Chapter 12 - MY SLAP GETS A COURT DATE
Gavin had swelling along one cheek.
A bruised shoulder from the overturned cart.
No fracture.
No concussion.
Hospital security video showed my slap clearly.
The prosecutor offered misdemeanor diversion.
No prior assault conviction.
One strike.
Immediate admission.
Conditions:
Anger-management course.
Restitution for Gavin’s documented medical copay.
No unlawful direct contact.
Completion required.
Then dismissal.
My attorney asked if I wanted to challenge.
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“I hit him.”
“Yes.”
“He deserved worse.”
“That sentence is why you’re going to class.”
Fair.
Bianca asked me later:
“Are you mad you got charged?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“I’m mad I gave him something to use.”
That was not the right answer.
She heard it.
“So you regret strategy?”
I looked at her.
Then:
“I regret making violence the next thing you saw after asking me for help.”
Her face softened.
Better.
Then:
“Do you regret hurting him?”
I took longer.
“Yes.”
Not because I suddenly liked Gavin.
Because choosing pain as communication changes the person doing the choosing too.
My instructor was named Howard Pike.
Sixty.
Retired emergency-room social worker.
First session:
“Why did you slap him?”
“He drugged my daughter.”
“Had you proved that when you slapped him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He was coercing her.”
“Was she safe by the time you hit him?”
“No security yet.”
“Was he touching her?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I was furious.”
Howard nodded.
“Accurate.”
May you like
I had heard that word before.
Accuracy became a form of discipline.
