The Girl ��� ��� ��� ��� ��� ��� Written by: Jem Aura (C) Chps 1-5 � ---->
ONE <---- On a hot summer afternoon, I pulled into a parking space at
Wal-Mart. I was dreading shutting off the cool truck and braving the heat
of the asphalt, only to return twenty minutes later to 120 degrees. As I
waited for the news story I was listening to to conclude, I looked absently
around the parking lot. My attention was drawn to an old blue car right in
front of me on the other side of the aisle: a sixties era medium sized four
door Dodge. The driver's door was open and under it I could see two feet.
Black socks and worn brown shoes, it seemed obvious that the owner of these
feet was an old man. Peering through the reflected sunlight across the
windshield, I could see the silhouettes of two other people: One was an
equally old woman sitting in the passenger seat up front, and the other was
a young person sitting in the back. I watched attentively as people with
their carts passing by would realize there was trouble, but would quickly
look away and continue on as if they hadn't seen it. No-one was bothering
to investigate. Leaving the truck running, I got out and began to walk a
wide circle to get a better view. Glancing over as the reflected sunlight
no longer impeded my view, the old man was slumped over, head down,
apparently having difficulty. The woman was talking to him. In the back
seat, with the windows rolled up, was a young girl of maybe 11 years. As
my route orbited closer to the car, I eventually came up to the old man's
door. "Hi folks, Is everything alright?" The old man raised his hand and
waved me off, as if to say, "I'll be alright in a moment". The woman kept
talking to him as if I didn't exist. The country drawl was so thick in her
ancient voice that I could not tell what she was saying. Stooping down I
looked into the back seat. The young girl was sweating and despondent, not
acknowledging my presence. I spoke to the man directly, "Sir, what's
wrong?" Squinting up at me, he tried to speak but his short breathing kept
halting him. He patted his chest. Taking him by the arm, I lifted him to
his feet and half carried all ninety pounds of him to my truck and put him
in the back seat. Returning to the car I opened both passenger side doors
and announced that we were all going to the hospital in my truck. The
woman garbled out something at length, apparently protesting, but I wasn't
in the mood for discussion, so I lifted her to her feet in much the same
way as the old man and placed her next to him in the back seat. The girl
was still sitting in exactly the same spot, staring at the seat in front of
her. Going back to her door and reaching in, I took her arm and coaxed her
out of the car. We quickly zoomed away. I offered the giant soda I had
recently purchased to the girl. She drank so fast that as I thumbed 911
into my cell phone, I saw the head freeze hit her. Explaining to the woman
on the phone, who objected to me moving the old man, I stated that the heat
would have killed him, so I moved him to my truck, and since he's already
in my truck, and we're only two miles from the hospital, I thought it wise
to head that way. She began to ask questions so I told her to shut up and
listen. "In two minutes I will arrive at Memorial Hospital with a cardiac
patient. If there aren't doctors waiting out front, I will personally hold
you responsible." and I hung up. Just as I came careening to a stop in
front of the emergency entrance, a stretcher and team of nurses came
bursting out of the doors. Jumping out I pointed to the door where the old
man sat. In less than a minute they had disappeared into the hospital.
The old woman and girl were happily sipping the soda as if at a movie,
still sitting in my truck, indifferent to the plight of the old guy. "Um,
excuse me maam, I think you will need to go inside to give the hospital
some information." All I got from her was a blank stare and a few garbled
words. I wasn't getting through to her. My eyes swept the area,� looking
for someone or something to�rescue me. While my mind adjusted to the mess
I was now in - feeling as if I were in a mire and sinking fast - I broke
down and�brought them into the hospital.� After getting the woman settled
into the registration office, I sat down in the waiting room with the girl.
I thumbed through a magazine while the girl sat quietly, clutching the
soda. Fifteen minutes later a young man approached, looking rather
frustrated, and informed me that the woman needed her purse. I checked the
truck, and of course there was no purse.�When I came back in to inform the
young man, he was gone. I checked a few of the cubicles and then told the
girl to stay put while I mounted a search for him. Along the way I
stumbled across the old man on a stretcher in a hallway, an IV dripping and
an EKG ticking away. He couldn't see me standing there at his head, and I
overheard the rest of a conversation he was having with another old guy on
the stretcher next to him. "My Verna's cain't remember anything from one
day to the next. She still knows me, thank God for that, but we got this
girl... well really she's my grandson's crack whore's little brat, and
even though she been with us almost a year, Verna cain't remember her name
for nothin. Keeps tryin to send her home - pushes her out of the house and
locks all the doors. Every time I come home there's the little shit
sitting on the porch." The other old guy replied: "At least she don't have
Alzheimer's. My BettySue can't even feed herself any more." He paused and
looked over at his neighbor, then up at me. His disdain for him after
hearing such talk forced him to try and put a face to it. Then he asked,
"So that girl's not your great grand daughter?" "She ain't no kin of mine,
thank God for that. She's got bad blood in her, that one. My grandson got
mixed up with some crack-whore and she tricked him into marrying her - said
the brat was his but she weren't." "So why's she living with you?" He
asked. "Oh, he got mixed up with all that bad blood and now he's in prison
for 10 years. Cops raided the house and there he was, the only one home.
