I've got nothing to do today but smile.

There's an autistic boy in my Drama 9 class this semester.  The autistic spectrum disorders interest me, in particular, because they create such quirkiness, a quirkiness that I often find delightful rather than alienating.  B is a savant, or what was once called "idiot savant", the type of autism that comes with gifts.  He has a math gift and a brain calendar such that you can tell him the date of your birth, for example, and he can tell you what day of the week on which you were born.  He can do this trick with dates in the infinite future too.  But he has disabilities as well, mainly the lack of social connection with his peers.  They find him amusing, interesting, likeable even.  But not relatable.  He's so very different.

He chooses to sit right beside me at the start of every class when they gather in a circle for instructions.  Maybe he likes me.  Maybe it's safer near the teacher.  I'm not sure.  But he sits there every day, always on my right side, and as he pulls his chair up close to me he always says, "Hello Ms. P.  Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me."  Always four times.  I've never touched him.

I asked him the other day why he always tells me not to touch him.  He told me that touches feel like electric shocks on his skin.  I keep thinking about that, how that kind of overstimulation he described is probably what other less verbal autistic children experience when they are overwhelmed by light, or noise, or other stimuli in their environments.  Like being shocked with every touch.

Last year another autistic boy came to me for counselling.  He told me he had a recurring headache.  I asked him what the headache felt like.  He said it felt like disappointment.

Does it seem odd, I wonder, that I find these verbal autistic kids so very relatable?  That oversensitivity, I get it.  It's not my sensory reality, but it's my emotional reality.  I get the prickle of electricity when I see a facial expression change in a specific way.  I get zapped in those moments of awkward silence that briefly crest in noisy conversations.  And sometimes when things get bigger than that I feel completely electrocuted.

And I've had a headache that feels like disappointment.

*

I called social services today.  A girl told me her father beats her.  He punches her with closed fists.  She crumples on the floor gasping for air and he kicks her while she chokes for breath.  She is a tiny, hundred pound girl.  By law I must call protective services when children tell me these things.  But my heart struggled with it.  Not because I have any doubt that she needs protection, but I am breaking her trust in telling someone what she told me.  And I greatly fear that the social workers will aggravate rather than alleviate an already terrible situation.  My distrust of social services comes from my negative experiences when trying to access help for my niece back when her mother was still alive.  (I called because I was concerned that my sister was passing out while smoking in bed, with J in the bed.  They told me they could do nothing until the danger was more immediate.  I sarcastically asked if that meant I could not call until the bed was actually on fire, and the social worker said - without a hint of humour - that yes, that was the appropriate time to call.)  I hope this girl is safe over the holidays.


*

It's the holidays now.  My show closed last night to a huge happy audience that laughed at everything.  Parents brought me homemade Christmas treats and said nice things to me.  The kids gave me flowers.  It was the way closing night is supposed to look and nearly never does.  It would be a good way to finish my career in theatre this way.  I am ready to move up into the counselling office, but I'd like to look back on these years as having finished strong.

And for some reason I have been showered with gifts this Christmas.  Not the case every year.  I'm not sure if I have more thoughtful kids this year, wealthier kids this year, or if, perhaps, I have just been more likeable this year.  But I have more chocolate and cookies and treats than I can believe.  I will be twenty pounds heavier by the end of the holidays.

Tonight I had homemade Nuts & Bolts, homemade chocolate toffees, and red wine for dinner.  Danger.


*