The Girl                         Written by: Jem Aura ©
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?"
