Chapter 8 - My Slap
I received a police summons.
No dramatic arrest.
Celeste had visible facial redness and a bruised hip from striking the table.
I admitted the slap.
Security camera in hallway captured part of it without audio.
Ivy was behind me.
Celeste was not advancing.
Immediate danger had ended.
My attorney, Julia Serrano, said:
“Do not call it defense of your daughter.”
“I know.”
“Say what it was.”
“Anger.”
“Retaliation.”
“Yes.”
I hated the word.
Correct.
The prosecutor offered a diversionary disposition because:
No prior record.
One open-handed strike.
No continuing assault.
Provocation significant.
I completed anger-management counseling and community service.
Case eligible for dismissal.
I accepted.
Some friends said:
“You should have hit the brother too.”
Those friends stopped being invited around Ivy.
The lesson was not:
Never feel rage.
The lesson:
Once Ivy was safe, violence became about me.
Not her.
I apologized to Ivy.
“I hit Celeste.”
“I saw.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“She put me box.”
“Yes.”
“That bad.”
“Yes.”
“Then why you bad?”
“I did a bad thing too.”
She frowned.
“Both bad?”
“Different bad things.”
Children hate nuance.
She eventually said:
“Okay.”
Then:
“You don’t put me box.”
“No.”
“Never.”
“Never.”
May you like
That promise I could make.
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