And once one had gone into the summer, it crawled out in fall, sunburned and miserable. The wretch that had gone in came out, but barely. So I took this wretch into my domestic environment, gave it a name, then a bath, and Mr. Pewtey became my new best friend. Out of the dust of outside, the heat and the leaves-he came. Arthur Pewtey hadn't existed to anyone other than the flies which laid eggs upon him. After a bath he was much more presentable. This person, this entity was entirely new to the world however, and yet, was not a child. So first I took him out to a park with trees. I tried to get him to say something, but all he could say was "ahh" Shapeless words and breathful vowels made up most of our conversation. So I made the point to tell him as much about myself as I could, since, that is how we humans learn to speak anyway. I sang to him, he sat. I prayed with him, he sat. I ate with him, he sat, eating. I asked him who he was and where he was from, he said nothing. He sat. He did not smile. He would not smile. If I became very loud or came very close, his eyes would get bigger. So I brought him back from the place with trees and put him back into my domestic environment.
He lay on the couch. I gave him a pillow which he did not use, and a blanket, which he did. I gave him a sandwich, which he ate. He ate it slowly. With his mouth full, he went mmmmmm. But this "mmnnn" was not a satisfied "mmmm" nor a thoughtful "mmmmm" nor a thankful "mmmnn" This "mmmmmnnn" was the "mmnnnnnn" of one who was just discovering his or her vocal chords for the first time. This is why I came to assume that Arthur Pewtey was not from around here.
He had the most interesting blue eyes, short, light brown hair, blue-jeans and a soft checker coat which was covered in dust. His face was generally blank of expression, which I was quite taken with because it wasn't even an expression of indifference. Looking at him there, lying on the couch. He was not tired. In fact, he looked possibly even quite rigid. I didn't think that a lot of human interaction would be good for him, but I also didn't think that a lot of sitting around would be good for him either. I asked him "Are you cold?" I looked at him. I tried to use my voice and face and body to make it obvious that I expected an answer. All it got me was the same look through those interesting blue eyes which were neither dark nor light. He made no noise. He made no sense.
I couldn't even begin to imagine where he had come from. His name came from a television show, but he...I don't know.
He was a fully grown child. He seemed to be seeing everything for the first time. He didn't judge me or become indignant at my question, "Are you cold?" but he didn't know how to respond. He didn't even really seem to know that he should respond. I took away his blanket. I took away his pillow. I brought in some ice. I put the ice in his hand and said, "Are you cold?"

The ice dripped. I took it away.

I think he needs more time.

After a few moments, sitting there in silence, my wheels turning, he stood up. To my surprise, I stood up too. He just stood there. He looked at me with his expressionless face. I put the ice back in the freezer. I decided I wanted coffee.

Arthur and I walked to Starbucks. I asked him, "Do you want anything." He said nothing. He looked up at the signs. He seemed to know how to look at signs, but not how to read them. I ordered. I ordered two small coffees and a big cookie. This is not usually what I order. This isn't even really what I wanted that day. Really I wanted a mocha. I always want a mocha, but I didn't know what Arthur wanted and I didn't want to get something that was different from what he wanted. We sat in the corner at the booth. I took my journal out of my bag and wrote across the top of the first page: "Arthur Pewtey"
Then I wrote out the alphabet and some of my favorite things. I wrote some quotes. I took some notes. He watched me expressionlessly, but intently, for he didn't look away.
For the first time, I noticed him blink.

I had this idea that he must be an alien from somewhere. I spoke to him in English. I just talked. I gave him some of the cookie, more than half of which I ate myself. I motioned for him to put it into his mouth. He had eaten the sandwich and other food earlier fine, but he spit the cookie out. I think he does not like sweet things. I had been drinking my coffee. He drank his. He took a sip. He did not spit it out. He did not take another sip. When mine was more than half finished, I finished the cookie, threw out the tiny plate it had been on. I sat down again. I told him to drink his coffee. He took another sip. He was staring out the window.

I turned around as a kid on a blue bike rode past the window and down the street. Arthur stood up. I stood up. He threw down his coffee and ran out the door after the hoodlum on the bike. He was fast. I ran after him. The kid on the bike was riding slowly. Arthur was able to be gaining on him. I was not, but I could see them both. At the intersection across from the Starbucks, a red pick up sped through a red light. The truck slammed its breaks halfway through the intersection, the smell of burned tire filled the air, and it was that smell that I remembered more than anything. I blinked. Oddly, I don't remember any noise at all from the incident. The boy was fine. The bike was not. The red truck had no driver in it, but it had hit another car, which had been a dark blue Beretta.

Obviously I was and am confused because none of what I remember seems to make any sense. It went rather quickly. Perhaps if I burned some rubber I could bring something back. The strangest thing about it all is that I watched Arthur run. I watched the red truck approach the intersection, I watched the kid on the blue bike, and noticed the Beretta. Then I was running toward Arthur who was scratchless, the driver of the red truck was nowhere to be found. A shaken skinny college freshman was dialing the police on his cell phone, and the boy was more than thirty feet from his bike, just standing next to Arthur, surveying the scene, as speechless as Arthur, his bike was destroyed. Arthur blinked. I blinked.

Arthur took my hand and led me home. I didn't think of it at the time, but we should have stayed to deal with the police. I guess I didn't really want to deal with them. There had been plenty of other witnesses to the accident. Thinking back, it is strange, but it is also like a memory that is very vague.

If you, reading this, were hoping for the questions to be answered, I am afraid I can't leave you with any answers. I can only tell you what I know, the things I remember.

At that point, I was sitting in my living room with Arthur. My light green blouse was covered in Starbucks, so I put on a white sweater instead. I tried to gather my thoughts. Arthur apparently had some regard for human life, I thought, or whatever he knew would happen, he would have remained indifferent. He also knew where home was for me, and, temporarily for him. I paced about the apartment, which was all very natural for me. It was evening.

The sky was light blue with various shades of violet. My roommates were gone for the week. I poured some Sprite for Arthur and I. He spat it out into the cup. I poured him some milk, which he drank. It was about nine o clock.

"Mmmm" I said to him, with my mouth full.
He said nothing.
I put his fingers on my larynx and said, "Mmmm"
I put my fingers on his larynx and he said, "Mmmm"
I smiled.
He did not smile, but his expressionless eyes lightened for a fraction of a second. It was the beginning of a smile.