Because...(dark...yet sorta not?)

do you ever wonder how/where in the hell 'you' come up w/ some of this stuff??
...in the 1st-person no less??

am i just talking to myself here (again)?
yup.

carry on...
~~~~~~~~~~


"Bring me your paddle, Zara."

And I do.
I always do.

"Across my lap, little one," she tells me, patting her thighs.

And I go.
I always go.

There is nary a thought in my head that directs me to.
My brain is screaming at me to do everything but.

And yet my body goes.


I hate this.
I hate her.
And stop calling me "little one" goddammit.
I am not 5.
And I am not a little girl.
I've survived as many lifetimes as my 'mere' 14 years.

I lie face down on the bed across my former-therapist-turned-mother's lap.
My bottom is further elevated by the pillow on her thighs.
"Lift your hips up for a sec, honey."
Her hand rests (for all too brief a time) on my now-bare bottom.


4'8" little one or not, my all-muscle 80 pound self could still kick her skinny social workin' ass.
And she knows it.

I don't fight.
I don't plead.
I don't argue.
I don't struggle.
I don't beg.

Not then.
Not during.


I went to week long training camps and no one even noticed I was gone.
With a bank card and an account full of his dirty money,
I was "otherwise" taking complete care of myself when I was SIX.
They said my mother was really nothing but a crack-whore goomah who'd up and abandoned me.

I wouldn't tell you back then why it might really be that I'd starved myself into your office by 10 years old.
I didn't tell you that they'd just let the squealing foot soldier...rape me.
I did not need to be told it was the "perfect" defense, on the unlikely occasion that the body was ever found--
having been riddled with bullets 2 feet from where I lay ignored on the bed.
I didn't tell you, I didn't tell anyone.
Because my own life always seemed a small price to pay for protecting the few who gave a damn, protecting yours--
and your family that I did not know.


"Tell me why you're getting a spanking, lovey."

Because you're a mean figlio di puttana.

"Uh huh, and why else?"

Because...the
i-lied-about-yaddah-yaddah
and/or-did-blah-bleh-blah
and/or-yaddah-yaddah-yaddah
of the moment.


Really because...

...my first language is body and actions, and I am not quite fully fluent yet in words.
Because 'coaching' me to be so is still your goal, but some things you will not chance to potential miscomprehension.

Because I never got to be 5.
Because it's about time I got to live a lifetime.
Because I only "hate" that I love and so overwhelmingly need you, with an intensity that I'm positive defies all logic.

Because you notice (*grumble_grumble*) everything.

Because you don't know what really happened, or why, either--
only that you will not leave me, and one of these days, I will damn well know it too.

Because care-taking and protection is your job now, not mine.
Because it's not ok to hide that I'm hurting.
Because it's not ok to not speak the truth.
Because the family I didn't know has since declared itself mine.


Porca miseria, my ass hurts!

"I'm sure it does...I think it needed to."

*hmph*...
*hmph*!


Because a sore bottom is a small price to pay for a healing soul.

Because you are my Jax.
And I will always be your little one.

- posted by unquiet @ 5:34 PM 0 comments

zara = "SO intense."

"making things right" is something of a follow-up to this...
(never mind the former was written 1st.)
and similar in my inability to ever write the actual spanking--what is that ABOUT?!?
i dunno.
well, you have been warned...
~~~~~~~~~~

The clock said Zara should be home from practice in the next 10 minutes, so Jackie quietly got up from the table and left the kitchen.
Sighing as she picked up the box her 9-year-old son Issac had mistakenly opened, she headed up to Zara's room to wait...

~~~~~

While not her daughter by blood, Zara was no less a part of her than her other three children.
She had been since nearly the moment she walked into Jackie's therapy office some 3 years ago--a tiny but fierce 9-year-old girl, with dark, soulful eyes that had seen too much.
So too much.

Her life thus far had been comprised by a long string of traumas that forced a small child to be the quickest of studies in the skills of survival and self-protection.

Zara was quick and witty, tremendously guarded...and SO intense.
That intensity was expressed as strongly in her competitive dominance as a young gymnast, as it was in her precocious capacity for coping by means of self-destruction.

Zara’s mother had disappeared when she was barely more than an infant.
Had she simply left as Zara had long been led to believe?
Died?
Foul play?
It still wasn't clear...

Her alternately abusive and unconscionably neglectful father was a high-ranking member of the mob.
And when he died an inevitably violent death, murdered by his own brother-in-law no less, with a little girl hiding in an upstairs closet hearing every word and sound...

Jackie didn't even have to think about it--she brought Zara home that very night...