We tried to get the little shit adopted out but her whore mother run off
and they can't find her. If she shows her face she'll be in prison too."
Apparently they were sharing stories about their woes. I was shocked at
his attitude toward the poor girl. I tiptoed back out to the waiting room
and collected the girl. We drove back to their car, fetched the old lady's
purse and delivered it to the receptionist, then I brought the girl to the
cafeteria. Her shabby appearance was attracting attention from everyone we
passed. Browsing all of the food the girl seemed unable to decide on what
to get, or afraid to. So I filled a tray with pizza, French fries, chicken
strips, green beans, corn, two cups of ice cream and two sodas. Sitting at
a booth, I encouraged her to eat. I watched as she slowly took a chicken
strip, shoving it whole into her mouth, she reached for another. She wore
a white button down short sleeve collar shirt that fit tightly to her
slight frame, obviously too small for her. Ancient and not so ancient
stains dappled the front, never having seen bleach. Her shorts were denim
and too large, gathered at the waist by an old men's leather belt cut
short. She wore two-dollar flip flops. Her face was streaked with dirty
sweat and her blonde hair was matted. As she ate, I notice her teeth were
yellowed, and she bit and chewed only on one side because the other side
had two badly chipped teeth, probably�painful. I smiled at her as she
glanced up at me, and she returned it, quickly going back to concentrating
on eating. As we ate the ice cream together, I examined the tray of food.
She had eaten all of the pizza, all but one of the chicken strips, all of
the corn and none of the green beans. She finished her ice cream and
having set the cup down, she instantly reverted back to her despondent
posture, head straight, eyes down, hands folded. "Hey sweetheart, where's
your mom and dad?" She glanced up at me but made no answer. "Are those
your Grandparents?" I asked She shook her head without looking at me. "Do
you want to talk about it?" She shook her head. Well, that's clear enough.
I reached out and gently brushed the hair out of her face. I was asking
the questions to see if the old guy was telling the truth. So far it all
fit. I spotted the young man from registration looking around the
cafeteria. "Don't go anywhere." I said to the girl and I went to talk to
the guy. �I came up behind him in the center of the large room. "Ahem."
"Oh, there you are. Mr. Jenks is stable. He has heat stroke and suffered
a mild heart attack. He has been admitted, but they don't have enough
insurance to cover the cost. How are you related to them?" "I'm just your
average do-gooder. I noticed them in the parking lot at Wal-Mart." "You do
realize, by bringing them here rather than calling an ambulance, that you
are responsible for the unpaid charges?" I stared at the young man in
disbelief. "Do you realize that not getting my consent releases me from
that responsibility?" I stated. "Actually, sir, your actions in bringing
them here serves as consent." He stated rather testily. "Look, sport, I
know this crap works great on the uninformed, but I'm not one of them.
Ultimately you're going to try to shove a piece of paper in front of me to
sign, and if I'm foolish enough to sign it, then you might have something.
Kapish?" His ears went red and he turned to leave, crumpling up a piece of
paper he had been holding. I shouted after him, "Hold on a second," coming
up beside him "What about the woman, is she right in the head? I couldn't
understand a word she said." He shrugged off his defeat, letting his
professional indifference take hold. "She's very old. They both are in
their nineties. She's not all there. But the old guy is still sharp. "He
paused. "Ornery as hell too." I was tempted to ask him about the girl, if
he knew anything about her, but he seemed anxious to get back to his work
so I let it rest. ----> TWO <---- Only a week had gone by since I first
rolled back into town. My life was going pretty well until this little
distraction. I had been living in Florida when the work dried up. I sold
my boat and was making arrangements to have my furniture delivered to the
rehab I had just purchased. You see, I have become a nomad of sorts.
