending

Persons whose lives had been irretrievably altered

Through no fault of their own,

And how he always felt that he understood their pain.

One day, I knocked on his door to tell him that it was time to start his day in court.

I opened the door quickly as I usually would.

I noticed him slipping a photo back into his desk.

After the break, I again went to let him know that it was time to resume in the courtroom.

He asked if I had a moment.

He took the photo out of his drawer.

He showed me the photo of a sweet, seven-year-old boy, missing his two front teeth.

The smile was beautiful.

His eyes were bright and full of life.

He said this was the most important photo in his office.

In fact, he said, it is the only one that really matters.

Innocent, sweet, easy smile.

He said that was the last time he really smiled.