The Girl Written by: Jem Aura (C) Chps 6-10
----> SIX <---- 6:30 a.m. and the clock blared at me. Slamming my fist
down upon it, it went quiet. Polly was spooned up to my back as I lay
there on my side, her hands not where they shouldn't be. I made a mental
note to move to a room with two beds. Soon we were up and out and into a
McDonalds for breakfast. I had taken the phone directory from the room and
sat thumbing through it looking for local dentists and pediatricians,
sipping coffee while Polly munched on a cake of hash browns. The events
during the night were desperately being forgotten. I left several messages
on office answering machines explaining my urgency, willing to arrive at a
moments notice in case of a last minute cancellation. At 8 o'clock, my cell
started ringing with callbacks. Soon we were in the waiting room of a
dentist that specialized in children. Polly was afraid, and it took every
trick in the book to keep her from crying. All lies and lame reassurance,
and she wasn't buying. To her, this was the doctor, and apparently when
she had been sick and needed a doctor, she was told that doctors are mean
and they only want to hurt people by sticking them with needles and cutting
with knives, and charging lots of money for it. It took quite a while to
move beyond the fear and get her to agree that as far as the dentists and
doctors were concerned, she was my niece. In the chair, Polly began to
relax under the care of a very experienced woman. Stroking her hair back,
she smiled down at her and swore that she would not do anything to hurt
her. A quick examination had the woman shooting me accusing glances. "Hey,
c'mon, she's my niece and I met her yesterday for the first time. Just
tell me what needs to be done." With that the woman's mood softened. She
took a few opportunities to look me over more closely as the realization
that in some way I had rescued the girl sunk in - a knight-in-shining-armor
perhaps, and perhaps imagining that she could use a little rescuing
herself. After the initial exam by two techs and finally the big D himself,
I was counseled as to the extent of the damage. It wasn't pretty - nor
cheap. The big problem was that they estimated a minimum of six visits to
bring her back to health, primarily to try to restore the damage to her
gums, and those treatments had to be spaced apart by a couple of weeks.
The good news was, that the chipped teeth were viable, one was still a baby
tooth, and could be repaired in time, the plaque was coming off today along
with a fluoride treatment, and we would be sent home with a kit for
whitening her teeth back to the brilliance of any normal 11 year old. "What
about the chipped teeth, is there anything you can do now to make them
appear normal?", I asked hopefully. "Unfortunately, we won't be able to
permanently crown the one permanant tooth until she is about 18 years old.
There are temporary solutions that are marginal in appearance and
durability, unless you want to spend a whole lot of money for something
temporary." The dentist said, looking straight into my eyes. "How much is a
whole lot?" I asked. Scratching his chin and glancing toward the room where
the girl waited patiently, running a few numbers behind his eyes, he
finally stated, "about $1,200 per tooth. "Do it." I said. He nodded at his
assistant and she bolted toward her office to get the paperwork done and
appointments issued. Our next appointment for that day was the
pediatrician. But first we were heading back to the hotel for lunch. Along
the way, Polly leaned her head against her window and dreamily watched the
landscape float by. "Polly, how did your teeth get chipped?" I asked,
breaking the silence. Polly stiffened and froze for a moment as the
question settled in, then slowly turned to look at me. Her eyes drifted
from my face to the steering wheel as she reflected, deep hurt and pain in
her eyes. Seeing her struggling so much I lost my desire to even hear what
might have caused her so much hurt. She was about to speak, but before she
did I reached over, undid her seatbelt, and pulled her over next to me, my
arm pressing her in tight against my side, her cheek and hand on my chest.
----> SEVEN <---- Inside Polly's mind the event played through a few times,
like it always had, hating herself for allowing it to happen, and exploring
alternate outcomes if she had been more careful: It was a pleasant
afternoon on a warm spring day. It was her birthday. She had just turned
10 and the only birthday present she had received was from her aunt
Cecillia, a pink bicycle. She loved it. For hours she rode up and down
the sidewalk in front of their apartment. When her mom yelled at her to
come inside to say goodbye to her aunt Cecillia she ran in and threw her
arms around her aunt. She hated to see her leave. They seemed to have a
connection and an understanding, and Polly felt normal when she was with
her. She hugged her tight until they pryed her loose. Before her mind had
even cleared from that loss, because she seldom got to see her aunt
Cecillia, there was a crash outside and in came Darryl Jenks, Polly's step
dad, screaming at Polly for leaving her bike behind his truck. He dragged
her out to the scene of the crime and shoved her face in front of the pink
scratch on his fender. Polly was only able to focus on the bent and
twisted frame of her bike under the massive wheel. Seeing this Darryl's
rage went off the scale and he punched her in the face with a right hook.