Several years ago, right after my divorce, I lost my job and started doing
home remodeling to survive. It went a lot better than I thought and I
started buying, fixing up, and selling old sorry houses in nice
neighborhoods. I'd move in and work on them in my spare time. The money
piled up. However, it was a lonely existence, mostly working by myself. I
had dreams of living on a boat in the Caribbean, and injecting myself into
the social club whose only requirement to join is ownership in a vessel
capable of doing the Jamaica hop. So when hurricane Katrina hit, I got an
idea. With a fist full of cash and pulling my trailer full of tools behind
me, I headed for the gulf. I searched the internet for the addresses of
all of the marine dealers along the gulf coast. At first it was very
difficult to move around, but after a week or so, I had talked with several
dealers. One in particular seemed to be a perfect find. Harvey, of
Harvey's Yachts, had several damaged boats. Without actually discussing my
idea directly, I saw the gleam in his eye once it dawned on him that I was
packing cash. I located a boat that had been on blocks near the yard. It
was a beautiful ketch style motor sailor of 43 feet. It was ten years old
and in perfect condition, except for the caved in transom and other damage
to the hull and keel from falling off its blocks. Another boat had skidded
across the yard and plowed into the back of this one. It was full of
electronics and extras that had me drooling. The damage was significant,
especially since it was structural damage, but not beyond my capabilities.
And since it was on blocks rather than moored when the storm hit, it hadn't
been flooded with salt water, nor any water at all. The interior, other
than a few minor things, was perfect. Being an aircraft mechanic, trained
by the military to repair composite structures, I am completely qualified
to perform the repairs necessary to bring the "Sweetheart" back to glory.
What I suggested to Harvey, without saying it, is that if I purchased the
wreck and got it out of there before the insurance adjuster arrived, He
could submit his claim using photographs (which, when viewed from the rear,
made it look like a total loss). All I needed from him was to get the boat
back up on the blocks, allow me enough time to get it floatable, and put it
back in the water for me. He was anxious to do the deal. Since I had
cash, it meant twenty thousand dollars in his very greedy hand, and I
strongly suspected that he was working on something between his ears to
allow the whole wad to end up in his pocket. For me, it meant that I would
soon have a place to live, and for about ten cents on the dollar. I stayed
there along the gulf for two years, repairing other boats for insurance
money, and improving my own boat as if it were one of my rehab houses.
When the work dried up, I had a big bash for all the friends I had made,
sold the Sweetheart for two hundred and seventy five thousand dollars, and
headed back to my home town, St. Louis, Missouri. So right now I was
jobless, nearly homeless, but financially sound. Here in town I still own
a few leased houses, ones I fixed up and leased rather than sold. ---->
THREE <---- Back at the cafeteria table the girl and I sat there in
silence. My mind was desperately trying to figure out how I could get out
of this mess and back to my life. It took a while before I could even
remember why I had gone to Wal-Mart in the first place. Eventually the
girl excused herself to the restroom, and while she was gone, the young
administrator came back in, still clueless as to where we had been sitting
- and with that look on his face. Again I went over to him. "I'm sorry, I
didn't get your name before..." he stated, leaving the period off the
sentence, making it a request. "No, you didn't" I responded, and when he
finally figured out that I wasn't going to give it to him his shoulders
slumped slightly and then said. "Well, he's dead." pausing for affect,
then continued. "They think it might have been an aneurism, or a massive
stroke. It's not uncommon with someone that old - they come in for
treatment, seem to be recovering, and then Wham! They're gone." "Well,
Fuck." I growled, expressing my feelings exactly. "What about the woman?
What are you going to do? Their car is at Wal-Mart, and I wouldn't let her
drive a wheelchair." "I don't know. They are calling in a social worker.
Probably go to a state run home unless some family member wants to take her
in, but I doubt it." I was expecting to launch into a parallel conversation
about the girl when I noticed he was preparing to leave me and go back to
his office. Immediately a warning bell went off in my head. ...That means
he didn't know about the girl. And as I considered for a moment, there was
a good chance that no-one knew that the girl belonged to the old couple
unless old Jenks told someone. And it's likely the only person he did was
that other patient. Still thinking and sorting out the puzzles in my head
I stared at the back of the young man as he left - my hand raised and my
mouth hanging open. By the time my wits returned to me, the new orphan�was
standing beside me. I took her hand and we walked slowly out of the
cafeteria, me being so dazed that I left our mess on the table. Aimlessly
we walked the long hallways - as if in a dream, my mind trying to come to
some sort of resolution, some truce to the argument that was raging inside
me. We reached a dead end at the hospital's main lobby. The information
desk clerk had her head down, typing at a computer terminal with three
people in line. We stopped and turned to go back the way we came... but
at that moment I decided to leave the hospital. We stood motionless in the
center of the Lobby while I decided what to do with the girl. My reasoning
for wanting to leave all of a sudden had something to do with the fact that
the hospital seemed to have a lot of bad energy: They couldn't save old Mr.
