Chapter Seven | Tempest and Taxonomy
Time had truly flown. It was hard to believe, but a month had gone by and Amanda could hardly fathom she had been taking care of the little boy for all of this time. While he still hadn't uttered a word during the entire month, it was getting easier to decipher his requests through his body language and simple signs.
Hands up meant he wanted to be held.
Pinched fingers pressed to his mouth meant hungry.
Open hand to his mouth meant thirsty.
Rubbing eyes meant tired.
Wanting to play was spinning either clockwise or counterclockwise.
Bathroom was relatively obvious, but still something Amanda learned to read from the boy.
Every day, Amanda learned to read the boy a little more. The smallest facial expressions were signals he understood or was processing the world around him. Amanda could tell he understood quite a bit, especially when she brought him back to the park bench where she found him.
The little boy would fall very silent, and his shoulders would slouch. He would look around the base of the pole and, after a minute, would try and rejoin Amanda. When she stepped farther away, he would hunker down by the base and patiently wait for her to return.
That was something else Amanda had worked on with him – separation.
Amanda didn't want the little boy to become completely dependent on seeing her every second to feel secure and would step away a little for longer periods of time before returning. The most she was gone was for two minutes, but it seemed to be conditioning the boy to expect her to come back. He was still clingy and would ask in his own way to be picked up and held for comfort, and each time Amanda would make sure he understood she would always come back for him.
After three consecutive weeks of her returning him to the park bench, Amanda solemnly concluded that the parents of the little boy were not coming back.
What else could she assume?
A month had passed with no signs that anything or anyone had been back to that place under the bench.
The timing worked out well too.
Amanda's friend, Mel, had managed to secure the paperwork for the delayed birth certificate. One of Mel's midwife friends who was sworn to absolute secrecy agreed to help her out for a fee. Times were hard and filing a little paperwork that had "slipped her mind" didn't seem to weigh on her conscious. She managed to be convincing enough that she thought the paperwork had been filed by her trainee at the time and that she had forgotten to check up on them.
In all reality, Mel's friend didn't go into specifics of how she was able to get the proper documents to register the child's birth, just as Mel's friend didn't know the specifics about the boy and his size. What all parties understood, however, was that discretion and secrecy were paramount. Everything was meant to be kept under wraps about the boy. Amanda managed to get the necessary paperwork in the end and, all of a sudden, she was a single mother of one with no declared father. Her ex-husband would never have to know since he wasn't named on the certificate.
There was one last thing that needed to happen before everything was official, however, and that was the name of the child.
Despite every attempt Amanda made, she couldn't get the boy's name out of him. His unintentional vigil of silence was hindering the process, and it was getting close to when Mel's friend needed to finalize the paperwork.
"Mandy, do you think he even has a name?" asked Mel as she carefully handed the child a piece of cracker which he took timidly. His brow furrowed as he looked at the cracker piece, which Amanda learned that the boy did when he was confused or concentrating on something he couldn't remember.
"I... I think so. He has to have a name, but... maybe he just doesn't remember? Maybe whatever happened affected his memory and he can't recall it?" suggested Amanda. "It's the only explanation I can think of."
Amanda leaned against the edge of her kitchen countertop and gazed at the little boy, but he didn't meet her gaze. He was still sitting there contemplatively. Mel sighed and glanced back at her friend, words escaping her.
"Well," she said as she stood up and looked around the apartment. "The sooner you get his name, the better. My friend is starting to get antsy about the whole thing. Not a threat or to put pressure on you. Just a reminder. Anyway, I have to go. Your place looks nice by the way. Last of the boxes unpacked?"
Amanda glanced at her apartment and saw what Mel was talking about. It was hard to believe she had finally managed to unpack the last box. The furniture was finally out and arranged. The dishes were in the cabinets. The blankets were folded and put away.
The place finally felt like a home.
"Um... yeah," said Amanda after a moment of being lost in her thoughts. "I kept a few of the boxes since he likes playing with them, but they're all empty."