She collapsed and her face fell onto the bike, chipping her teeth. A
flurry of screams and protests followed, entering her semi-consciousness as
if in a dream. Coming to, Darryl and his truck gone, her mother with a
bloody nose and busted lip, and her bike a total loss, Polly sat beside it
playing with the streamers and putting dandylion flowers in the basket, and
running her tongue across the jagged edges of her teeth. ----> EIGHT <----
I remained silent as Polly cried softly, sniffing periodically. "Do you
want to tell me?" I asked. Polly looked up at me, considering it, then
looked dimly out the window at the scenery sweeping by. "Promise you'll
tell me some day?" I asked. Looking up at me again, she smiled and nodded.
Lunch in the hotel room consisted of PBJ's for Polly, ham sandwiches for
me, potato chips for us both, water out of the little plastic hotel cups,
and a tooth whitening for her. Just before we left for the doctor, Polly
brushed her teeth of her own accord, and stared at them in the mirror.
Waiting at the door for her, she came bopping toward me and threw her arms
around my waist. I choked back a wave of emotions due to my own loneliness
as we walked awkwardly down the hall that way. Knowing full well the
reaction of the doctor when he sees the girl's behind, I explained to the
receptionist that I needed to see the doctor alone before he sees the girl.
For some reason I felt compelled to drop the "niece" pretext with this
doctor, and I quickly explained the true events of the past 24 hours to
him, I stated, "I want you to do a gynecological exam, and depending of
what you find, I need to know now what you are required to do about it."
"Well, I will have to notify Family Services if there is any indication of
sexual assault. As for the belt marks, corporal punishment has not been
outlawed. Broken bones are another matter, and the puncture was probably
not intentional. But really, Mr. Wilkes, what I am more concerned about
is violating my professional ethics with regard to her and the fact that
you are not her official guardian. I should require that the state be
notified." "Uhm, you 'should' require it?" I asked, wondering why he used
'should' instead of 'must'. "I don't like the way the state handles these
cases. The girl would end up being neglected in the long run. If you can
assure me that you will be discrete regarding my services should the state
become involved in the future, then I will go ahead and provide them. I
only say this because I will have her file seperate and there will be no
official record." "You can count on me. It's good to know there are a few
sane people left in the world doc. Thank you." I paused, thinking... "So,
what if there are signs she has been sexually abused. How can we handle
that? Wouldn't she be right back in the position of being neglected by the
state? And if she has been abused, we know who did it, and he's dead.
What good would it do? What about Polly? I don't want them forcing her to
relive the whole thing under interrogation just for the record books.
That's wrong." "I'm glad to hear you say that. In nearly every case I've
had, and there have been several, I've dealt with mothers, and for some
strange reason, something to do with the fact that they are women, they
become solely concerned with exacting revenge and then believe that somehow
it was in the best interest of the child. It clearly does much more harm
than good to the child, I mean the act of exacting that revenge - calling
police, prosecuting, etc. The only real concern should be to ensure the
future safety of the child. The legal system has lumped all forms of
sexual contact with minors as criminal, and the phychiatric community lumps
all forms as incredibly harmful. But I know from first hand experience in
my own family that girls that age will manipulate a trusted man into sex
play, and as long as that is the only motive involved, and the man is
discrete and the incident remains undetected, there is no harm whatsoever
to the girl. In fact, it probably is intended to happen exactly that way,
due to our evolution, and could even be a healthy thing. Don't get me
wrong, I'm not condoning sex for minors. Our society today makes so that
they may be better off avoiding it, and it can't hurt if they do avoid it
until they are older, but to throw that trusted man into prison will scar
the girl for life. So much so that the intense guilt will drive her into
drugs, prostitution, or even suicide. Psychiatrists have convinced the
legal system that it was the sexual contact that caused it - hense the
screwed up laws." "That makes perfect sense, what you say. But, so...
what should we do?" I asked. "Let me make a call before we examine her to
see if we can come to an understanding. I know a social worker I've
discussed these things with and she seems to see things like I do." "Oh
wow, Thank you. That is great. I'll be waiting." Relief washed over me.
This competent and compassionate man was in exactly the right profession.
