Saved - a story for Amy Sands

She saved him with her warm hands.

Mother had always warned him and his siblings not to venture too far and beyond. She didn’t trust the people around them. It wasn’t rebelliousness that led him astray though. A butterfly with black wings and yellow spots had landed on his nose. He’d never seen one before. And no sooner had it landed than it flew away again. He couldn’t bear not to see it again. It kept flying, just out of his reach, mocking him to keep running after it.

He never did touch the butterfly. But he did get lost in the park. Trees and shrubbery surrounded him, white clovers littered all over. He could hear birds chirping. Looking around, he didn’t see his mother or siblings.

“Mom?” he whimpered meekly. No answer.

“Mom?” a little louder, a little more urgent, a little more scared.

“MOM!”

He was not greeted by mom, but by those warm loving hands that touched him gently between his head and neck. With a pat of the head, a murmur he could not understand, she picked him up. Unsure of what to do, he fought with all the energy he had. He was too small though. He cried but the September breeze bore his voice away.

~

She already had two of her own; as soon as he was carried through the door, he saw them and they saw him.

“Who is he?” one of them asked.

“I found him in the park, alone and crying. I think he’s lost.”

“Can we play with him?” the other asked excitedly.

But he was placed in a room, separated from the other two. He was given some food and water. Behind the closed doors, he heard more voices but he couldn’t make out what was being said. All he knew was he was alone and tired. He paced around. He ate, but there was no appetite to satisfy. He was thirsty, but what he really wanted was milk. His mother’s milk. 

~ 

Instead, he had toys. This new family threw little toys at him and took him to the doctor. They gave him food and warm milk. They also had two -- he wasn’t allowed to play with them either. Isolated in a little area to himself, he had space to run around and many toys to play with. He occupied himself by running about, exploring the area he was in: a sofa to jump on, a ladder to climb up and down, boxes and clothes to bite and roll around in. The other two stood by the transparent door and peered at him. He was conscious of their gaze following his every move. He wanted to play with them but he slept alone that night.

~

He adjusted to his new life quickly. He had plenty of food, milk, and toys. He was allowed to play with the other two now. He would chase them from one end of the apartment to the other end. Sometimes they didn’t want to play; on those occasions he would jump on them or whack their behinds until he got their attention and scamper away as they ran after him. He play-wrestled with them, though sometimes that led to real fights; he never backed down in those situations. Still small, he would be tussled to the ground, but on his back, he would be ready with clenched fists. When they received new toys he would try to be the first to play with them, to the chagrin of the other two – they used to get the new toys first.

Time passed. He grew. He got stronger. But he never surpassed the two in size. What he lacked there, he made up with in mental strength. He explored everything with his teeth and hands. He observed, he asked questions. He squealed in delight when he was excited, and growled angrily when asked to share his food or toys.

Sometimes though, especially on blue-sky days, he would sit by the window and look outside. The trees in the courtyard and the birds fluttering around chasing each other reminded him of the park he had played in when he was much younger. Mom was now a distant memory; he couldn’t even remember the names of his siblings or what they looked like. He never did see another butterfly. But he remembered those warm hands that brought him home from the park.

For Amy Sands on the one-year anniversary of finding Little One.