Mel glanced over her shoulder and smiled at her friend. "That's really cute," she said. "And, on that note, we'll have a proper house-warming party next time I come over. Just you and me and probably some Chinese takeout and a bottle of box wine. You know – the classy stuff."
Amanda rolled her eyes and stepped up to her friend. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Are you sure you have to go so soon?"
Mel nodded and hugged her friend, muttering, "Yeah. There's supposed to be some kind of big storm tonight and I'm not getting caught in it. Hunker down and enjoy your night. I'll text you when I get home."
The two of them exchanged their goodbyes and, with that, Mel set off into the night. The little boy waved a sweet little goodbye as Mel left before lifting his hands into the air, signaling Amanda to pick him up. This made Amanda chuckle.
"You little tyke. Always so affectionate when it's just you and me," Amanda teased as she laid her hand down on the counter and the little boy clambered onto her palm. "Mel is a friend," sighed Amanda. "And she's right. I need to figure out your name."
The boy, neck craning upward to look at her, made the same confused face before averting his eyes. His little brow was furrowed again, pinched as he was obviously trying to remember.
Amanda sighed and walked over to the bathroom to begin their nightly routine.
"Do you remember your name, sweetheart? Something your momma or daddy would have called you?" asked Amanda. The boy drew his legs closer to his chest as he kept his eyes averted. "It's okay if you don't remember. I'm not mad or upset. I just want to know your name. My name is Amanda. Can you say Amanda?"
It was no use. He said nothing and merely drew further in on himself, confusion and confliction in his features. The question was something he understood, but something kept him silent. Amanda could only guess the trauma was what kept him quiet since he seemed comfortable enough around her.
So, deciding to not pressure the boy any further, she rubbed his back and began running a warm bath, humming thoughtfully some of the songs she knew from her favorite kids' shows growing up.
Like clockwork, the boy fell asleep as Amanda dried him off and slipped on his pajamas. She carried him to bed and settled in for the evening, mind still preoccupied with the thoughts of what the boy's name could be.
~~~^*^*^~~~
It was hours later; that much she knew for certain. A deafening crack of thunder sounding like the end of a whip right in her ear had her sitting bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and heart racing. Amanda glanced around and saw her room was plunged into a pitch black abyss.
The power was out.
She knew it the moment she looked around.
The nightlight was off and the electric clock beside her bed had no numbers glowing in red indicating the time of night.
Amanda would have simply calmed herself and turned back over to go back to bed if not for the terrified cry she heard from the boy's box. It was obvious he was terrified, but that's not what caught Amanda's attention.
It was what she heard.
She heard him. The little boy spoke for the first time.
It was undeniable, clear as a bell – and it was heart wrenching.
"Momma! Mommmmaaa!"
The sound alone brought tears to Amanda's eyes. He was calling out for his mother – a mother who was probably no longer out there and who wouldn't hear his cries for help. That maternal instinct kicked into high gear and, though unable to see, Amanda carefully leaned over toward the box and laid her hand inside of the box.
"Sweetie? Sweetheart, it's okay. Amanda's here. I'm here. Come to me, sweetie. I'll protect you. It's just a little rain," coaxed Amanda. The wind whirled outside, making an odd haunting sound as it pelted the rain relentlessly against the windows. Amanda wondered if the boy might be dreaming and crying out in his sleep. Another streak of lightening illuminated the room just enough for Amanda to see the boy was huddled in the far corner of his box with his hands over his ears.
No. He was clearly awake.
She couldn't see well, but she could have sworn his cheeks were glossy with tears, face twisted in terror.
Was his mother taken in a storm? There was a storm right as I moved in. Is that what has him frightened so much? Or is it just the storm in general?
Amanda inched her fingers closer to the boy as she called to him again. "Come on, sweetie. I'm here. It's okay. It's just the rain. We'll be okay. I'll protect you." The last thing she wanted to do was grab him. Holding him was supposed to be a positive thing. She wanted it to be a source of comfort and let that be a bonding experience for herself and the boy. Grabbing him felt invasive and might shatter her limited trust with him.
