I had strength again.

  I could sit up.

  I could walk.

  I could grab food by myself.

  My stomach didn’t hurt anymore.

  My head wasn’t burning.

  When I was awake,

  I no longer saw the dark alley.

  No more rats running around.

  But—I didn’t want to go far.

  I liked staying close to the big one.

  Wherever he went, I followed.

  If he sat, I sat.

  If he stood, I stood.

  If he looked at me, I looked at him.

  His hand—

  so big,

  so warm—

  would pat my head.

  I liked having my head patted.

  —

  The big one taught me things.

  “This—hold it.”

  He took my hand and placed something in it—

  hard, round,

  with a long handle.

  He held one too,

  scooped up some food,

  and put it into his mouth.

  “Eat.”

  I watched him,

  copied him.

  Used the thing to scoop food

  and brought it to my mouth.

  It was slow.

  It was hard.

  Sometimes the food fell and disappeared,

  ended up on the floor.

  Using hands was faster.

  But—I still learned.

  Because when I did,

  the big one patted my head.

  He held my hand with his big, warm one,

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  helped me use the thing slowly—

  but gently.

  And when I ate like him,

  I felt happy too.

  —

  “This—wear it.”

  The big one brought over some cloth,

  put it over my head,

  pushed my arms through,

  my legs too—

  Warm.

  It was strange.

  In the alley, there was no such thing.

  If it got cold,

  you just curled up.

  But the big one told me to wear this.

  And when I did—

  I wasn’t cold anymore.

  “Clothes.”

  “Cl…othes?”

  I copied the sound.

  That sound—was the name of this warm thing?

  The big one nodded,

  patted my head again.

  Curling up felt safer,

  quicker—

  but the big one liked it

  when I wore the warm thing.

  So I learned.

  When I tried putting it on myself,

  my hands got stuck.

  The big one laughed—

  and helped me.

  I liked learning these things.

  —

  The bright one also taught me things.

  She brought out some objects,

  flat and thin,

  with black, curved shapes on them.

  She pointed with her finger.

  “These are words.”

  “Words?”

  I tilted my head,

  staring at the black, curved shapes.

  “These are words.”

  She held one up and pointed at it.

  “This one—‘water.’”

  “Water?”

  “Water.”

  She picked up a cup filled with water

  and gave it a little shake.

  I looked at the water moving inside,

  then shifted forward—

  wanting to drink.

  “Water.”

  She pointed at the word again.

  I think I understood.

  That sound meant this shape.

  And this shape meant water.

  Then… the water that made me throw up—

  was that “water” too?

  “Water…”

  I repeated after her.

  She smiled—

  and patted my head.

  —

  The big one’s hand—

  broad, thick,

  warm when it patted my head.

  The bright one’s hand—

  small, long,

  soft when it touched me.

  Sometimes,

  when I didn’t understand the words,

  the bright one would get stern—

  her eyes sharp,

  her voice loud,

  scary.

  I wanted to run.

  But I still learned.

  Because—

  when she patted my head,

  it was still warm.

  I didn’t know what use learning all these things had.

  But the big one and the bright one liked it.

  And when they liked it—

  they patted my head.

  So I learned.

  I liked the big one’s hand.

  I liked the bright one’s hand too.