Lesson 1- Atypical Saturday Night

Lesson 1- Atypical Saturday Night

             As Millie sits on her couch, crocheting an afghan for one of her grandchildren, she watches Wheel of Fortune on the television. Typically, Millie solves the puzzle well before the contestants and often wonders about what it would be like in the live studio. If she were there in person, spinning the wheel and calling out letters, would she be starstruck and not be able to solve as quickly? Is that why these people are so slow? Or is it purely a matter of building up a higher piggy bank before solving. It’s easy to tell when it’s the latter, as the contestants will always call letters within the puzzles. But sometimes they call letters at random, indicating they have no idea what the puzzle is. In those moments, Millie rolls her eyes or shouts the answer to them, as if it weren’t pre-taped or impossible for them to hear her anyway. 

This time, the contestant knows the letters, so Millie is at ease, knowing they are about to solve. Millie’s dog lets out a long groan as she lies firmly against her thigh, snuggled up to the growing blanket. It’s sweet the way she seems to respond to Millie’s craft, oddly appreciative. The little dog snoozes as Millie works, the movement of the needle and yarn creating a kind of rhythm, like a metronome or a Newton’s cradle. Her name is Abbie, after Abigail Adams, one of Millie’s idols. Millie never thought Abigail Adams had been given enough credit for her role in the forming of the United States. The woman was a force, she thought.

            Abbie rolled onto her back as Millie worked and peeked one eye open to look at her momma, which made Millie’s heart fill with love. She adored the way Abbie always had to look at her with such devotion in her eyes, as if to reassure herself that Millie was still there and okay, so it was safe to go back to snoozing. Millie paused to rub her little pink belly and said, “I love you too, baby.”

            From out of nowhere, the doorbell rang followed by someone pounding on her door. The noise startled Abbie and sent her into a frenzy of barking, taking off and running toward the front door. Millie quickly became frightened. Her home was out in the middle of nowhere, so company was rarely seen and normally planned ahead. And while her son still lived with her, even though he was in his thirties, he had gone out for the evening a few hours ago. 

            The frantic pounding was not indicative of anything good. But what to do? What if it was dangerous? Would she be opening the door to someone that had a car accident? Or would she be responding to someone that would want to hurt her? The possibilities were endless.

            Millie sprinted toward the darkened doorway, attempting to peek out the window without being seen by her frantic visitor in order to assess her safety. What she saw was not for the faint of heart. A young girl of about 20 years old, covered in mud with barely any clothing was begging for someone to open the door.

            Millie peered down her long dirt driveway to see if someone had chased the girl here, fearful of opening the door. Difficult to do since it was only lit by the stars above. The moon wasn’t even out on this night to lend a hand. Seeing nothing, she quickly cracked the door open just far enough for the girl to squeeze through. She reached out, grabbing the girl’s muddy arm and pulled her into the house, slamming the door shut immediately behind her. Next, Millie dashed back to her living room to turn out the light and television, Abbie trotting along behind her, still barking away. 

            “Shhhhhh, Abbie. Quiet.” She commanded. The pup immediately silent, trotted over to her bed to lie down, thanks to the extensive training that she and Millie had participated in when Abbie came into Millie’s life. Millie looked back toward the doorway where the girl now lies crumpled on the doormat, curled into a tight ball. She panted as if she had been running for a while. Her remaining clothes were in shreds, and her exposed skin was covered in long deep scratches. Clearly, she had been attacked by someone or something. 

            “Please help me,” the girl cried. “He is after me.” She kept her body low to the floor as if she could hide under the doormat. “Please call the police.” She sobbed.

            Millie grabbed her cell phone from the end table, knowing how spotty the service was so far outside of town, but hoping that a call would get through. She dialed 911 but the call immediately failed. “Let’s move you to the other side of the house.” Millie told the girl, knowing that the connection might be better in her pantry while also offering a place to hide should someone come breaking through the front door.

            The girl crawled on her hands and knees behind Millie, who quickly walked hunched down toward the back of the house. The pantry was sizeable and offered them enough space to hide but it also lacked windows, which meant nobody could get in, but it also meant they would not be able to get out to escape an intruder. The door had no lock, so Millie propped a chair under the doorknob, hoping that she would be able to buy enough time for authorities to arrive. 

