novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the autistic ouija board after a few insistent NOs he got out of my backseat, slamming the door. his face immediately changed when he saw that we were outside his parents' house; the eyebrows slid back to their home above his eyes, not in-between them, his murderous glance. he opened the door without knocking and walked in without using his heels; a sensory-cautious bounce. hey steve, his father said to him in passing, but didn't look at him. how was it, he asked me, crossing his arms over his chest. what was this new behaviour you were talking about on the telephone? crocodile tears, loud wailing, stomping on the floor and a general sort of vehemence for all around him, i replied. that's happened three or four times in the past... his father trailed off as we both watched steven root around the pantry for crackers. his mother got off the phone. steve, you want crackers? an almost inaudible yes. ok, get a bowl. she turned to me, smiling her reassuring it's ok, he is autistic, after all smile. we'll find out what was up. she pulled a pad of drawing paper out of a drawer, and walked with steven, his crackers and his bowl to the kitchen table. on the pad was drawn the alphabet in large, red letters, with a space at the bottom, kind of a paper typewriter. you can have crackers after we have a talk, ok? he nodded. do you remember stomping at elka's apartment today? his mother took his hand and steven guided her to Y-E-S. why did you stomp? M-O-M. what about mom? (she looked up to me and smiled. if i use "me" he gets confused and thinks i'm talking about him.) what did mom do, steve? M-O-M (SPACE) A-T-E (SPACE) M-Y (SPACE) F-O-O-T. (at this i laughed, but softly, because steve has trouble spelling and concentrating at the same time) i ate your food? what food? P-I-A-Z-Z-A-Z-A. that was carrie's pizza, not yours. and you ate it, i didn't. remember? you had the pepperoni pizza and carrie had the vegetable pizza. Y-E-S. at this point steven stood and walked into the bathroom. she looked up at me. we've been talking to steve about how he is going to move into a group home in a little while, and i think he's a little angry with us for it. that would make sense, i told her, sitting down at the table across from the large red letters. i tried to do that (i motioned towards the tablet) with him but it didn't exactly work. he just kept spelling out K-T-D-M-K-P-Z or something or another. i had to learn how to with him; i'll show you one day when we have time. we will have to introduce you to the tablet with him, and show him that you want to talk to him this way. she sighed. it works and it doesn't. i'm thinking, fifty percent. most of the time i think i can get a clear answer out of him, but i'm not sure if it's because i'm guiding his hand or not. it's an autistic ouija board, i said. she laughed. i think i can guess what he means most of the time because i know him better than anyone. it's going to be good for him, though. the group home. he doesn't get enough attention here. there's two teenagers that suck us dry, and my husband has to wake up at 5 in the morning for work. he's nineteen, i replied. he needs to learn how to communicate and how to function more on his own. it'll be hard for him. he mimics other kids so often; there aren't any violent kids in the new group home, are there? we made sure that there aren't. but they're all so high-maintenance! they decide when they go to sleep! i don't know how steve will do at a place like that! she sighed again. i guess the best thing to do is to try it out, i told her. he's going to have a rough transition. steven came back into the room, smiling and wiping his hands on his sides. he sat down in front of the pad and pointed at me and then put his hands over his ears. what do you want, bum? his mother asked him. ("bum" is his nickname.) APPPACA APPAGO WWWWAAALK under his breath, his cheeks and neck straining to get out the sound. you want to go for a ride? she looked over at me and explained that he says "walk" when he wants to ride around in the car. is that what you want? you want to go for a ride with elka? he nodded and pointed at me again. it's too late, it's almost bedtime. steven, we've been driving around for the past two hours, i said. (to his mother i explained: he wouldn't get out of the car, and if he did, he'd just start wailing, so i drove him around for hours, and sat in parking lots, feeling like the chauffer of a hunted celebrity with too many rabid fans keeping them from their hotel.) steven took his mother's hand and pointed it at the tablet. she guided his hand there and he spelled out I (SPACE) NOT (SPACE) MOVE. he moaned slightly, biting his hand, looking anxiously at his mother. then he pointed at me and asked for another walk. after convincing him that it was indeed time for bed, i slipped out the front door behind his mother. it's going to be hard, she whispered to me. we have to teach him some sort of self-sufficience because i'm 52 and won't be around forever. at that moment her eyes shifted far under, into a dark sentiment, and i felt i could see her inside them, all helpless and exhausted.
9:32 pm - 06.09.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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