Monday, January 23, 2006


14.---Journal entry for August 1, 2002


It's been over 2 years since the Hate Crime and each day her face and body are becoming more and more disfigured. She's angry and needs to return to the crime scene and let the police know they are still stalking her. She's told a couple of people some of the truth and got the kind of reception a person who claimed they'd seen a UFO would get.

So, how do you give a warning? She prayed on it, as much as it was possible to under the present circumstances. She only knew she had to try.

They were all over her but seemed to want her to go ahead. She knew they were hoping she'd make herself look bad to the police now, as that could put her into deeper shit. And that's exactly what it was all about for them. How much can we mess her up inside and out?

She didn't know what she'd say or how she'd say it only that she'd do the best she could and leave it in God's hands.

She took the subway as usual but, instead of the trolley, took the El. The whole way to Millbourne she ran it through her mind, seeing it so that she'd be able to go through with it once she actually got there. She'd already had a few experiences where she'd chickened out because suddenly, in the light of day, she'd only known how strange it all would sound to someone hearing it for the first time.

She thought of those times she'd let someone know and knew immediately how unreal it had to sound to them. But this time was different. She felt that she had a duty to at least try to let the right people know the truth. But how much?

And she also knew she'd have to feel them out the whole time and hit that very slender path between 'what if' and 'this is truly happening.'

And it was going to be in God's hands. She asked and knew she had to try. She had to at least try.

They were allowing her the space to think it over but she knew why. They wanted to know ahead of time so they could come up with a strategy to sabotage her during her attempt. She prepared herself for the bright sunshine, the reality of a room full of officers and herself keeping a strong sense of the reality of this while also hiding it.

She felt that she had to be prepared for the worst. They may think her story is so outrageous that she must be examined further. NOT what she was shooting for at all. She'd have to be creative and still ready for some crappy outcome. She figured if she couldn't at least try she'd never be able to hope for a rescue.



Fortunately the ride to Millbourne wasn't that long. She got there knowing little but feeling determined. She walked off the El at Millbourne after not being there for over a year. It was weird how natural it still felt to her. After living there 7 1/2 years, the only bad feeling was that of missing her old neighborhood.

She didn't have the time to dwell on any of that but allowed the reality that she had been run out of her home to sink in. She had been terrified when she left to go to her relatives. She was angry when she came back to file charges. And now her anger was low. She could actually think. But the thoughts were of all the paintings she did on that very platform. She remembered George, the septa cashier, and her talking. And she recalled all the times she ran by there.

Yes, this was some very unhappy stuff they threw all over her happy home.

She kept the one thought and turned left towards the Police Station.

The way was blocked--something new. A small detour of a block or two. The walk would calm her down. God was pulling for her.

"I need to talk to someone."

"Sure, come back here."


And there were 2 of the officers who were there back then. Thank God. At least I wouldn't have to get some new guys to listen to my story.

"Hi, do you remember me? I used to live here over a year ago."

"Yes. How are you? What can we do for you?"

"I don't know if you remember but I had problems with my neighbors after living here for 7 years. A Hate Crime and I had to leave. They drove me out by terrorizing me so I had to leave. I came around here and had to call you guys in a bunch of times and finally filed criminal charges against them?"

Officer S. looked down and said "Yes, Tinsel, we remember, where were you?"

"Marion Court--47--it was from February til July--stupid stuff--they were playing tapes over and over again."

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