Let's Go Play at the Adams'

Now, these things better understood, she endured squalls and storms as well as

anyone-outwardly. Giants in the sky, there were none. But on those nights, there was

something abroad in the world, something always there but rarely seen by eye. In the

approach of thunder, wind, and rain, she remembered it coming and she remembered

crying.

Tonight she felt the giants might not come. The amber, faraway play of lightning was

dim and remote. Nonetheless, she was lonely. The older kids had been gone for hours;

she and Bobby had eaten; and he was trying to sleep until his watch. Television was

more boring than ever, and she was left by herself to watch the night in blackness. The

responsibility and solitariness were unendurable. She lifted her head and put her palms

down on the step restlessly. How to escape freedom?

The answer was the same now as on the more gentle night before: Barbara.

Though she was not as spoiled as people thought-indeed she was as spoiled or as

obedient as she thought the traffic would bear-still Cindy knew with a child's certainty

that while one foot was planted in her life and doings, the other was firmly anchored in

the adults' distant world. She depended upon it and wished it so, particularly when she

felt like this. And

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when the problem was solvable-as now-it was frustrating not to be allowed to do anything.

John and Dianne and Bobby and Paul might move Barbara as they would, but Cindy could

only watch. Her own existence within the group, in fact, was based on the understanding

that all she could do was watch. Thus Barbara, dearer to her than to any of them, was just

as removed as if she were the one in Europe. This, too, was unendurable, and with her

mind half on the grumbling evening and half on her own needs, Cindy imagined what she

might do.

No more than Bobby did she dare turn Barbara loose. No more than John or Dianne would

she move her alone. Still-if Barbara agreed-she might remove the gag and at least talk to

her, and that's all she really wanted just this minute. It was a dangerous thing; it was

daring; and yet without it, how could Cindy live until it was time for Bobby to take over?

With resolution, even with a smile, Cindy rose and entered the kitchen with a screen-

banging crash.

Barbara was awake.

At the quiet click of the overhead light, she blinked her eyes and turned them toward

Cindy, who in turn assured herself that all was safe, that the prisoner was still imprisoned.

This silent, if mutual acknowledgment completed, Cindy walked to the side of the bed and

then, with sudden courage, sat down on its edge,

her hands in her lap.

-

There was a brief moment in which child and girl, captor and captive, met with eyes and

attention. Then Cindy said, "Are you awake?"

Nod-yes.

"Do you want to talk?"

Barbara did nothing for a moment. She could not shrug, but after a bit she tossed her head

in an imitation of I don't care.

The gesture seemed weary, and Cindy suddenly felt sorry for her. Nonetheless, Cindy's

problem came first. "Will you make a lot of noise if I take off your gag?"

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Tired nod-no.

Cindy reached up to the back of her own head and, taking a curl of her own short hair,

twined it around her finger sensuously. She smiled, "Will you let me put it back when we're

through?"

Yes-yes. A nod, a nod.

Cindy hesitated just another moment, feeling both frightened and daring, righteous and

naughty. Then she leaned down over Barbara. "OK, turn your head a little .... " Putting her

small fingers on Barbara's cheek, she managed to get her nails under the adhesive tape

and pull. It was something she had seen the older kids do, but until this minute, she had

never realized how sticky the tape was and how Barbara's skin pulled up with it.

Nonetheless she persisted, and slowly, slowly, the adhesive strap came away until it parted

from the other side of Barbara's face.

"Umnn-" Barbara opened her mouth and at least partially disgorged the scrap of folded

terry cloth she was forced to accept each time they gagged her.

It looked disgusting to Cindy-it was like some obscene, unknown-to-children bodily

function-and yet she daintily reached down and pulled it out and laid it aside on the night

table. Barbara licked her lips.

"Are you OK?"

"No. I'm stiff. I hurt all over," Barbara tried to shift the smallest bit and obviously could not.

"Just untie me."

"I'm sorry-" and Cindy truly was. They looked at each other a minute,

"Well, I'm hungry." Since the children had never cared about this, Barbara said it in a bored

voice. "Thirsty."

"We've eaten everything that's good-Dianne's going to shop for us tomorrow-but I can

make you a peanut-butter sandwich and a Coke."

Barbara sighed. "OK?"

"OK."

Cindy rose and went to the door. There she

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turned primly and said, "Would you like jelly with the peanut butter?"

"Fine. Anything."