Rescued

And the answer is, not much - and a lot!

There was the obvious. Clothing - shoes, socks, underwear (check, check, and check); jeans or other pants, and maybe some shorts; T-shirts and pull-over tops; pajamas and maybe a robe; and for colder weather one or two sweaters and at least one light jacket and one heavy coat.

And then there's the personal care stuff: shampoo (check - maybe), a milder soap, a toothbrush that's the right size for them, and maybe some kind of cream or lotion for if and when their skin gets dry. And, of course, the usual first-aid supplies.

As for food and diet, the main message seemed to be "Lotsa luck!" Ideas that appeared frequently were cereal, french fries, pizza (plain cheese only! - anything more complex is an invitation to disaster). And for some reason, something called "nuggets." I have no idea, but I guess I'll learn.

Then there was "that other stuff" - communicating to her that she is safe, and cared for, and valued. And how to behave with other people, and how to get along with them, and how to make friends, and what friends do. And on and on and on.

I guess it's going to come down to a combination of good sense, patience, trial-and-error - and lots of luck.

I heard some rustling from the bedroom, but then nothing more, so I looked in. The girl - "Annie" - was sitting on the bed, like she'd finished napping but wasn't sure if it was OK to get out of bed. And I wondered for a moment what that said about her life - her prior life now, I guess.

"Hi. Did you have a good nap? You can get up and come out, you know."

She waited a few seconds, like she was making sure she'd gotten the message right, then got off the bed and came out to join me in "the big room."

Thinking that it must be close to time for dinner and that she might be hungry (I was), I thought we could talk about that - and about a name.

"Are you hungry now? I know I am. It's getting real close to dinner time. Would you like some supper - should we make some supper?"

As I was coming to learn, I'm going to have to be especially alert to her reactions. She still hadn't said a word, of course. But also, she was not openly expressive, with nods or smiles or shakes of her head, or any of those other conspicuous gestures that most of us use to communicate or to bolster our words.

But even in the short time I've been with her I've started to learn the subtle expressions - the "micro-expressions," I guess you could call them - that cross her face and motivate her small body. This time it was the widening of her eyes and the increased alertness that told me that, yes, it was time for food.

"I was thinking - I have a pizza - would you like to share a pizza?" No verbal response, but there was a flicker of reaction to the word, "pizza," which I took to mean, one, that she liked pizza, or two, she may have never had pizza in her life but she recognized the word as being a good thing. "Okay, pizza." Then, with the faint flicker of adult responsibility, I added, "And we ...," we, "have some fresh tomatoes, and maybe a cucumber." No reaction.

I made sure she saw how I turned on the oven and put a baking sheet in it to pre-heat, then let her see where I got the pizza from. I sat down at the table and asked her to help me open the slim cardboard box. She got the idea, and so we each worked at opening opposite sides of the square pizza box. The oven "clicked" that it had reached 425 degrees. I carefully demonstrated getting a dish towel and reaching into the oven to grasp the baking sheet, making a point of saying "Hot - very hot!" before setting it on the stovetop and carefully putting the still-frozen pizza on it.

"Would you please open the oven door for me?"

I waited, and she stood there. But not like she didn't know what I was asking or how to do it. It seemed more like she was puzzled by the fact that a grownup would ask her help in doing something. I gave her some time to process whatever it was that she needed to process. Then I looked at her, the question in my eyes, and leaned forward like I was expecting something, and it was then that she grasped the oven door handle and opened it. I slid the pizza sheet in, then looked at her with expectation. She watched my every gesture, but she didn't do anything. Then I said, "Could you close the door, please?" And as if she had been waiting for just that go-ahead, she closed the door, without hesitation and without slamming it."

I got a tomato and a cucumber out of the refrigerator, then motioned that we should go sit down at the table. And then it was time.

"You know, it looks like we - like you and I - are going to be together for a while ...," and her face started to get that panicked expression like I'd seen earlier, when she thought we were going back to the supermarket in Marshall, "... we're going to be together for a long time ..." The panicked look began to fade, "... and since we're going to be together for a long time, I think you should have a name that I can call you. So, ... how about it - what's your name?"

