The Girl                         Written by: Jem Aura ©
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.