Another flash of lightening followed by a crack of thunder revealed little boy once more, but this time he was looking up at Amanda, eyes wide with primal fear. The power flicked on and off, making the night light and the clock flash ominously in the dark room.
Then, as Amanda was about to call to him again, he held up his hands and made that familiar grabbing motion as he, for the first time, intentionally spoke to her.
"Momma!" he sobbed. Amanda was taken aback. She had been taking care of him, yes; but could she dare call herself that? "Mommmaa!" His tears and his cries compelled her to act without correcting him.
"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm here. Come to me," encouraged Amanda as she moved her hand closer to the boy. In a heartbeat, the boy stood and flung himself onto her fingers, once again covering his ears and cowering in her hand.
Amanda waisted no time in bringing the boy close and under the blankets with her, pressing her hand to her chest and slowly rocking back and forth. She couldn't imagine what he was experiencing. His senses seemed heightened, at least more than a human's senses. Did that mean the sound of the thunder was amplified? Could he hear her heartbeat over the overwhelming storm outside?
"Sshhh... it's okay. I've got you," soothed Amanda.
Again, she heard the boy's cries. "Mommaa!" They were muffled because of her hand, but they were still clear. The boy had quite the clear voice for someone so small. It was gentle and sweet but overridden with distress. Thinking quickly, Amanda decided she had no choice. It felt disrespectful in one weird way or another to his real parents, but perhaps it would help calm him down.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Momma's here. Mom's got you. I won't let anything hurt you," soothed Amanda. "Please, sweetie. It's okay. Just take a deep breath for me. The storm will be over soon."
The sobs and sniffles eased ever so slightly but continued for nearly ten minutes as the storm continued to rage outside. It wasn't until Amanda heard his cries soften while his body trembled against her that she dared to pull her hand away from her chest and look at him. To see better, she turned on her phone flashlight and pointed it at the ceiling to illuminate the space ever so slightly.
The boy's eyes were red and puffy, but his soft brown gaze conveyed understanding as he looked up at Amanda. His face was dripping in snot and tears, which Amanda wiped away with a piece of pinched tissue.
"It's okay, sweetie. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? Wipe away those tears?" Amanda smiled. Perhaps it was simply the magic of the moment or maybe they were in the eye of the storm, but something about the way the child looked up at Amanda felt different. It was like the last barrier had broken down and a new relationship between them was born.
With some kind of newfound affection, Amanda asked, "Is that better?" To this, the boy nodded and smiled, leaning into Amanda's touch.
She wasn't sure how much time had truly passed. After switching off her phone light and laying there with the boy on her chest, the two of them stayed up and listened to the storm. Amanda continued to hum different tunes to help soothe the child when the storm began to kick up again, but alas he wouldn't go back to sleep.
It was a pointless endeavor to go back to bed at this point, so Amanda sat up and, instead, began reading one of her eBooks from her phone; one of her personal favorites called "The Hobbit." It felt fitting with how she was now on this unexpected journey with this child, and it was something she always wanted to share with her own children if and when she had them.
Now seemed as good of a time as any to begin reading.
Amanda started the first chapter and, before she knew it, was reading segments of the fourth chapter before she remembered to glance down at the boy to check and see if he was awake.
He was, with eyes wide open as he absorbed her words.
Now that she had heard him speak, it felt like now was as good of a time as any to talk to him and try and find out some answers. Keeping her phone light on and pointed at the ceiling so she could faintly see him, Amanda readjusted herself and him so she could rest her hand on the bed rather than hold it up.
The rain still pattered against the windows, but the intensity had subsided a little while ago. The little boy repositioned himself on her hand and laid down when Amanda began speaking to him.
