A while back I was on jury duty and was the last person selected for a case against a young man (30ish) who had been arrested for possession and distribution of PCP, also known as Angel Dust. It’s a very addictive and nasty drug. He was observed selling packets outside a bodega in Harlem by someone who reported it to the police. It is typically sold in small baggies for $20.00 each.
When the undercover officers approached him they could smell the pungent odor that PCP emits and right away spotted a packet sticking out of his pocket. They arrested him without resistance. When they arrived at the police station they asked him to remove his pants and found them stuffed with 25 more packets. In addition he was carrying $350.00 in cash, all in tens and twenties. So while the officers did not actually see him complete a transaction, he was charged with “distribution” which carries a much more stringent penalty if found guilty. The jury’s job was to decide if that charge was justified beyond the significantly less onerous one of possession.
His mother would show up each day, sometimes with a young woman who I supposed to be his sister or girlfriend. 
His mother would just watch…no expression…simple resignation…weary. The accused was very nice looking, even clean cut. He wore a neat shirt and tie every day, that his mom probably brought for him. Throughout the trial he sat up straight in his chair next to his attorney. He was attentive and polite, but never testified or uttered a word except to respond, “Yes Sir”, to the judge’s periodic questions about whether he understood what was happening.
It was quite a contrasting image to the photo they showed of him in his baggy, ghetto jeans and hoodie, taken when he was arrested. Seeing him sitting there all alert and polite, one could imagine that there was a time when he’d been the apple of his Mom’s eye, the clever and happy child with such great promise. Now whatever hopes she’d had for him were about to go up in smoke. Perhaps she already knew well, why he was in this spot and those hopes had been dashed well before this moment. As a juror, there was no way to ask such questions, no way to know. But as a human, I wondered.
The trial took several days. As the case unfolded, witnesses testifying to questions posed by the public prosecutor, followed by cross-examination by the defense attorney and at times instructions from the judge, I found myself wondering what was going through the accused’s mind. In the evenings following, I’d jot down my thoughts. This is what came out.
How Did I Get Here
Written by Rob Davis 12/09/13
HOW DID I GET HERE Written By ROB DAVIS 12/09/13
Riding in the back
got the cuffs on
and the shackles biting
Grates over the windows
and the armed guard
right beside me
He looks at me from
the corner of his eye
Got to be asking himself
who is this guy
What's he doing
in this van with me
Oh well
just do your job
Just get him
where he needs to be
How did I get here
What happened to me
How did I ever
let myself
get into that PCP
Man it felt so good
when I smoked that weed
so finely laced
It took me higher
like I was flying
with the angels
out in space
But now its taken me
to this place
Two more waiting when
the van gets to the court house
Each one takes an arm
as they lead me
in the back door
And then up to the floor
where the judge and jury
wait to see
how strong a case there is
against me
There's no wondering
with these two
Not a thought in their minds
how this came to be
or what they need to do
Get him up the elevator
no niceties required
Just do the job
Not up to me
to figure out
if the charges
that got him here
are false or true
I can't help
to wonder myself
about the differences
between us
Did they have a father
who took them to his job
when the kids in school
all went with their dads
Did he take them to ballgames
and go to parent teachers day
or out for a burger
with their mom and sis
Did he give them hugs
and advice
and watch over them
Is it an excuse
or at least a reason
for what I've got
myself in now
Would I be
a different person
if I even had a dad
I mean I've got one
out there somewhere
Question is
If he saw me now
how would he feel
Would it make him feel bad
if there was a way
to let him know
what's happened
to his son
since he just
let me go
Does he even know
that I exist
Its a question I've
asked my mom
She just shakes her head
Once she said
he did know
and he cared
But then
he lost himself
And when that happened
he lost sight
of us as well
I could tell it was
a very sad moment for her
tears came to her eyes
Said she'd never spoken of it
because no matter
how she tried
he'd withdraw
a little more
Until the day
he just stopped coming
through our door
It cut her deep
but she had
no time to rest
or deal
with her own pain
With two kids to raise
and no one
to share the burden
She just went on
and did her best
But I think
I kind of understand him
pretty well
He was just
in his own private hell
He may have really tried
but just could not
give to me
whatever these cops
got from their Dads
Maybe
he even went away
like I could
very well do
Maybe that's why
I never heard from him
Who knows
what their life was like
but mine
was running wild
With nobody
to look up to
or give me
the time of day
I guess
based on where I am today
that I
went the wrong way
How did I get here
what happened to me
How did I ever let myself
get into that PCP
Man it felt so good
when I smoked that weed
so finely laced
It took my higher
like I was flying
with the angels
out in space
But now its taken me
to this place
Up they take me
to the floor
where my trial's going on
To the holding room
for future cons
They let me change
into the clothes my mom
brought for me
She's waiting
in that court room now
to see her son
get sentenced
Its either possession
or with intent to sell
The first is bad
Never good to go away
But the second
Thats another story
If they get me for intent
will be a long long time
before I see
the light of day
This cannot be happening
was not supposed
to happen to me
Very soon
I will be taken to a cell
where I'll be in
my private hell
Just like my dad
just may have been
Can't believe how far I fell
Just want to scream and yell
I'm the son
who made her laugh
when she came home
From working all those hours
so I could go to school
Dress cool
Wear dope shoes
Now I'm the son
who broke the rules
The son she'll see
be taken to a place
With barbed wire
and guard towers
true brimstone and fire
The son they said
would be something some day
She waits now in that court
to see me taken away
How did I get here
