LJ Idol Week 21: Current Events
http://www.indystar.com/story/news/crime/2017/06/08/ex-day-care-worker-argues-he-shouldnt-be-tried-for-molestation-because-hes-already-been-convicted-of-taking-explicit-photos-of-the-child/100575414/
"A Marion Superior Court judge has rejected a former day care worker's attempt to have his molestation case dismissed because he had already been convicted of sexually exploiting the 4-year-old girl...the 4-year-old girl told caregivers at her day care that "Mr. Ali" had put his finger inside her during nap time..."
Bzp, Bzp.
Bzp, Bzp.
The tappers nestled in my palms like tiny dragon eggs, hard and grey. I imagined the vibration were the echoes of the roars to come when they hatched and grew strong together. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. One of them would be sapphire with amber eyes, the other would be amber with sapphire eyes. They would sleep nestled together in cave on the mountain, curled like yin and yang. It would smell of smoke and clean pine. No one would be able to find them there. The cords dangled from the tappers across the floor to the control in my therapist’s delicate hands. I imagined we were cosmically connected; me with life-giving warmth in my hands to hatch the eggs, her with the mysterious spark of life nestled in her cool fingers. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right.
Click.
“Take a deep breath,” she said. Her voice soft and soothing, like an alpaca throw blanket. I inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, like years of yoga instruction have taught me to do. “What did you get this time?” she asks. I felt a sharp pang in my chest, like I lost something. I missed the vibrations; I wanted to go back inside of that bilateral rhythm with the dragons, the cave, and the cosmic assuredness. I took another one of those satisfying expansive diaphragm breaths and my eyes wandered up and to the right of my therapists head. I loved the sea scape painting hanging there. All pale corals and periwinkle blues blended together softly; I could almost smell the salt in the air.
My therapist was still looking at me. “I feel a lot calmer than I did before coming here.” Her lips are thin, but quick to smile. She was not smiling now, her mouth was a solemn line as she asked, “Can you rate your distress level on a scale of one to ten?” I hated this part, but I answered dutifully, “I’d say a four.”
“Where in your body do you feel it?” she asked as she took notes. I felt floaty and my feet were tingling again. I told her it’s in my throat, because that was the part of my body that felt the heaviest. “All right, if you’re ready, let’s go again, this time I want you to concentrate on the article you read earlier. Coming down to a four from a nine is great work, but let’s see if we can follow that train of thought farther and really break up those negative feelings by getting to the root.” I nodded and Click. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. I breathe, my eyes drifted close, I breathe. I tried to catch a whiff of pine, I tried to remember where the cave was in the mountains, my hands felt icy. I worried the dragons inside the eggs were dead. My ears were making that whooshing noise again. I pretended it was the wind blowing around me because I was getting close to the cave now.
“Remember to breathe,” my therapist gently coached me. I concentrated on the air coming in and out of my nostrils, but my chest felt too tight to pull the air in. I swallowed a few times hoping it would ease the constriction in my throat, but it didn’t help. A bead of sweat rolled down my spine. My mouth turned dry. The deep gravelly voice said, “Let’s play the quiet game! There will be a very special prize for whoever can stay the quietest.” I remembered the rush of yearning to please. I was so good at being quiet! As the youngest, I got lost in the shuffle a lot, and I was just a slip of a thing at four years old. I could be quiet as a mouse; the kind of mousey quiet when it is cornered in a room with a cat, all whiskers and twitching tail and narrowed eyes. I liked cats, but they eat mice. I liked this friend’s Uncle, but he ate mice.
“Take a deep breath,” my therapist told me. I took a few. I opened my eyes. I slowly opened my cramped hands, slick with sweat. I wiped at my face, surprised at the tears running down my face. “What did you get this time?” My breath was shallow. I told her my anxiety is a ten and I feel it in my stomach, I feel lit like a vice grip, like a bout of food poisoning. I told her I feel it lower, in the bowl of my pelvis, like a punch, like the worst menstruation cramps.
Her eyes were soft. She handed me some tissues, and asked if I would like a glass of cold water. I nodded and she gave me some time alone in her cozy office. I picked up the chunk of amethyst she keeps on her bookshelf near my plush chair. I tapped my feet. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. A small tremor twinges at the base of my spine and a strange crawling sensation works its way up my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My therapist walked in, all grounded calm, and handed me a cup of water, steady hands and even gaze. My heart knocked around my ribs like a panicked bird, or small dragon, too new to its powerful body to break free. I tapped my feet. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.
“What are you getting now?” My therapists asked. I told her I was a mouse a long time ago, but now I am dragon. Newspaper stories can’t create cages, only bones can, and my jaws are powerful enough to crunch through those bars. My hands were shaking. I tapped my feet. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.
