Charles Wilson was born in Boston in 1985. When he turned six, Kory Darby entered his life. “We met in our neighborhood in Dorchester,” Wilson explains, rolling his goatee hair between his thumb and forefinger. They both went to West Roxbury High School. Darby, who is 24 today, started his undergrad at Roxbury Community College but dropped out of his business degree program two years ago. “He was only going there to eat lunch,” Wilson says. Their laughs resound in rhythm in the Suffolk Superior Courtroom 817. Wilson doesn’t want to start college for the moment. He says he thinks he is not ready.

Since 2001, he has been in the construction field. “I work for Tom S. Carlson; he is a contractor,” he explains.

They both sit up when the judge calls for Darby. As he pushes the wooden barrier, his three-piece pink suit shins under the neon light. “He borrowed it for the occasion,” Wilson says, after he remarks that Darby’s salmon shoes match his orange tie.

Wilson wears baggy jeans and black Adidas sneakers, with a thin-white-striped black polo. Today, he’ll stay in the public area. “My turn will come on May 1st. I have plenty of time to borrow a suit, ” he says, scratching his cornrows. He came to support his friend who has been charged with drug possession and intention to sale it on a school zone.

On April 1, 2005, at around 10 p.m., Darby was arrested by two police officers. He was driving a black Mitsubishi on Massachusetts Avenue in Boston. From his desk, the prosecutor explains that police officers said they found four plastic bags filled with crack cocaine and marijuana in the car. He says Darby had $934 and four cell phones on him.

Darby decided to keep his right to remain silent, his right for a trial with a jury taking a decision about his case, and his right for appeal: he is pleading not guilty.

“This is going to be a difficult case,” Darby’s lawyer, Rudolph Miller, whispers.

Wilson stares at the pink and yellow flowers in the cubic vase that decorate the judge’s clerk’s desk. “The tissue box for the witnesses I understand. But I don’t get the point for the flowers,” he says, cracking a smile. He observes every detail and listens to every word. He cracks his knuckles and thinks that he soon will be on the defendant’s bench.

Wilson was charged with firearm possession without permit. “They didn’t find any gun on me,” he says, stroking his right-forearm tattoo. The Korean letters printed over a Buddha’s head stands for her mother’s name: Huy Chang. “I signed it MONK because that’s my nickname in the neighborhood,” he says. Wilson’s mother owns a fish market on Codman Square. “She sells fresh entire fishes every day,” he says. His father retired from the Army. “He is a war veteran, but he never fought because he was a soldier only during peace time,” he says.

A court officer asks for silence as the judge is explaining some facts to the jury. Wilson stops talking. His brown eyes get lost in the empty space that separates him from the defendant’s desk. He shakes his left leg faster and faster and dries his palm on his jeans. When he stops his leg, his eyelids take over with the same rhythm. As they blink they highlight a red dot on the white part of his left eye. His smile has disappeared to leave the place for a frown on his thin lips. He stands up and goes out to smoke a cigarette.

Wilson arrived at the courthouse with Darby at 8:30 a.m. They waited until 3:20 p.m. for the trial to start. “We had lunch in a pub restaurant, where we had a cheeseburger and fries,” he says. His breath betrays the beer he drunk with his burger. “I am too nervous, I can’t stop asking myself how mine is gonna end,” he confesses. Every 20 seconds, he checks for any missed call on his cell phone. He explains that some friends are supposed to call to get some news from the trial.

Darby doesn’t move a toe. He sits by his lawyer for almost an hour. It is 4:15 p.m. The judge announces that the hearing will continue the next day. As the members of the jury get out of the courtroom, everybody stands. Once they are all out, Darby crosses the barrier again. Wilson walks to him and they hold each other’s forearm. Darby’s left hand covers Wilson’s second tattoo: two praying hands tight with a chain and a padlock. Letters in English surround the drawing and write, “God understands me.”

Wilson says that he truly believes in God. He explains that the tattoo represents his vision of life. “A constant struggle against a stronger force.”