I was called to serve on a jury for a trial on January 3rd. I sat on the benches with the 11 other jurors. None of us knew anyone involved in the crash going; those were the rules. You weren’t allowed to know anybody. This wasn’t allowed to get personal. I hated that part.

The 18-year-old was being charged with “aggravated” DUI and vehicular manslaughter. He had been at a party with three friends. One wasn’t drinking because he had a marathon the next day; he was a track star. The others were drinking, including the driver.

They all came from a small town. We know what happens during the holidays: parties. It was New Year’s Eve. If you go out and get drunk, how are you gonna get home? We’ve all been there. What do you do? Call a taxi or your parents? Or get into the driver’s seat and hope you and your three friends get home safe?

This boy chose the last option. Have you ever been in his situation? Thinking you hadn’t had too much to drink and could still drive?

Maybe this boy did. So he and his friends got into the car. Two in the back, two up front. The boys in the back didn’t wear seat belts.

Maybe the car hit ice, maybe the driver was going too fast, maybe he lost control. The car flipped and hit a tree. The two in back were ejected. The two in the front were not. One boy died, one was paralyzed, one was not badly injured, and one boy murdered his best friend.

I looked to the chairs behind the defendant. Right behind him were his mother and father, holding each other. His mother was crying with a crushed tissue clutched in her fist. His father had red-rimmed eyes. His little sister, six years old, was sitting behind him. She looked upset but was probably too young to understand what was happening.

Behind the plaintiff area were a husband and wife clutching each other. The woman was quietly crying and the man, looked both upset and angry. The victim’s older brother was on the other side of his mother, holding her hand. Anybody could tell he’d been crying.

The trial seemed to pass within seconds, and then the jurors were in a small boardroom going over the facts.

The driver had been in court only a month earlier for a DUI.

The driver’s best friend was killed.

Another one of his friends was thrown from the car and paralyzed.

A 17-year-old was driving home from a party, while drunk.

It was icy.

It was New Year’s Eve.

It was two days before his eighteenth birthday.

If you were on the jury, looking this 18-year-old in the eyes, what would you do? Would you sentence him to three years in prison? Or 15? He killed a track star, who wasn’t even drunk. He killed one of his friends. Wasn’t he already serving out his punishment in his own mind?

THE VERDICT

Four years in a state prison.

It was late on New Year’s Eve. Well, technically it was early in the morning on New Year’s Day. The kids from the local public school were ringing in the New Year the best way they knew they could – with a party. A boy had shown up with three friends. He wasn’t drinking though; he had a marathon the next day, and he needed to be at the top of his game.

On the night of New Year’s Eve, a mother and father lay in bed watching the ball drop in New York City. Lying between them was their daughter, who was close to falling asleep.

Their son was at a party with three friends. He had promised them and himself that he wasn’t going to drink because of his marathon the next day. When they told him to be careful because the roads were unpredictable, he promised he would be. When they told him to call if he needed a ride home because nobody was sober enough to drive, he promised he would.

As parents, they couldn’t help but worry. They were teenagers once too. They knew what teenagers do for fun. That’s one thing that never changes with time. Teenagers party, especially in towns like this, where there’s not much else to do.

The boys decided to go home. It was the New Year, and the party was dying. People were falling asleep, leaving, and so they joined the crowd. The driver was only 17. The rule in New York was that you had to wait six months after getting your permit and go through a five-hour course before scheduling your driver’s test. He had never practiced driving on icy roads at night. He couldn’t trust himself to not crash or fall asleep at the wheel, yet the driver assured his friends that he was fine, that he could handle his liquor. He had driven home from many parties before; this time was no different.

The parents fell asleep at 12:05. It seemed the older they got, the earlier they went to bed on New Year’s Eve. Their daughter was asleep as well. At approximately 3 a.m., the father was woken up by his ringing phone. The caller ID read “Bobby.” He answered it, expecting his son’s voice to ask for a ride home.

Instead, an unfamiliar female voice said, “Is this Bobby’s father?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Sir, I’m sorry to inform you that your son has been in an accident. The driver lost control going around a curve. The car slid off the road, flipped, and hit a tree. Your son and another passenger weren’t wearing seat belts and were thrown from the car. He is at Columbia Memorial Hospital in surgery. We need your consent to put a drain in your son’s head.”

At the hospital, Bobby’s parents found Tommy, Bobby’s best friend, in the waiting area. All he could say was, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Tommy, what happened?” they asked.

Tommy’s parents arrived. They nodded solemnly at Bobby’s mom and dad before embracing their son. All five sat down together in the waiting room. Tommy was a little banged up, but nothing too bad. Whether or not he was drunk earlier, he seemed sobered. Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks. He cradled his head in his hands while his mom clutched his arm as if letting go would make him disappear.

It was 7 a.m., and Bobby was still in surgery. Students from their school were arriving in the waiting area. Word had gotten around of the accident. At 7:38 a.m., two doctors came out looking exhausted. Everyone in the waiting room saw the looks on their faces and immediately knew it was not good news.

“I’m so sorry, we did everything we could …. His injuries were too extensive.” The doctors repeated the sentences they had been taught when they were interns. Bobby’s parents clutched each other. Tommy froze, the realization hitting him: He had killed his best friend.

It has been five years since the crash. Tommy got out of jail a year ago and had been slowly working his way back into a normal life. He was scheduled to take his five-hour driving course the next day.

Tommy sat in the back corner with his head down most of the class. They watched videos of drunk driving accidents, texting and driving accidents, accidents from running a red light or stop sign. Tommy felt like he didn’t need to be there if this was the only thing they were going to learn: He had already lived it.

At the end of the class, the instructor, who also happened to be a woman who sat on the jury for Tommy’s trial, asked, “What will stop you from drinking and driving?”

The students took turns answering. When it was Tommy’s turn all eyes were on him.

“Call for a ride home from your parents or a taxi,” he said.

That wasn’t the truth at all. The one thing that would stop him from drinking and driving, that would make him hesitate every time he took a drink for the rest of his life, was the thought that he had killed his best friend.