~~~~~

i was having one of those days.
extra shitty with more on top.

overslept 1/2 hour.
sprinted to get ready and to school.
managed to leave half my books at home--
including my notes for the history test last period.

oh, and my uh, lunch, too.
and the (fat-free) fro yo machine in the caf was broken.

throughout the day, i tripped on the stairs twice.
managed to be late to 3 different classes, including fucking history!
snapped for no reason at a good friend--
and 2 other people i don't even know.
and on and on and on.

school day finally over, i couldn't get to the gym fast enough.
sweat it all out, nothing to think about but vault, bars, beam, floor.
the gym has always been my haven, where i could leave all the shit behind, just take it out on the mats.

dale is in one of his 'moods'.
lauren just stares at me stomping out of the locker room.

i'm going full out from minute one.
in that fierce, don't-fuck-with-me zone where everything is just BAM, rock.fucking.solid.
lauren keeps telling me to 'slow down z', 'take it easy z', 'i said 6 routines, not 10, z'

dale finally yells, "Get OUT, Zara! NOW. And chug a bottle of chill, would ya?!."
i shoot him poison daggers and prep for another tumbling pass.
GODDAMMIT ZARA, I SAID GET OUT. NOW!

i let loose a whole string of obscenities and a few choice gestures as i stomped back IN to the locker room.
well, fuck THAT.
there's still an hour left of practice.
so i went running.
for an hour.
came back to get my bags + pick up my bike, playing oblivious to the stares.
and sprinted the ride home.

i'm still stomping and muttering and kicking as i enter the garage, and through the door to the kitchen.
if i had been paying any attention at all as i grabbed a diet soda and slammed the fridge door before stomping my way up to my room,
i would have seen taylor and issac staring wide-eyed...
and noticed that jax was nowhere in sight.

if.

i bang open my bedroom door; start flinging my stuff on the ground.
and scream.

jax is there, sitting on the big cushiony rocking chair, solemn and calm as can be.

"jesus fucking porca madonna!!!
che CAZZO you doing here?!?!?
trying to give me a goddamn fucking heart attack!??!?!?"... ... ...

- posted by unquiet @ 3:08 PM 0 comments

Jackie ("Jax") on: The moments before...