Jenks; the dishonest young administrator tried to rob me blind; and my
feeling as if I were in the Hotel California "...but you can never leave!"
I considered leaving her with the help desk, then seeing the line thought
it best to return her to emergency, and since it would be much quicker to
walk around the outside of the sprawling complex than to navigate the
laberynth of halls and elevators, we exited the main lobby and out into the
hot sunshine. Along the way I became aware of the argument raging inside
me: One side saying how guilty and low I will feel for the rest of my life
if I abandoned her to this palace of bad energy and the State of Missouri;
the other listing all of the ways it would blow up in my face if I didn't.
Seeing my truck only twenty yards away I quickly considered the chances of
anyone being aware of the girl. Changing my mind again and feeling a rush
of positive emotions, I stopped and knelt down in front of the girl.
"Sweetheart, I need to get somewhere where I can think. Would you be
afraid if I took you with me?" I didn't want to break the news about Mr.
Jenks being dead right there on the sidewalk, because if I did, what could
I tell her other than we'd figure something out?
She looked back at the hospital and said "He'll be mad at me." "He knows
you're with me." I said, wondering if it might actually be true. This
scruffy little girl was not my idea of a pet. And pets don't fit into my
lifestyle of constantly moving around. But then it occurred to me that if
it didn't work out, I would still be able to give her back. And then I
realized that several times in my life I had said that exact same thing to
myself when helping a stray dog or cat, and even though I would have
preferred not owning them, I always kept them. Of course this was a human
being, not your average stray animal. The red tape and consequences might
be endless, or just plain impossible - and in that case she would end up in
foster care, or even worse, back to her drug addict mother and/or convict
step-father. ----> FOUR <---- I decided to get a hotel room. I thought it
would certainly scare the girl to be brought to my new residence: the rehab
I had just purchased. To her it would be a dark and dismal place. And I
didn't have an extra sleeping bag, or air conditioning, or electricity, or
water... In the hotel room, sitting on the bed with TV remote in hand, the
girl listened as I explained that I was going out. "Now listen, don't
answer the door, don't answer the phone, and don't go anywhere. Can you do
that for me?" Looking right at me, she gave no indication of an answer to
my question. "Hey, I don't even know your name. What is it?" I asked
hopefully. She stared at me for a moment, then said "Polly." "Polly,
that's nice, is it Polly Jenks?" She shook her head, "Polly Paxton" "Ah, I
like that. Okay Polly Paxton, I have to go out and get a few things. you
just watch the TV until I get back. Okay?" This time she shook her head.
"What's wrong? Are you afraid to be here alone? I won't be gone long."
"Can't I come too?" She asked sheepishly. "I'd rather not. I can go
really fast if I can go by myself. And I'm bringing you back some
surprises." I walked over to the desk and wrote my cell phone number on the
pad by hotel phone. "Here's my cell phone number. Come here and practice
calling me." Polly hesitantly slid from the bed and listened as I explained
how to dial the hotel phone. Soon my cell was ringing and she smiled at
the small triumph. Lifting her back onto the bed, I handed her the
receiver and we talked nonsense until I was running down the aisles back at
the Wal-Mart. I would have taken her with me, but her appearance was in
such contrast to mine that I didn't want anyone to see her, especially
someone that might know me, before I had a chance to get her cleaned up.