There was absolutely no response from her. I tried another way.

"Do you have a name? If ya' do, maybe you could tell me so I could say it when you and I talk with each other. So, do you ...?"

Again, not a flicker of response.

"That's okay. But I have an idea - how about I call you 'Annie' - would that be OK, that I call you 'Annie'?"

She - I don't know - and it might have totally been my imagination - but she all of a sudden seemed to perk up.

Trying to communicate the idea just one more way, I reached out to her, and she flinched. Alright, that told me something. But then, apparently sensing no threat in my gesture, she relaxed. I put my hand lightly on her shoulder. "You're Annie, OK?" and patted her shoulder to emphasize my words. "And I'm ...," I took my hand off her shoulder and pointed to my chest, "I'm Lucas. You're Annie...," I put my hand on her shoulder again, "... and I'm Lucas," tapping my chest again.

I could almost see her nod. At least she understood. How she felt about it I had no idea, but for now - at least to one of us - she was Annie. And again, and it might have been my imagination, but there seemed to be this slight look of ... I don't know ... satisfaction? ... like something important had just been settled.

Also, I learned something else: That she - "Annie" - understands the implications of "a long time" versus "a while."

And now, so do I.

I went and got a cutting board and a serrated steak knife and came back to the table with ... with Annie. I sat down and started slicing the tomato. When I finished, I took the cucumber and carefully sliced off a piece. The another. And then I took a chance - tried an experiment.

"Annie, would you like to help me slice this cucumber?" Again, she seemed puzzled. I stood up and walked around behind her. I put the steak knife down, handle toward her. She looked almost ... horrified - totally amazed that a grownup would entrust her to do something - with a sharp object!

"It's OK - here, I'll help you get started." I put her left hand on the cucumber, well away from where I was going to show her to cut, and picked up the knife and eased it into her right hand and wrapped her fingers around the handle. Then, with her hand in mine, I lifted it into position, and with my other hand helping her hold the cucumber steady, together we sawed the knife through the fat cucumber. We sawed, and we sawed - and the first slice fell over onto the cutting board.

She seemed stunned - that something she did had caused something - something desirable - to happen! She actually turned her head to look up at me, the expectation of ... of ... something ... in her expression. I smiled. Yes, Annie, you did it - you did well.

Together, we did two more slices. Then I took my "knife hand" away. Again, she looked up at me, almost in wonderment. I was going to let her use the knife? By herself? I smiled and nodded. While still helping her hold the other end steady, I let her cut another six or eight slices before taking her knife hand again, and together we finished cutting all of the cucumber that we could safely hold onto. She - Annie - looked at me - and she smiled! Yes, a real, honest-to-god smile! I don't know who was more proud.

The oven timer dinged. I asked her to open the oven door for me while I carefully removed the pizza sheet and put it on the stovetop to cool. I got two plates from the cupboard (and thought, "I can't remember the last time I needed more than one plate), handed them to her, and asked her to hold them "for us."

When I thought the pizza had cooled enough for a child's mouth I said, "Annie, hold out your plate and I'll put a piece of pizza on it." She cocked her head, like the name was registering, then held out her plate. I put two small pieces on her plate. "Okay, go sit down." I cut two pieces nearly identical to Annie's and joined her at the table.

I took two bites of mine - I hadn't realized how hungry I was - before I realized that Annie hadn't touched hers. She was looking at her plate, well, suspiciously. Then I remembered what I'd read that afternoon about kids and their taste preferences, and I saw the pepperoni. I pointed to the reddish round pieces and asked, "Would you like me to take these away?" She didn't say anything, but there was that subtle change in attitude that indicated that, yes, she'd like me to take those away.

I took my fork and loosened, then speared, the offending morsels and put them on my plate and said, "There - they're gone now." That look of satisfaction, then she picked up a piece of the pizza and moved it toward her mouth - and waited. I nodded, and she put it in her mouth and demolished it. Now I was the one who was proud. I'd just "fixed" a food so that this child would like it. (And don't tell me this is no big deal - every parent of a young child knows what a big deal it is!)