again, just more of the main characters/plot in my (twisted?) completely-fantasy world--
but absolutely nothing to do w/ spanking.
(and not posted on SIN)
~~~~~~~~~~

'Some people walk through your office, some walk into your
heart.'

One took possession of it and never let go...

Zara was a tiny girl of 9 years old, with the dark and hardened, sad and somber eyes of an ageless woman.

She had been referred to me by her coaches Lauren and Dale, long-time owners of Independence Gymnastics, a highly respected local club.
The couple had attended the same university, competing for its women’s and men’s gymnastics teams respectively, and married after graduation.
They were admired as much for the primary value they placed on contributing to the development of their young athletes into well-rounded and healthy adults as the competitive excellence their teams consistently displayed.

To that end, Lauren, a long-time friendly acquaintance, had sought my consultation as a therapist regarding several of their athletes over the years that had generated concern regarding their emotional health.


What I knew from my preliminary conversations with Lauren was that an already enighmatic Zara, or "Z" as she was affectionately known, had come to their gym for a beginner’s class when she was just short of six years old.
She possessed significant talent and, even then, a fearless composure that left one "flabbergasted."

Less than two months later, Zara joined their “little stars” competitive squad.
She competed with an air of "eerie calmness," winning everything in sight with unassuming nonchalance.
By the time I met her, Zara had continued to move up rapidly and long established herself as the dominant force in the region for her age-group and competitive level.

Lauren also described having to throw Zara out of practice on occasion, because the intensity of her work ethic could be downright frightening.


Over time, Zara had slowly revealed to her coaches and teammates a quite engaging personality, a side of herself that was a little less serious, a bit freer, and even a tad more "'child-like' if you will."
If there was mischief in the making, Z was sure to be the instigator.
However, she was too “damn clever and bright”, Lauren laughed, for anyone to prove it very often.
A deadpan, sarcastic sense of humor also reflected her high intelligence, as did an exceptional academic record.


There was a lot Lauren did not know however.
One only had to look in Zara’s eyes or witness her intensity to know there was a whole lot under the surface.
However, over the years, any time she or Dale had tried to approach the subject of Zara’s life outside the gym; her walls went up higher than ever.

Lauren remembered the first day that she saw Zara, brought in by a cold and distant woman who was apparently her aunt.
The woman was anxious to do the paperwork and pay the fees (in cash) as quickly as possible, and then left with only a curt good-bye to the child.
That was the only time any member of the young girl’s family had ever been seen.

Putting together the few words Zara would say and some other clues, Lauren and Dale had surmised that Zara’s mother had disappeared when her daughter was still very young, and that Z's last name was indeed of that notoriety, the Santi borgata.

The immediate concern that led Lauren to contact me was Zara’s recent, and visually apparent, weight loss.
She had always had a petite, but very muscular, build.
Having spent a great deal of time with the girl in the last 4 years, including traveling on a regular basis to non-local competitions, Lauren had long-ago noted that Z was “kind of a weird eater.”
She was more “picky” than any of her teammates.
In addition, more than a few people had noticed that a seeming lack of appetite often coincided with times when Zara appeared stressed, anxious, upset and so on.
Her eating habits were perhaps the one clear communication of the emotions Zara otherwise kept tightly under wraps.

Then, about 6 months ago, Lauren and Dale noticed that Zara, rather suddenly, became more solemn than usual.
Known for her outstanding strength and power both, she began struggling a bit with the conditioning routine that she had always breezed through.
Moreover, that extra "oomph!" as Lauren called it, was less apparent in her tumbling and vaulting.
The changes were relatively mild however, and didn’t seem to be affecting Z's competitive results.
Therefore, they were hopeful it was just a phase, having to do with a growth spurt or something.
However, they soon realized she was not getting any taller, but definitely seemed to be getting thinner.
Then, in the past month or so, since she had won the biggest and last meet of the season, Level 8 Regional Championships, Z's weight had shifted from progressively sliding to dropping rapidly.


Unsure what to make of the odd and strong sense that this was going to be a very significant day in my life--I rose from my chair to go meet one Zara Michaela Santi for the first time...

- posted by unquiet @ 12:00 PM 0 comments

Zara on: what magic really is...

more of the main characters/plot in my (twisted?) completely-fantasy world--
but absolutely nothing to do w/ spanking.
(and not posted on SIN)
~~~~~~~~~~


Being named to the TOPs (Talent Opportunity Program) National Team is a big deal.
I guess.

The USAG does all this testing across the country of "basic" skills and physical ability/conditioning.
The goal is to identify, and develop, young athletes, 7-11 years old, who show the most potential to reach the elite level.
Ok, cool.

However, the 'powers-that-be' it seems are not my biggest fans currently.
Well horsepucky and cookiefeathers.

I went through all the testing and stuff when I was 9, and was ultimately named to the national team.
That meant I got to go to my first national training camp in Texas--at the all-hallowed *ahem* Karolyi ranch.
Marta and Bela themselves did a lot of lurking around.
I think I was supposed to be all impressed and in awe?
Ignorant of their, most spectacularly HIS, long established history of treating athletes--athletes who could just as easily be me--like dime-a-dozen commodities??
Young yes, a moron no.
Oops.

Still, there were plenty of others I highly respected.
I got to know a lot of really cool girls I've competed against for years.
It was an all-around blast and definitely gave me an added motivational boost.
I was apparently even deemed a "favorite" of many of the TOPs coaches and officials and such.
Expected to "fast track" it to junior elite, envisioned as a future "star."

That was 4 years ago and I was a level 8 at the time.
Now I'm 13 and a level 9.
They are not impressed with my progress...

~~~~~

Well, lets see--
About 4 months after that first December training camp, I competed in and won my first regional championship.

My weight loss was "already visually apparent" at this time mind you, but that of course is of little consequence...
and never mind why I might have wished to eradicate myself from the planet...

5 months later, I was in a residential E.D. program.

With 1/2 of that season already over by the time I was even allowed to start training again,
I did manage to regain enough of my strength and skills to compete at my second level 8 regionals.
And I won again.
But, oh horror, did I say my second, level eight?

But, but--
next year, I won my first Level 9 Eastern championship as a Junior A!?!

Then, wellll, you see, a week or so later, when I was just starting to train for my level 10 debut that fall...

oh darn, capo uncle whacked sotto capo daddy in my living room.
I got a little shook up ya see, being I was hiding in an upstairs closet and listening through the vent and...

I kinda lost my mind and half my body weight.

I know, I know, really must toughen up, be a good little robot soldier.

And I tried, I tried sooo hard, and I got everything back and more even.
But that mean old Jax vetoed my going level 10 this year.
Just because it was a minor miracle my body hadn't permanently collapsed or some such thing, said that might be "pushing" it.

[Cagna wouldn't let me skip another grade in school either, can you believe it?
Something about my inability to distinguish between working hard and working to near-fatal-exhaustion?
Oh wait, academics are an irksome little distraction anyway, silly me...]

So I had to settle for an undefeated season as a lowly level 9:
1 international and 5 national invitationals; states, regionals; and another Eastern Nationals title.

*bows head in shame*

