By Dorothy Allison, Scott Jacobson
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Additional resources for Dorothy Allison: A Psychic Story
She took a deep breath and her expression relaxed as if she had temporarily gone inside, like a snail, to find something. Her voice had a distant quality to it, though she looked directly at the chief. "I see a little boy. Maybe five or six years old. It's hard to tell. He has blond hair and it's parted far over on one side, not like most kids. I see his poor little body in the water. His shoes are on the wrong feet and he's wearing a green snowsuit and a religious medal on his shut. " Chief Buel whispered.
I know I can help him, save him. I should go to the park," she implored. " Bob asked. "No, I'm not even sure it is a park. " The thought suddenly occurred to Dorothy that it was possible her dream was not local, that the boy was a total stranger. She knew, however, that he was real. His identity was the mystery. Not since the death of her father, more than twenty years before, had she suffered a vision with such physical intensity. This vision, however, ran deeper through her being, emanating from a source never before felt, a place in her body she had never before detected.
Her father had lovingly crafted it for Appolonia, and Dorothy recalled how her mother cried each time she showed it to a friend. Tears came to her own eyes as she thought of her father cooking the Sunday pasta. He always called it "Appolonia's Day of Rest" meal. His daughters delighted in spending the afternoon helping Poppa in the kitchen and then serving their parents with loving formality. Dorothy could hear the voices of her mother's friends chanting Latin liturgy, as they did in the afternoon.