The blue Dodge was still there in the parking lot, I stuffed a cart with
snacks, soda, milk, lunchmeat, cheese, bread, peanut butter, grape jelly,
potato chips, doughnuts, pop tarts, cereal, plastic bowls knives, forks,
spoons, beef jerky, panties, socks, pants, shirts, three sizes of tennis
shoes, hair ties, curling iron, barrettes, brush, comb, soap, toothbrush,
nighties, bathrobe, cards, and monopoly. During the spree I remembered
what I needed before the interruption - motor oil and filter - I got that,
and on my way to the chechout I saw a large display of girl's clothes that
included a very pretty dress with removable puffy sleeves, lace and
ribbons. White pantyhose and shiny white shoes were bundled with it as a
suggestion. What a weird thing to buy for a girl I had no conscious
intentions about - good, bad or indifferent. Some strange cog in my head
clicked and onto the pile of other stuff they went. Maybe it was the fact
that I had promised her some "surprises" and everything else I bought
(except the games) were rather ordinary. I had to use a porter's cart to
get it all up to the room. By the time I had finished unloading and
putting everything out of sight it was dinner time. But I wanted her clean
and dressed before we left again. "Hey Polly... sweetheart... lie back
for me." She looked at me suspiciously but slowly complied, scooching her
butt forward and then lying back. I hovered close over her. "Open your
mouth." As she slowly opened her mouth, I pushed her lips up so I could see
her teeth. Plaque was encrusted everywhere: So much so that several of her
teeth had no space between them. Brushing them seemed pointless, except
for the smell that was wafting up and into my nostrils. "You know what?" I
asked, releasing her lips. "We are going to get you all fixed up. You are
going to be one of my rehab projects, my little Cinderella, and I'm your
fairy godfather." That made her smile, even though crookedly. "First thing
is a bath. Can you manage that by yourself?" Surprisingly, she shrugged,
as if not sure. "Sure you can. I'll run your water and you just scrub all
over with a soapy washcloth. You can do that, can't you?" She nodded and
then shrugged again. . "And wash your hair. I brought some nice smelling
shampoo." At this she shook her head. "Huh? What's wrong? You don't wash
your hair?" "I get soap in my eyes." She whined. I stared down at her. A
nagging suspicion was growing somewhere within me. Her demeanor seemed a
little contrived. But I brushed it aside in my mind�as I considered her
shabby, ill-treated appearance. "That is something I would expect to hear
from a girl half your age. You just do the best you can and if you need
some help, let me know." The slightest hint of a pout formed as she sat
there looking up at me.�I pulled her off the bed and gently nudged her
toward the bathroom. I ran the water for her and waited for the tub to
fill, feeling her eyes on me as she stood just outside the door in front of
the vanity. Turning and looking toward her I was surprised to see her
unabashedly� undressing - her shirt on the floor, she was working at the
old belt. Once undone, her shorts fell to her ankles. She had no
underwear on. Everything she owned in the world was on the floor beside
her, and would soon be in the trash. The girl looked like a refugee. Her
feet, hands, and face were all markedly darker than her pale torso, and her
gangliness due to adolescence made her look too thin in her arms,
shoulders, hips and legs. All of that mixed with her lost puppy look and
frazzled hair had a big affect on me. She entered and stood facing me, one
hand holding the other�behind her back.�I could smell her body odor. "You
can get in. It's not too hot". She stepped in carefully, not turning her
back or taking her eyes off of me. Slowly she sat down. She was not
concerned at all about her nakedness. But I was her guardian, and perhaps
she sensed that. Even so I still thought it odd that at her age she was
not self-conscious about her appearance, considering she was certainly in
peuberty. I left the room and left the door slightly ajar. I called the
hospital. "Yes. Hello. I was wondering if the social worker that was
called in for the Jenks' has arrived. I'm the one who brought them in and
I just wanted to confirm that she is being looked after properly." "Please
hold..." after a couple of minutes she came back saying "She is here now,
would you like to speak with her?" "Yes I would, thank you." I said. "Her
name is Ms. Fielding." the phone was muffled with her palm, "Uhm, Tracy
Fielding. Please hold. " Two seconds and we were talking. "Hello, Have
you met with Ms. Jenks yet? " I peeked in on Polly. She was lying down
with her head and knees sticking out of the water. No sign of soap. Tracy
Fielding had a very pleasant voice. "Yes, I've seen her, and you are?"
"Ms. Fielding, the hospital expressed a desire to hold me responsible for
the Jenk's charges. It's absurd, but just in case, I would prefer to
remain anonymous. I am the one who noticed then having difficulty, and
brought them to the hospital. I was hoping you could put my mind at ease
that Verna is being cared for, and tell me what you plan to do with her." I
covered the receiver with my hand. "Pssst! Hey, you gonna wash?" She
slowly sat up and reached for the washcloth. "I'm sorry sir; I can't
discuss any of this with you unless you are a relative or legal guardian."