"That storm was a little scary, huh?" she asked. The boy's eyes glossed immediately as he nodded while he leaned into her hand, little arm draping over her thumb as he rested his chin on the knuckle of her thumb. "Is... do you remember another big storm? One when you were outside?"
Amanda didn't need to look to know he was shivering. She took the answer for a yes.
"Is... that when you were left outside? Where I found you? Did something happen there?" asked Amanda. Again, the boy merely shivered. It was a heart wrenching feeling, and the questions weren't making it any easier.
She decided to try and switch topics. Perhaps he felt more comfortable now or, in some weird way, perhaps the storm had helped trigger his memories.
"Don't worry sweetheart. I won't let the storms hurt you. You're safe here," Amanda encouraged. "Do... you remember anything else about that day? Do you remember your name?"
He shivered again and held Amanda's thumb tighter.
Alas.
No luck.
Whatever he had gone through obviously was either keeping his memories locked up tight or he truly didn't remember his name.
"Well, that's okay, but I would like to call you something other than sweetie," sighed Amanda. She glanced over and saw those thoughtful, soft-brown eyes of the little boy once again. He was looking at her earnestly, as if he wanted to help but couldn't, and understanding.
Amanda then thought of something. She knew the paperwork was coming in soon and that she needed to come up with something to put on them.
Perhaps he would be willing to compromise? Be called something now and change it when he remembered?
It was worth a shot.
"Would... it be okay if I called you something other than sweetie? Just until you remember your name? Maybe you can help me pick it out?" Amanda asked. There was a look of mild comprehension on the boy's face, but also reluctance. Maybe he didn't want to be called something else. Amanda was about to give up on the idea when, to her surprise, the boy nodded.
He actually agreed? He was fine with it?
Maybe he didn't like being called "sweetie" so many times.
She wasn't about to question it now.
"Okay? Yes? You'll help me pick out a name for now?" Amanda confirmed. The boy nodded. Every little boy name flooded her mind and yet vanished at the same time. She wanted something that would fit him, and she didn't want something that would be too on the nose. Calling the boy Tom in honor of Tom Thumb felt belittling, no pun intended.
"Okay, okay. Um.... How about... Jon?" asked Amanda. The child wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Not Jon. Um... Gabriel? Levi? James? Gale? Adam? Peter?"
Each name Amanda thought of didn't quite fit the boy and, more importantly, he shook his head in disagreement. The only one he seemed to perk up at was Peter, but even then he shook his head no. She made her way through a few dozen names, accidentally repeating a few of them, when one came to mind.
It was a name she had always liked, and, in all honesty, she wanted to name her own child this if she had a son. The name also felt a bit on the nose, seeing the place where she found him, but Amanda thought she'd suggest the name all the same.
"What about Parker?"
The child's eyes narrowed for a moment and his brow furrowed contemplatively. For a long while, he was quiet and made no indication that he liked or disliked the name. As Amanda was about to move on, he nodded.
It was a complete shock to Amanda.
"Yes? You said yes to Parker? That's what you want to be called?" asked Amanda. Again, the boy seemed to think long and hard before nodding.
That was it.
He had a name; at least, one she could call him by.
"Okay then, Parker. Why don't we close our eyes and try to get some sleep? The storm is gone, and I'll protect you if it comes back," Amanda said, keeping her tone light and pleasant. He smiled and nodded, curling into her hand. Amanda fished out his blanket and laid it over him as he stayed curled in her palm.
Her own lids were growing heavy by the second, and Amanda felt herself drifting off to sleep.
"Goodnight, Parker," she whispered. Sleep would have taken her if not for the thing she heard next.
"Night... momma."
Three words. In one day, he had said three whole new words to her after a month of silence. She could only hope they would continue to make progress, but she would think about that later. Instead, Amanda thought about how good it sounded for Parker to call her mom. She felt a twinge of guilt and sadness, but it also meant he was trusting her more and more.
She drifted off to sleep, his nearly imperceptible weight in her hand, as the dream she thought would never be became her reality.