Enigma

To David

I was in the car with my family one late night. We were driving to visit my grandma and grandpa in Houston. I sat in the backseat with my older brother, Brandon, and my younger sister, Danielle. It was nighttime, and I was beginning to fall asleep. Suddenly, there was a loud thump.

Mom screamed.

“What was that, Mom?” Brandon asked.

“I don’t know, honey,” she responded.

“Stay in the car, kids,” Dad said as he opened the door. Mom followed him.

“What do you think Dad hit?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Jake,” said Brandon. “A deer, maybe,”

Mom and Dad got out of the car. A part of me wanted to get out, too, but what if it was something bad? I rolled the window down and looked out, hoping to glimpse something.

“Oh my God!” Mom shrieked. “Oh my God! George, we hit a kid!”

“You did what?” shouted Danielle.

“You did what?” Danielle whispered. Her blond ponytail bobbed against her purple sweater. My stomach dropped. Dead or dying—how do you explain that to an eight-year-old?

"Four," Dad said.

"Four kids?" Mom echoed.

"Yeah, they're all scattered about here,"

He put them into the car one by one. Brandon picked up the oldest boy, who had dark hair and almond shaped eyes. Dad had me hold one of the girls. The other two, a boy and a girl, lay on the floor. The date was August 6, 1982. Cell phones hadn't been invented yet.

"What're we gonna do, George?" Mom asked Dad.

"We'll take them to the hospital, Marilyn," Dad replied. "We will explain everything to the doctors and nurses. Poor things look half-starved,"

We were off. I kept my eyes on the girl the whole way, checking for signs of life. Relief washed over me when she moved slightly. She looked about my age—ten, maybe—with shoulder‑length, matted red hair and pale scars mapped across her face and throat. Mom turned the radio on; Gordon Lightfoot crooned, Does anyone know where the love of God goes… The line hung in the car like a question.

Brandon kept glancing at the rearview mirror, jaw tight. Sensing the anxiety, Danielle started to cry. Lightfoot was right: where was God right then? We had gotten onto the highway and it seemed like everything was moving at a snail's pace. The girl's fingers curled around my shirt for a second, then relaxed. She started breathing heavily.

"You're ok," I whispered, assuringly.

She mouthed something in response. I like to think it was "Thank you," but she never remembered. Her arm went limp as if she'd fallen into a dreamless sleep.

I didn't let go of her until we were in the waiting room. Dad told the receptionist everything, and she gave Danielle and me a lollipop. I kept the red-haired girl in my lap before the doctors came and put her and the others on separate stretchers. I tried to go back with them, but Mom grabbed me by the shoulder as one of them shone a light into the girl's eyes and said, "She's conscious,"

A woman in a white coat called us back and led us down fluorescent hallways to a row of gurneys behind four sliding doors. The light turned my skin paper‑thin.

“We need to run scans,” she said. “If the results indicate it, we’ll operate in the morning. The others are stable and being fed; they’ll stay under observation but should recover from dehydration within a few days,"

"Well, that's good news," said Brandon.

"They have no ID or medical records," the doctor continued. "Social services and- just in case- law enforcement will be notified to establish identity and guardianship,"

“I-Is the one with red hair awake?” I asked.

“Yes, but-,” the doctor began.

On instinct, I ran through one of the doors in the middle. The girl was hooked up to numerous tubes and lay in a hospital bed. A little lamp illuminated her beautiful face. Barney Fife had just said something funny on The Andy Griffith Show, causing the girl to laugh.

“Hi,” I said as I closed the door behind me.

The girl jumped and looked at me.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said, apologetically.

I stepped closer. I could see that the girl’s eyes were a deep blue. She started to hyperventilate again.

“No, no, it’s ok,” I said as I sat on the bed. “I’m a friend. My name is Jake. Jake Thomas Bennett. What’s your name?”

The girl’s eyebrows furrowed and she turned her head to the side.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

The girl shook her head.

I pointed to myself and said, “Jake,”

The girl nodded as if she understood.

I then pointed to the girl and said, “You?”

The girl smiled, pointed to herself and repeated, “You,”

“No, no, no,” I said. “I mean, what do people call you?”

The girl frowned and turned back to the TV.

“That’s fine,” I said. “You don’t have to answer me. By the way, you’re welcome,”

I continued to stare at her.

“I’m glad that my family and I were able to help you and your friends,” I said.

“Friends,” the girl echoed.

“Oh, so, they are your friends?” I said. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure,”

The girl grabbed a little black remote and flipped through the channels. She finally stopped on one with two men, who held guitars. Girls screamed in the background.

“Oh, this from The Ed Sullivan Show!” I said, excitedly. “They must be doing reruns,”

The men in question were Peter and Gordon. I watched and bobbed my head along as they sang “500 Miles” by Joan Baez. As soon as they started singing, the girl shrieked and started singing, too, in a language I didn’t recognize. It sounded like a mix between German and Icelandic.

“That’s a beautiful language,” I said to her.

“Beautiful,” she repeated.

“I wonder what your name is, mystery girl,” I said. “What were you doing in the woods? I know you can’t understand me but I can’t help it,”

“It?”

“That’s another one of our words in English,”

“Jake, come on,” Mom said from the hall. “A nurse just said that visiting hours are over,”

“Coming,” I called back.

The girl looked over my shoulder, trying to figure out who I was talking to. I waved goodbye and left.

That night, the girl did not get much sleep. Human beds are much harder than they seem, she thought. She entertained the thought of turning the TV back on, but she didn’t want to wake anyone. A part of her wondered if she was going to stay in this place- whatever it was called in the human language- forever with the kind humans who came in and out all day and night. Maybe Jake Thomas Bennett and his- What was that word again? Family.- will come back tomorrow.

Family. Jake. Those two words bounced around her head like ping pong balls. Jake was nice, yes, very nice. She never forgot that. Some of the humans they had encountered were mean and cruel.

The girl looked at the clock on her nightstand. 12:02 AM, it read. The girl closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Not knowing that the nightmare was only beginning.