"Well, the hospital seems okay with having me pay their bills, doesn't that
count for something?"� "Nice try." "Seriously maam, I feel responsible for
her in a way. Can't you at least tell me if she is aware of what's going
on? She seemed totally lost in her own little world." "Well, you don't
sound like the type to be causing trouble for old ladies. You're right,
she has severe dementia. The only thing she seems aware of is that her
husband isn't here. She's been asking for him constantly. We brought her
to him, but she couldn't understand that he was dead." "So, speaking
hypothetically, what do you do with someone like her?" "She will go into a
home. A state attorney will be assigned and they will dig up her family
and try to put her affairs in order. The primary objective is to find a
relative to take over as trustee." "And so far you don't know of any
family?" "No. The staff here said it was just him and her, and they didn't
have a chance to question the man before he died." That was what I was
fishing for. "Okay, well, I have your name and I can find where you work I
think. You might hear back from me about her in the future." The woman
left me her office number and was gracious to the last. At least I knew
now that I could take my time and decide what to do about the girl, that
there wasn't an all points bulletin for some guy kidnapping a girl. I knew
I was doing what was in her best interest, but try explaining that to the
police. I could relax and sort out the mess after sleeping on it. I
checked on Polly again. There she sat with washcloth in hand. No soap.
"Are you okay?" I asked. But all she did was turn her head and look at me.
"What's wrong sweetheart?" Again she looked up at me, not really hearing me
it seemed. Then another warning bell went off in my head, about her
passive nature amid direct questions. I sensed she was bracing to be
punished, like a dog that cowers when you reach out to pet it. It was just
a feeling, something familiar in her reactions to me, but nothing concrete.
Abuse often takes the form of unwarranted kindness, followed by explosive
tirades, so that an abused child will soon become suspicious of kindness. I
took the washcloth from her hand and soaped it up. Squeezing it out, I
carefully washed her face, being sure not to get any soap in her eyes.
Taking another washcloth, I wiped the soap away. Similarly, but with much
more vigor and suds, I washed her arms, shoulders, back, and chest, and
rinsed her off cupping water in my hands. Polly's head had slumped
forward, eyes closed, apparently enjoying herself. "Stand up sweetie," I
said, and she stood. Soaping up the washcloth again, I washed the front of
her down to the waterline. When she turned around, my breath caught in my
throat. On her butt and thighs were several reddish lines. One clearly
showed the outline of a belt buckle and a puncture. "Oh! My God." I said
while rubbing my hand over the injuries as if to wipe them away. Polly
turned around quickly, trying to hide the marks. Anger flashed through me
like a lightening bolt. "Who did this to you?" I growled. Polly shrunk
back away from me, trying to hide behind upraised arms. The curve of the
tub made her footing slip, her feet coming completely out from under her.
Flailing arms grasped the air for a handhold. Down she came, head sliding
down the tile wall on its way to striking the side of the tub. Reaching
out, I plucked her out of the air. She bucked and squirmed, not realizing
that she was safe, but my arms� clamped down upon her so that she could
barely move.� In a flash, she went from terror and panic to the safety of
my arms, the frightened look on her face slowly fading away. Smiling down
at her, I said, "Polly, angel, you don't need to be afraid. I will never
hurt you. I'm sorry I scared you. I was angry at whoever did that to
you.� Are you okay?" Polly nodded her answer, like she so often did, and
fixed me with a very peculiar look - like a bear waking up after a long
hibernation and taking a tentative look outside its cave at the world. "I
mean it sweetheart, you can trust me. Whatever has happened to you, don't
think for a minute that I am like that. I am not." Polly's eyes softened
and she relaxed noticeably in my arms. As I set her back into the water, I
realized that I was soaking wet. When her legs came out from under her,
she had sent a shower of water and suds right on to me. I stood above her
with my arms outstretched, looking down at my soaked clothes, and with an
obvious mock voice I began ranting at her, "Hey, who got me all wet? Look
at this. I'm soaked. How did that happen?" Unsure, and still a little
sheepish, Polly sat looking up at me and shrugged. "Was it you?" I asked
twisting my face, using every ounce of body language to convey that this
was a performance for her benefit. Polly's eyes brightened and she let out
a delightful laugh. I kept up the act, turning circles with arms open
wide, staring down at my wet clothes, and then looking at her with the
glaring, accusing mask, one eyebrow raised high. Again a deep belly laugh,
and a splash, aimed at me. I noticed her behavior, as wonderful as it was
all of a sudden, was more suited to a much younger child, making me think
she had completely missed out on this type of fun. My face morphed from
anger to surprise and fear at this new assault. Turning, I screamed and
ran out the door, my arms flailing about in fear. The wonderful sound of
her laughter flowed out of the bathroom after me. Putting on my angry
face, I turned and went back in, only to be met with a much bigger splash.