thought I was so smart
Thought I was way too clever
for them to ever catch me
Man It felt so good
when I smoked that weed
so finely laced
It took me higher
like I was flying
with the angels
out in space
But now its taken me
to this place
Soon I will be
taken to a cell
where I'll be in
my private hell
Can't believe
how far I fell
To have to count
on some white lawyer
who I don't even know
to make the case
for reasonable doubt
I just want
to put my head back and shout
Hey fucker
Yea you
The fucker who's holding my fate
in your hands
you better be good
No you better be great
You have to out gun
or at least neutralize
the prosecutor
Who unfortunately for me
has a lot of evidence
for the jury to see
He tells me
stay alert
Don't ever
hang your head
No matter how bad
things may seem to me to go
Don't let it show
Ok I tell myself
Got to keep my cool
not show how I feel
Man up
I silently yell
hang tough
don't make it no big deal
You can't walk
its true
Cause they got your ass
for possession
But you can
come back from that
Your life ain't over
The sentence for intent though
is a whole other deal
Its lights out for real
That's why I got
to stay in the groove
and know they can't prove
that just cause
I had those bags
they can possibly know
what I would do
I'm not claiming
I don't buy and use
Of course I prefer
to buy a lot at one time
and lower
the chance of getting caught
Poor strategy this time
But always worked
til now
At least its offers a reason
for how many I bought
Its what the lawyer's
got to work with
Hopefully he'll come up with more
That's what he's getting
paid so much for
Not that I'm
like the monkeys who buy from me
I'm not hooked like them
I'm no addict
I can stop
whenever I want
I could never do
what I do
if I were an addict
You need your wits about you
to live my life
Yea listen to me
Now thats some good
fucked up bullshit
Where were my wits
when I got busted
Anyway
I just like the stuff
It makes me feel good
forget all the bullshit
I've had to deal with in life
It takes me away
from the no father downer
and constant sad look
in my mom's eyes
Or at least
that's my bullshit excuse
for loving to fly
and for getting myself
in this fucking bind
But it doesn't make me
lose my mind
Cut the shit man
cause no matter what
You won't be taking flight
for a very long time
The lawyer insists
we have a better
than even chance
They never saw me
make a sale
or even try
all they can do
is imply
Its his job now
to win this bout
and plant some serious doubt
in those juror's eyes
They'll want them to think
the 20 bags
they caught me with
brands me as out to deal
If the lawyer man
is as good as he says
and keeps the rap
to possession
at least it will help
how my mom will feel
How did I get here
what happened to me
How did I ever
let myself
get into that PCP
Man it felt so good
when I smoked that joint
so finely laced
It took me higher
like I was flying
with the angels
out in space
But now its taken me to this place
They say its time
The two guards
each take an arm
and pull me
to my feet
Then take me
thru the door
into the court room
The judge
my lawyer
and the prosecutor
are the only ones there
My head spins so hard
I wonder
will I land on the floor
One guard holds my arm
while the other takes
my cuffs and shackles off
I hear the judge
say my name
and tell me to sit down
My lawyer sits
in the chair beside me
It has begun
What I thought
would never
happen
High stakes game
going on here
and my life
is the stakes
How did I get here
What happened to me
How did I ever let myself
get into that PCP
Man it felt so good
when I smoked that weed
so finely lacedIt took me higher
Like I was flying
with the angels
out in space
But now its taken me
to this place
The judge
is giving instructions
to the prosecutor
my lawyer and me
about how things
will go down
He's matter of fact
in his delivery
and says
referring to the defendant
that I am presumed
to be innocent
unless proven guilty
by the people
the prosecutor
beyond a reasonable doubt
that I am guilty
I sit up straight
in my chair
and listen intently
Like every word
is the most important word
I've ever heard
Just like
the lawyer man told me
We spent time talking
about the flow that trials take
and how important it is
for me to never show
emotion or frustration
and that it would
be more tedious
then any experience
I'd ever had
No choice now
No saying
this is bullshit
no stomping out
like I've done
so many times
When I didn't like what
was going on
When I was
frustrated or pissed off
No lighting up
heading for another place
If this doesn't go well
they'll be
no lighting up
no walking away
no saying
fuck off m-f
None of it
For a very long time
While the judges voice
goes on and on
I wonder to myself
How am I feeling
being here
No bullshit
This is me
talking to myself
Not me
putting on a show
Do I feel scared
Am I angry at the world
Do I hate
the judge and prosecutor
How about the witnesses
I have to face
The cops
that busted me
The people on the jury
if they say I'm guilty
How do I actually feel
Its a question
I never really
have asked myself
Too bad
no time for it now
Just be cool
take the next step
Don't stop to think
about bullshit
Take the next step
and shut the fuck up
Get the money man
Its all about
the money
Got to have
a pocket full
Buy the shit I want
The clothes
that make me feel good
pay for my fly pad
Leave cash
for my mom
Which she never mentions
also never spends
But is paying for the lawyer
sitting next to me now
the one I'm counting on
to defend
me from the intent charges
He pushes back from the table
and stands up
to answer something
the judge asked him
that I missed
That is the end
of letting my mind
wander off like that
to something
I can't answer anyway
I'm pissed now
at myself
Can't let myself
get lost like that
Cut that shit man
I'm wearing nice pants
a shirt and a tie
Its very unlike
the mug shots they took of me
wearing baggy jeans
a hoodie and jeans jacket
I wonder
if that would help or hurt
If something like that
could make a difference
My mug shot
makes me look like shit
My eyes all glazed
like I was high
I can't say
I really believe
That the jury
is going to
ignore the photos
and see me in a fresh light
Because of my
courtroom threads
are looking tight
But what I think
in this case
doesn't mean shit
The lawyer
thinks it could help
He says
we have to present me
as the image
of clean cut and decent
Anything to give the jury
doubt that I could really be
the drug dealing low life
they see
in those photos
How did I get here
How did I get here
How did I get here
How Did I Get Here?
How Did I Get Here?