"A Marion Superior Court judge has rejected a former day care worker's attempt to have his molestation case dismissed because he had already been convicted of sexually exploiting the 4-year-old girl...the 4-year-old girl told caregivers at her day care that "Mr. Ali" had put his finger inside her during nap time..."
Bzp, Bzp.
Bzp, Bzp.
The tappers nestled in my palms like tiny dragon eggs, hard and grey. I imagined the vibration were the echoes of the roars to come when they hatched and grew strong together. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. One of them would be sapphire with amber eyes, the other would be amber with sapphire eyes. They would sleep nestled together in cave on the mountain, curled like yin and yang. It would smell of smoke and clean pine. No one would be able to find them there. The cords dangled from the tappers across the floor to the control in my therapist’s delicate hands. I imagined we were cosmically connected; me with life-giving warmth in my hands to hatch the eggs, her with the mysterious spark of life nestled in her cool fingers. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right.
Click.
“Take a deep breath,” she said. Her voice soft and soothing, like an alpaca throw blanket. I inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, like years of yoga instruction have taught me to do. “What did you get this time?” she asks. I felt a sharp pang in my chest, like I lost something. I missed the vibrations; I wanted to go back inside of that bilateral rhythm with the dragons, the cave, and the cosmic assuredness. I took another one of those satisfying expansive diaphragm breaths and my eyes wandered up and to the right of my therapists head. I loved the sea scape painting hanging there. All pale corals and periwinkle blues blended together softly; I could almost smell the salt in the air.
My therapist was still looking at me. “I feel a lot calmer than I did before coming here.” Her lips are thin, but quick to smile. She was not smiling now, her mouth was a solemn line as she asked, “Can you rate your distress level on a scale of one to ten?” I hated this part, but I answered dutifully, “I’d say a four.”
“Where in your body do you feel it?” she asked as she took notes. I felt floaty and my feet were tingling again. I told her it’s in my throat, because that was the part of my body that felt the heaviest. “All right, if you’re ready, let’s go again, this time I want you to concentrate on the article you read earlier. Coming down to a four from a nine is great work, but let’s see if we can follow that train of thought farther and really break up those negative feelings by getting to the root.” I nodded and Click. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. Bzp, Bzp. Left, right. I breathe, my eyes drifted close, I breathe. I tried to catch a whiff of pine, I tried to remember where the cave was in the mountains, my hands felt icy. I worried the dragons inside the eggs were dead. My ears were making that whooshing noise again. I pretended it was the wind blowing around me because I was getting close to the cave now.
“Remember to breathe,” my therapist gently coached me. I concentrated on the air coming in and out of my nostrils, but my chest felt too tight to pull the air in. I swallowed a few times hoping it would ease the constriction in my throat, but it didn’t help. A bead of sweat rolled down my spine. My mouth turned dry. The deep gravelly voice said, “Let’s play the quiet game! There will be a very special prize for whoever can stay the quietest.” I remembered the rush of yearning to please. I was so good at being quiet! As the youngest, I got lost in the shuffle a lot, and I was just a slip of a thing at four years old. I could be quiet as a mouse; the kind of mousey quiet when it is cornered in a room with a cat, all whiskers and twitching tail and narrowed eyes. I liked cats, but they eat mice. I liked this friend’s Uncle, but he ate mice.
“Take a deep breath,” my therapist told me. I took a few. I opened my eyes. I slowly opened my cramped hands, slick with sweat. I wiped at my face, surprised at the tears running down my face. “What did you get this time?” My breath was shallow. I told her my anxiety is a ten and I feel it in my stomach, I feel lit like a vice grip, like a bout of food poisoning. I told her I feel it lower, in the bowl of my pelvis, like a punch, like the worst menstruation cramps.
Her eyes were soft. She handed me some tissues, and asked if I would like a glass of cold water. I nodded and she gave me some time alone in her cozy office. I picked up the chunk of amethyst she keeps on her bookshelf near my plush chair. I tapped my feet. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. A small tremor twinges at the base of my spine and a strange crawling sensation works its way up my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My therapist walked in, all grounded calm, and handed me a cup of water, steady hands and even gaze. My heart knocked around my ribs like a panicked bird, or small dragon, too new to its powerful body to break free. I tapped my feet. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.
“What are you getting now?” My therapists asked. I told her I was a mouse a long time ago, but now I am dragon. Newspaper stories can’t create cages, only bones can, and my jaws are powerful enough to crunch through those bars. My hands were shaking. I tapped my feet. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.