            Millie tried connecting her call again and this time it went through. “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

            “Yes, please hurry. I have a young girl that seems to be hurt. I am at 9938 Crescent Road. Please send someone!” Millie tried to remain calm.

            “Yes ma’am, can you tell me what happened?”

            “I uh, I am not sure yet. She said that someone is after her. I see scratches and she is covered in dirt. It looks like someone beat her up.” Millie locks eyes with the girl who is lying on the hardwood floor trying to catch her breath. The only light coming from a nearby nightlight intended to guide the way for midnight snacking purposes.

            “Yes ma’am; do you know…” the line disconnects mid-question. Millie tried to connect the call again and it continues to fail. She moves toward the pantry shelves, where she has a stack of handmade afghans, removing the one on top. Millie spreads it open and places it over the girl, helping to sit her up and observing her shivering, muddy body.  

            “I will keep trying.” Millie says, tipping her hand wrapped around the phone. “What happened to you?” 

            “I don’t know. I was in a shack in the woods. He was keeping me there.” The girl’s eyes searching Millie’s face. “I ran away when he unlocked me to go to the bathroom, well, by the trees, you know.” Millie imagined her being let loose to pee by a tree before being locked up again by some monstrous man. She looked at the girl’s bare feet, which were blackened with dirt and dried blood, similar to her body and hair. What remained of her shirt was in tattered red ribbons, and she wore a filthy pair of formerly pink panties decorated in little muddy flowers, also covered with blood, both fresh and dried.

            Millie tried to connect to 911 again to no avail. She sighed and looked back at her phone. The girl pulled the blanket tighter around herself, taking care to cover up all the exposed areas of her wretched body. “Thank you for letting me in.” she said. 

            “They shouldn’t be too long to get here. It’s about 15 minutes away. How did you even find my house?” Millie couldn’t imagine running through the woods, especially in the dark. The vast protected forest backed up against her land. The girl could have been running for miles. Millie pulled out a folding chair reserved for the holidays and set it up for herself. Sitting in front of the girl, they waited for the police to arrive. Millie also hoped they would send an ambulance, knowing she had been able to tell the operator that the girl looked beaten. 

            “What happened?” Millie asked again unable to wrap her head around the situation. 

            The girl took a deep breath, flinching at one point in apparent pain. “I met this guy about a week ago.” She starts to cry softly. “On a website.” She pauses. “I thought he was cute and we planned a date. He said we could meet for coffee or drinks.” The girl sniffles as she continues sobbing her way through the story. “I think he drugged me because I woke up there. He was on top of me.” She burst into tears and covered her face with her dirty hands. Millie closed her eyes, holding back tears of her own. 

            Millie couldn’t imagine what kind of monster could have done such a thing to this poor girl. How did he become such a horrible person? She prayed that he was caught so he cannot hurt another innocent girl in this way ever again.

            Just then, Millie heard keys engage in the lock at the front door. The girl catches her breath in fright and stares wide-eyed at Millie. Millie looks back in reassurance, saying “It’s my son. My son must be back. He will help us.” Millie stands up from her chair, squeezing the girl’s shoulder briefly before removing the chair that held the pantry door closed.

            She opens the pantry door, leaving the girl inside as the entryway light flicks on. 

            “Mom,” Millie’s son calls out. “It’s me! Where are you? Why is it so dark in here.”

            Millie steps into the light, “Thank God you are here,” she exclaims. Stopping short, she notices that her son is covered in dirt and grime. “What happened to you?” She bursts out.

            “Truck broke down.” He responds angrily. “I was trying to fix it on the side of the road.” He reaches down to pull off his muddy boots, placing them on the doormat to contain the mess, then wiping his hands with the red rag peeking out of his jacket pocket.

            Millie flashes back to what she was doing right before Jeremy had arrived home, quickly changing gears. “We need your help, hurry, there is a girl that needs our help, quick.” Darting back toward the pantry and turning on the kitchen light along the way, as Jeremy follows behind her. Illuminating the pantry with the dangling lightbulb, Millie is stopped dead in her tracks as she sees the recognition and hears the piercing scream that emanates from the young girl as she looks up at Jeremy, still wiping his hands with a shred of her red shirt.