I put one slice of tomato and one slice of cucumber on her plate, and then on mine. I cut hers into four small pieces - I wasn't certain she was ready for the knife-and-fork thing. I cut a bite of mine and put it in my mouth and made a (small) show of chewing, swallowing, and smiling. She followed, spearing one of the quarters and putting it into her mouth. She chewed and she swallowed, but she didn't seem happy about it.

I went to the counter and brought back the salt shaker. I asked, "Salt?" Again, just that slight adjustment that I've been guessing means approval. I tapped the shaker a few times over one piece. She put her fork in it immediately and snarfed it down. Score one more for the home team!

I looked at the cucumber slice. I started to stick my fork into it, but then dramatically stopped in mid-air and looked at Annie - then at cucumber slice, and then back to Annie. I smiled - funny-wickedly, I hoped, like I was going to do something "naughty." I put down the fork and picked up the slice in my fingers. I held it in front of my mouth for a moment - and chomped on it, trying to make it "snap."

It did, and Annie smiled. I nodded toward her, then at her cucumber, then back to her. She picked up her piece, and like I had done, she held it in front of her mouth - and then chomped on it. Her piece "popped" too. And again, that look - not a smile, certainly, but definitely a look of accomplishment.

And if this seems like I've taken a really long time to describe eating some pizza and a few slices of veggies - well, that's the point. Remember, this little girl, who has been "Annie" for barely an hour, and I are trying to learn about each other - just how we're going to relate to each other, what is "permitted" between us, and how we are going to communicate.

We finished eating, and I got up and carried my plate and utensils to the sink, then looked at Annie. She got up and did the same thing. I showed her how I rinsed the plates, then put some dish soap on the sponge and washed one of the plates clean, then rinsed it under the running water and put it in the drain rack. Why? Because for all I knew, this child may never have seen a clean plate in her life.

When both dishes were washed I took one dish out of the rack and carefully demonstrated drying it with the clean dish towel before putting it back into the cupboard. I picked the second plate out of the rack, handed the towel to her, then the plate, and said, "Now you do it."

With no hesitation, she took the towel, then the plate, and duplicated my drying moves perfectly. Something else I learned: she is observant, and she's able to imitate my actions quickly and accurately.

When she finished she held the plate out to me. I took it and put it up in the cupboard. I held out my hand, and she surmised that I wanted the towel and she held it out to me. I took it and gave it a quick shake, then folded it in half and slid it through the oven door handle.

And with that simple exchange, she - Annie - and I became partners.

It wasn't really that late, but I was starting to feel exhausted. I was sure it had been an even longer, more tiring day for Annie. Time to think about how this should be done.

I may have said that my "cabin" has two rooms off of the main room. One is my bedroom, of course. The other room - the one that had been my room all during those magical years when my parents and I would spend the summers up here - would be Annie's. I had been using the room to store extra pieces of furniture, but I figured that in a day or two I - we - could make it into a room for her, but right now there wasn't time to clean it, let alone make it into a fit room for a little girl.

There's the old sofa in the "main room." Not old in the sense of being broken down or musty or anything. In fact, my parents had purchased good furnishings, and everything was well cared for. The sofa wasn't large but it was certainly big enough for a girl Annie's size to spend a night or two.

I made-up the sofa and said-gestured to her that she would be sleeping there tonight, but that first thing tomorrow we would get the other room ready so that it could be hers.

But first, I was pretty sure that she could use a good bath.

Now, how to do this? I've never bathed or helped bathe a child in my life, and certainly not a little girl. And certainly not a little girl that I've just ... rescued ... from ... from I don't know what. Anyhow, there was no one else around to do it, so I guess I'd have to figure it out on my own, presumably with help from the girl. But first I thought there should be some "goal" in mind.

"Wait just a minute." I went into my room and got my newest T-shirt, then came back out and held it up for her to see. "Here, you can sleep in this tonight, OK?" As I held it up, I could see that even though it was not an extra-large, the shirt almost dwarfed her. It would be as long as a nightgown on her.