Several times we repeated this until finally I rushed in through a wall of
airborne water and began splashing her back. When half of the water from
the tub was on the floor or me, I slumped down beside the tub in defeat,
panting. Polly gave a few more well placed splashes in my face, let out a
piercing scream, and then stopped, joy gushing from her. "I quit, you
win." I said, splashing in the deep puddle on the floor as I got to my
feet. I climbed in the tub with her, clothes and all, for which I was
rewarded with more giggles, but we got back to business and soon the sprite
was squeaky clean and pink all over. Every now and then, as I worked, I
would get a splash in my face for good measure, in hopes of a renewed
volley, but I stuck to business. �I watched her brush her teeth while
struggling out of my wet clothes. In a few minutes I was ready to go, but
not Polly. I helped her go through the motions, drying her hair and doting
over her as if I were her handmaiden. As the dress slid over her upraised
arms, a matching flowery accessory with hair clips hooked onto her fingers
from somewhere within the dress. We both Ooooo'ed and Ah'd over it and I
carefully added it amid the curls we had created. It took a while, but
finally we were walking to the car in search of a restaurant. As we
walked, I marveled at the transformation that had taken place. She skipped
along, spinning and dancing in her new dress, pausing in front of the hotel
windows to look at herself in her new clothes, and then at her new shoes,
her flowing blonde hair absolutely glowing in the late afternoon sun. A
perpetual smile was on her face. I found it difficult not to stare into
her eyes when our eyes would meet; wanting to share in her excitement, but
each time I did her smile would diminish as the connection was made. It
was a shyness born of insecurity and mistrust, because otherwise her
demeanor clearly showed her to be a gregarious and outgoing personality.
Dinner was especially enjoyable. We talked about light subjects and I was
introduced to Polly's vivid imagination. Make believe friends and
imaginary places. I also discovered that we had a dream in common: To sail
away to far places on a wonderful ship. I fished some photos out of my
wallet and showed them to her. The Sweetheart was gleaming in the evening
glow of the sun, her aluminum and brass polished, her teak dark with oil,
and her bright sails full of the westerly breeze. She looked closely at
the man at the wheel. "Is that you?" I nodded, smiling. Her mouth fell
open with amazement. "Is that your boat?". I nodded, "Well, it was my
boat, I had to sell it." Disappointed, she asked, "How come?" "Well, it's
too big to bring with me, and I had to come here, to rescue you." "Nuh-uh."
she said. "You did not." "Oh yeah?" I said arching my eyebrows, "Well, I
don't think there is anyone more suited to rescuing a beautiful princess
than me. And I think God feels the same way. That's why He brought us
together. So would you like to argue with Him about why I had to sell my
boat? Because He will just tell you that He had to pull a few strings to
get us to meet at the right place and the right time. And since Mr. Jenks
is gone now, who would be looking after you?" "Gone?" she said after a long
confused pause. I had forgotten to tell her, or rather forgotten that I
hadn't told her. "Yes. I'm sorry Polly, I was waiting to tell you so you
wouldn't be afraid. He died while we were at the hospital. I think maybe
that's exactly how it was supposed to happen - I got here just in time.
You see, God must like you a whole lot, because here I am, the answer to
that prayer you sent Him." The wheels were turning behind her bright eyes.
She ate a bite of chocolate cake soaked in melting vanilla ice cream,
having nothing to add. I think she actually believed me. And it was
painfully obvious that she perceived the milestone as a very good thing for
her, even if I were not there taking care of her - not a hint of regret or
sorrow to be seen. "Anyway," I continued about the boat, "What I do for a
living is buy broken things, fix them, and then sell them again. That
boat, my Sweetheart, was broken bad in a hurricane. I bought it, fixed it
all up, and then sold it just in time to rescue you. But you know what?",
Polly shook her head with the spoon in her mouth. "If another hurricane
hits, we can go down to Florida together and find a big wonderful ship and
fix it and live on it. What do you think about that?" Nodding, she stuffed
the last huge bite of cake into her mouth. ----> FIVE <---- When it came
to bedtime, I stood there staring at the king sized bed, wondering why it
had not occurred to me to get a room with two queens. Then I remembered
that when I was checking in that I thought I would be delivering her up to
some agency before the end of the day. It amazed me how events, and my
perception of them, move in directions totally contrary to how I imagine
them at first. Having forced Polly to brush her teeth again, and dressed
in her nightie, she sat propped up in the bed like the princess she was,
watching the Cartoon Network while I answered my email at the desk next to
the bed. I sent an email to my private investigator. I had used him while
in Florida to find some people who skipped out on their rent. He seemed
very reliable and reasonable, so I gave him this new assignment, with the
names of all concerned and asked him to dig up everything he could about
the girl and her parents. Still clicking away 45 minutes later I glanced
over to see her sound asleep, the remote clutched at her breast.