In any case, it was all for naught. The social worker and doctor agreed
that if the girl had been abused by the old guy, it would be better to let
it lie, as long as I agreed to formally adopt the girl and not let her
drift into the state foster care system. But as it turns out, the girl had
not been penetrated. With much relief, I called the social worker and gave
her the good news, along with the names of the old couple so that we could
get the adoption done. To my delight, she told me that in cases where all
parties are in agreement, the adoption is not only free, but is legal in a
matter of days. I didn't bother telling her about crack whores, lost
paternity, senility, etc. Who knows what roadblocks they might construct
against me? At least for now I was content to be walking with her hand in
hand, my arm being propelled against my will like a giant pendulum. Polly
was excited to be out of "the real doctor's" office, having endured several
vaccinations. "I'm not afraid any more, the shots didn't hurt at all." She
said, craning her neck around to look at her arm again. Halfway to the car,
in the parking lot, I knelt down in front of her and held her hands in
mine. Tears were welling up in my eyes and she looked at me confused.
"Polly, sweetheart, I know this is happening really fast, but I just talked
to a lady on the phone who says that if you want to, I can become your dad.
Would you like that?" I sniffed and wiped my tears on my wrist, not letting
go of her hands. Polly quickly nodded, and for once she looked deep into my
eyes and made the connection. She understood my tears and at that instant
lost control of her pent up hurt and pain due to neglect and loneliness.
She burst into tears and fell into my arms, sobbing deeply with her face
buried in my chest. Standing up and lifting her into my arms. I turned to
see a car that had been patiently waiting for us to move out of the aisle,
the woman at the wheel dabbing at her tears. I wondered what she must have
thought we were crying about. ----> NINE <---- Normally, I would
methodically work through upgrading the electrical service, plumbing, and
HVAC systems of a rehab house myself, saving the expense of hiring
contractors. But now that I have Polly, certain priorities must be
rearranged. Hiring contractors this time, to make the place habitable,
would save some money in the long run, not having to stay at the hotel for
an extended period. So hire them I did. Within a week, we were ready to
move in. The house was a two story brick built in 1900, located in the
South Grand neighborhood of south St. Louis. It looked a little sad from
the street because the decorative fascia of the eves was rotten and pulling
away from the rafters. In the basement I found an old photograph of the
home showing the original design. The intricate scrollwork was clearly
visible. Considering how simple a task it will be to duplicate, install,
and paint: probably a short afternoon of work, I estimated that I saved
over $40,000 on the price of the home simply because of the poor curb
appeal it caused. It made the house look like it was falling down - but I
knew different. I loved it. The main bulk of work, other than updating the
utilities, was the walls and ceilings in the upstairs bedrooms, and the
upstairs bathroom needed gutting. On the first floor, there was already a
newer kitchen, the great room was in nice shape, and the master bedroom and
bath were acceptable. Once we finished the upstairs, we would move up
there and gut the master suite. For the rest of the summer Polly and I
worked on the house. She was a worker too. So much so that I felt guilty
not paying her. So I brought her to the bank with me and we opened a
savings account for her. $10 per hour was a bargain for me and seemed like
a fortune to her. I've long known that two competent workers get three
times the work done as a single man working alone. So Polly actually
increased the amount of labor I could accomplish by two men. Okay, two
lazy men. I was happy to pay her the ten bucks. My rule for the savings
account was that 80% of her deposits were to be saved for college, 15%
would be hers when she turned 16, and 5% to spend whenever she likes. It
didn't take her very long to figure out how percentages work. She kept a
journal with the pass book that showed exact balances for each of the three
accounts. It was a fairly simple lesson considering that for each hour
worked, $8 went to college, $1.50 went to sweet 16, and 50c to her
allowance. ----> TEN <---- The summer passed. Polly's account totals had
swollen to $3,840 for college, $720 for sweet 16, and $240 allowance, of
which she had only spent $20 so far. My private "I" found Polly's mother
and after several negotiations, she settled for cash. He collected
affidavits regarding the lack of known paternity and the application was
submitted by the nice lady from Family Services. It was fall, and as I
watched the radar track of the a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico, heading
for Corpus Christi Texas, I realized that there were an unusual number of
milestones coming due all at once: 1) Polly's 12th birthday (Sunday). 2)
Polly's teeth would be complete (Friday). 3) The house was ready to sell
or lease. 4) Polly's first day of school as my daughter (2 weeks away).
5) Yesterday the adoption became final. As I sat pondering the coincidental
milestones, I was absently watching a news program with the volume turned
down. There was a radar image of a large hurricane slowly moving into the
Gulf of Mexico. Then the lightbulb over my head came on, "Hello? Are you
an idiot? Can't you see that all of your loose ends have been neatly tied
up, and that you have just enough time to get down there before school
starts?"