~~~~~

Short version--
Are you fucking KIDDING me?!?
-OR-
I'm sorry--did I ASK your motherfuckin opinion?


The whole elite deal didn't electrify then any more than it does now.
It's not even on my radar screen and never has been.
When I've dreamed of my "magic moment":
I'm wearing a UCLA uniform, competing in the Super Six at the NCAA championships...

As ambitious and competitive as I am, international acclaim is just not something I've ever felt a compelling drive towards.

I'm told this is abnormal.
Isn't it every "little girls" dream to be the "next Mary Lou"?
Some socmel like that.

I mean, maybe...
someday...

If (when? ok, yes m'am, jax m'am, when) the rest of my life is, a bit more stable,
when I feel secure and centered and capable of making that sort of commitment, making it priority...
while actually maintaining some semblance of *gasp* balance...

(More) Truth?
The very idea terrifies me.
Not athletically, not the competitive pressure.
But the inevitable accompanying attention in and of itself.

I know that probably sounds odd coming from me, who draws attention like honey does bees.
After all, I am the pent-ultimate attention whore, no?

But I don't do it on purpose.
Good goddess, I swear I don't.

And I really, especially, do not "get it"--
Che cazzo do people find so damn fascinating anyway?

It's like I am that car wreck you can't help but look at...

---

The Junior B's (12+13 yr olds age group) was the second of the day's three sessions being held at Wesleyan College in Virginia Beach.

I had just finished stretching and was walking over with Lauren to the timed warm-up for my first event, vault.
She tapped my shoulder and said, "Hey, look who's here."
I looked up to see that Jax, Taylor and Issac had just arrived
...and with them were Hailey and Caroline.

I stopped dead in my tracks and felt tears bloom in my eyes.
I didn't know those two were coming.
And something about that image, all five of them standing there together, my whole family-- my whole family--smiling and waving at me--
I was just so, so...touched.
To my very soul.

Lauren was next to me and watching my face with a big grin on hers.
"Do you wanna go say hi to them?"
"Yeah, I better," I said, pulling myself together.
"I'm afraid I'll get distracted later if I don't now."
She gave a knowing smile and roll of the eyes, and went to prevent Dale from having heart palpitations.

They were getting settled on the first row of bleachers, and Issac was excitedly hanging a banner on the railing that he had apparently made himself. It said:

"It's Z Time!"

Oh.My.Goddess. He is TOO cute.
He saw me coming up and hid what looked to be another banner.
Hmm, what is that munchkin up to??

"I can't believe you guys are all here!" I said, embracing Jax.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"We were hoping it would be a nice surprise," Hailey grinned.
"Yeah, I hope its ok we're here?" said Caroline, always endearingly neurotic.
(Pot. Kettle. Yes, I know.)

Both of my sisters (my sisters!) were college students--Hailey a senior at U. of Rochester and Caroline a freshman at Cornell.
They had wanted to come home earlier in the week, to support me during my testimony at the trial.
However, I had asked them not to, not because I didn't want or appreciate their support--I was, I am, very very appreciative and thankful to have it.
But, I don't know...I just felt that having more people there, that I knew and cared about...would make it harder somehow...

"Of course it is," I said, still a little teary-eyed, and giving them both a hug.
"It's the best surprise ever."

"But I do have to get back now," I said pulling back.
"Yeah, Dale looks like he's about to have a stroke," Tay quipped with a wink.
"Ok, ok," I teased Issac, who'd been pulling at my arm.
"Give me my lucky hug, kiddo."