Her reaction? It appeared to be some kind of approval, like she liked the idea of having a fresh white piece of clothing to wear.

"Annie, you've had a very long day. I think that before you put on this shirt and go to bed you should have a nice bath." I didn't ask the obligatory "How does that sound?" because I knew that approach would go nowhere. Instead, I asked, simply, "Does that sound good?" She responded with that posture that seems to indicate, if not approval, at least acceptance.

I led her to the small bathroom, with it's small tub - I think it's called a "soaking tub," maybe a foot or 18 inches shorter than a regular tub but with higher sides, so it was deeper. I got a fresh washcloth and the shampoo-baby wash that we'd picked up at the dollar store and my biggest, newest towel, then started the water running so it would be warm for her.

"Hold your arms up so I can pull your shirt off, OK?" and I waited.

She seemed to think for a moment, not to decide "Should I do this or not?" but more like she was simply processing the request, She raised her arms over her head and I grasped the old, thin T-shirt and pulled it up over her head and resolved to replace it first thing tomorrow.

[ This next part has been censored to comply with Literotica publication guidelines. ]

Wringing out the washcloth again, I grabbed the towel - the biggest, fluffiest one I own - and wrapped it around Annie and lifted her out of the tub.

The towel dwarfed her - she was almost completely lost in it. She was so adorable, and so vulnerable, that I just had to put my arms around this child, lost in the big bath towel, and hug her. She didn't resist, but I think she stiffened at first, but for just a moment, then seemed to relax. And then - I can't be sure - but it seemed like she was leaning into me. And I wondered - when was the last time she was hugged? Has this child ever been hugged in her entire life?

Realizing that she couldn't just stand there like that, dripping wet, I squeezed the towel around her until the huge cloth had soaked up most of the surface wetness. I made sure that she was completely dry, then draped the towel around her again and found the three packages of new underpants we got at the dollar store earlier that day.

I held them out to Annie for her to choose. She seemed baffled. I told her, "You pick which ones you want to wear tonight." She took the package with the plain white panties. I struggled to open the package, then held them out to Annie and she took one pair - and stood there. I nodded, and she slipped them on over the narrow hips.

I picked up the T-shirt I'd brought out and held it up for Annie to see, then helped her get it on over her head. On Annie my "average" T-shirt looked like a nightgown. She was practically swimming in it. But she seemed to like the way it felt, so - good choice!

I got a clean sheet from the closet and spread it out on the old sofa, tucking it into the cushions so it wouldn't slide around during the night. I put a cotton-weave blanket on the "bed" and I motioned for Annie to get in.

Annie got onto the sofa and I pulled the blanket up around her and tucked her in. I really, really wanted to give her a kiss, on the forehead, but I wasn't sure if she would want that - or if that was even appropriate. Instead, I just gave the blanket an extra tuck, said "Goodnight, Annie," and turned off the light and went into my room. In a few minutes the little girl was asleep, her loud snore a strangely satisfying sound.

And my last thought before giving in to sleep was, "What have I done?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I spent the very best times of my childhood here, in this cabin, the one my father bought and enlarged and improved, until it was the perfect place for a young boy to spend six weeks every summer, from the age of 4 until 11, playing and learning and thriving in the love of my parents.

I did well in school and went off to college where, in a very special junior year, I met Cindy. From the very start Cindy and I knew that we were a match, and that we were meant to be together, and we began planning for that life. My parents and Cindy loved each other from their first meeting. Unfortunately, my parents were killed in an auto accident not long after that, so they never got to see us married, never got to be grandparents.

Cindy and I married right after college. I always wanted to write, and with my marketing degree I was able to get a job with a medium-sized advertising and publicity agency, while Cindy, of course, had no trouble finding a nursing job that she loved. I'd always wanted to be a writer, and so I got to write during my "day job" and then in the evenings write the fiction that I hoped someday to get published.

After a few years, when it looked like my position with my company was secure and I had a future there and we'd saved some money, we decided that it was time, and in a few months Cindy was pregnant.