Stealthily I pried the remote and one pillow from her and slid her down
under the covers. Sliding in beside her, I read my book until it fell to
the floor. I am an infrequent dreamer. At least ones I can remember.
Most of my dreams take the form of a nightmare in which I'm in school, late
to an exam in a class I had forgotten to attend, only to find as I enter
the room that I am in my underwear. Anxiety dreams I call them. The rest
are either nonsense dreams quickly forgotten, or sexual dreams which, being
the most infrequent type, I find they take on no specific pattern, except
in their complete unpredictability. I guess if I had to identify a
pattern, it would be that the subject is usually nudity and titillation
rather than sweaty love making. On this occasion however, that pattern was
clearly broken. Having entered a large, well lit room full of people, I
was aware of electricity in the air, and pretty eyes that connected with
mine, moving toward me; several pairs of eyes: large and blue and beautiful
eyes. However, I found my mood indifferent, coy, and at odds with the
eroticism being focused on me trying to find its conclusion. One girl in
particular, a young blonde, thin and lithe, floated in front of me in a
silky white spaghetti strap dress, exposing a perfectly shaped breast in
its flowing folds. She settled in on my lap, flirtatious in her movements
and tilted looks. Turning, putting her arm around my neck, she kissed me,
the kiss exclaiming "I want you to make love to me... right now." I
floated away onto a soft white lawn, lying back, being tenderly stroked by
this lovely young woman. I swooned, feeling my erection pulse to fullness,
feeling her touches and soft hair across my chest and stomach. The erotic
nature of the dream changed however as I became aware of a different, less
tender sensation. Looking down, still in my dream but in a new place, I
saw Polly, playfully stroking my penis. Startled, I awoke, muscles
convulsed, and the bed shook. The room was dark except for the lit parking
areas penetrating the curtains, and the reddish glow of the alarm clock. I
was erect. Polly was beside me, spooned against my side, her leg draped on
my hip. Then I felt something... My penis moved, again it moved... one
second of awareness and I identified the sensation of being masturbated.
Polly, apparently asleep, had her hand wrapped around the shaft of my penis
and periodically stroked it. I jumped at the realization and rolled away
from her. I went into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the
light. In the mirror, my erection was staring up at me out of the fly of
my boxers. I tried to gather myself. Why would she do that... in her
sleep? I ran some water and splashed my face. "That dirty old son of a
bitch!" I said into the towel. That's the only explanation. She must have
been abused by the old man. I stood over her, the light from the bathroom
gently washing across her face. She had not moved. She was sound asleep.
The alarm clock read 2:47 am. I climbed in and read my book to get my mind
off of her, and him. But my mind wandered back to the present. Mainly
because of the emotional charge that was still surging through me. I
examined my feelings and realized I was incredibly angry and hostile
towards a dead guy, but why? I mean, why does that particular line of
thinking get me worked up to such a degree that it becomes irrational? I
hear of people doing stupid and cruel things to children, physically
abusing them, such as extreme punishments with a belt or whatever, and I
have a very measured and normal reaction to it. Sure It makes me mad, but
if it involves sex, well look out, the walls of Jericho must surely fall.
It makes no sense at all. Surely playing at sex with a trusted adult is
much less likely to scar a child emotionally than being physically abused.
Both at the same time, such as rape is certainly extremely traumatic, but
it has been a normal part of human behavior through the furthest reaches of
antiquity. We react so strongly only when we aren't the one getting to
deposit some seed. It's hypocritical. Maybe that's what was eating at me:
Here I've been struggling in my own thoughts, looking back at my dream and
how closely the lovely creature resembled Polly, and now here I'm nearly
irate with rage over the same thing. In any case, as I continued to search
my feelings, my mind drifted back to thousands of family meals, breakfast
lunch and dinner, in our house growing up, where open discussion of current
events shaped my emotional landscape. My family has always taken great
pride in the fact that we all stick together, and we all stick up for one
another, no matter what. When my sister started begging to be able to go
out on dates, my father would burst a vein in his forehead about how
inappropriate it would be, and give long tyrannical speeches on the ills of
society and the rampant perversion that was everywhere... and then there
was poker night: when I would hear testimony after testimony from that same
mouth of the virtues of certain young waitresses and even school girls, the
only distinction being that those girls were not affiliated to the family
in any way. So that meant they were fair game. Nothing perverted about
that, right? So now I knew that my extreme reaction was two fold: because
old Jenks had apparently taken advantage of one of his own, instead of a
similar supernumerary from across town; and simple jealousy.