I turned to go back to the floor, disregarding Dale's wild arm waving for just another moment while I got myself re-focused.
The other girls in my rotation graciously motioned for me to go ahead of the line.
I marked my starting point on the runway as I gestured to him I was gonna do a timer; and ignored his growling as I took my turn and headed back to get in line again.
Yup, 'moment' over--for now...back to the good-ole meet-day rituals

~~~~~
Yeah, Dale gets a little um, agitated (to say the least) on meet days.
And he's always trying to blame me for his high blood pressure!!
Well, in this case, it's sure not my fault he's a big anxious baby.
So he paces and grunts and generally behaves like a raving loony.
I pay him no mind.
Lauren tries to keep him contained and out of my way.
It's quite comical really, and kinda comforting in its predictability.
Awwww.
~~~~~

It was a good day, a great day even...an amazing day.
For reasons that went so much deeper than my competitive performance, but that was pretty special too.

I did what I had done all year, 4 routines hit cold.
But there is nothing quite like the immediate moment where you finish another one.
For all the things I love about gymnastics, competition and training both, that is probably my favorite experience.
And the bigger the meet of course, the more gratifying it feels.
Today, I was especially in that "zone."


When you compete against many of the same clubs and people year after year you get pretty well acquainted with other athletes' styles and such--as do the coaches, and the parents, who can be a little um, "irritating"--I am being so nice here--at times...especially when you kick their kids ass "year after year."
*innocent shrug*

ANYway, so I assume most 'folks' are used to the way I go through a competition by now--
watch no routines; look at neither my own scores nor anyone else's.
Moreover, having seen myself on tape, I can confirm, looking completely unaware of anything going on around me, including the crowd.

However, 'people' do always ask me how: how I can be that focused, that oddly oblivious; how could I possibly be that consistent.

Well, that level of consistency, except that it surely stems at least in part from the former, I don't so much know.

Look--
I was born with a rather unseemly amount of natural physical talent, and I do everything I can to make the most of it.
But it's not as if I'm the only one out there with skill and a strong work ethic.

However, I am not aware of anyone else, at any level, who:
say, in 7 years, somewhere around 150 competitions = about 600 routines...
has fallen exactly twice.

Even I know it's inhumanly absurd.

But, it's just how I've always been, from the first time I ever stepped before a judge at the age of 6--
when I surely had not the slightest clue there was anything exceptional about it...

The "calmness" I do kinda know about.
I didn't understand it back then, what it meant to "dissociate," that it was how I endured the unendurable.
But it's a "skill", one learned from necessity, and one that I unknowingly utilized aspects of to my competitive advantage.

*shrug*


Anyways, the day, so far, was:
Vault--Bam.
Bars--Rock Solid.
Beam--Owned It.

Last event was floor, and I was last up in the rotation.
The group on beam had just finished up as I was taking the floor, so mine was the final routine of the whole meet

Now, not that this was some packed concert stadium or anything, but between competitors, coaches, the audience of family and friends, and random others, I'd estimate it to be at least 500 people in attendance for this session.

And on some level, I was aware, that basically everyone in the building was watching me, and that my little cheering section had been the loudest in the stands all day.

It's like, yeah, I know what's going on; but it just doesn't exactly penetrate my little bubble.

My only thought before the music started was:
Leave it all out there, and take it all in.

I love this routine, love it, love it, and love it.
What, Ani Difranco isn't typical floor music??
Oh well, I am, after all Shameless.
I had given the song to the brother of my friend and teammate Ali, and he made a truly brilliant floor mix for me.
And "Miss Val", as promised, choreographed the routine--
which is the most amazing honor.
Ever.

I almost didn't want those 75 seconds to end.
It was just one of those routines--
I mean, an error-free, hit routine is an error-free, hit routine, right?

No.

I can't explain it, point out why--
I just knew this one was THE best I'd ever done.

The music finished.

And the bubble popped.
I heard all this loud clapping and cheering.
I think there were a lot of people standing.
Dale had me in such a tight bear hug I was positive I was suffocating to death.

What I really remember though is looking up at my family then, and a short time later when my name was announced, "Zara Michaela Santi", and I climbed up to the top step of the podium once again to accept my trophy--
Level 9 Eastern Nationals, Junior B, All-Around Champion.

Issac was jumping up and down with the other banner.
It said...

"That's my sister!"

Tay was whooping and pumping his arms.
Caroline and Hailey were screaming themselves hoarse.

Jax was clapping and crying and crying and clapping.
Goddess, it felt so good to be responsible for her happy tears for once.

It was the most very special day...

- posted by unquiet @ 6:33 PM 0 comments