Chapter 20 - My own disposition
My case ended two months earlier.
Misdemeanor assault.
Conditional discharge.
Sixty hours community service.
Eight anger-management sessions.
Medical costs.
No new offense.
Successful completion without further penalty.
One of my uncles called it:
“A humiliation.”
I told him:
“I humiliated myself in the garage.”
He stared.
“You were defending your boy.”
“I defended him by taking him away.”
“You put Helena in the bucket.”
“Yes.”
“She deserved it.”
That was the sentence I had been raised around.
Deserved.
A word that turns emotion into permission.
I said:
“Maybe. Still illegal.”
My uncle looked disgusted.
Good.
At the fourth anger-management session, the facilitator asked:
“What outcome did you want?”
“Helena away from Leo.”
“When did you achieve that?”
“When I pulled her back.”
“What did the water add?”
I hated the answer.
“Pain.”
“And?”
“Humiliation.”
“And?”
“Nothing useful.”
There.
I went home afterward and wrote the sentence in a notebook.
Nothing useful.
May you like
It became a useful question.
────────────────────
