novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- TWO VANS IN ONE DAY! burpy strikes again* first marker: burpy loves van rides. he has to sit in the front passenger's seat, he has to control the music volume, he has to pump the gas when we stop at the shell station. we are in one of the three classrooms wednesday morning, bugging one of the managers for a van, and i make the mistake of telling him i will hold his lunch (so he won't eat seventy-five percent of it at nine-thirty in the morning). second marker: when burpy doesn't get his way, he slams his head against walls. (he doesn't attack other people, only himself, and this is called self-injurious behavior, or SIB. most of the kids at school are constantly hitting themselves when frustrated, or bored.) the force of this movement is so strong that all aides were warned not to block him from a wall when he's going at it. he'd break your hand, or your nose, whatever might be in his way. burpy finds a door, a giant, thick metal slab of a door, and slams his head into it seven times. there is blood. i hand him his lunch and the manager hands me van keys. i shuttle him out to the back parking lot where the vans are kept, going through the worn conversation after burpy's SIB of choice: momma mad? (points at head) your mom would get mad if you hit your head, honey. who else? pieter mad. elka. david. that's right. we would all get mad because we don't like to see you hurt yourself. use your words. sorry! i try! (grabs for my hand and holds it as we walk) it's ok. you gonna earn the front seat? you gonna earn pumping gas? nice. then you gotta be good for me. how do you earn front seat? no bang head. and? no running off. promise? promise. third marker: part of burpy's routine is re-hashing cause and effect. when he sees me he asks if i wear socks, because one day in june i visibly wore no socks, and this bothered him. i had to explain how i needed to do laundry, and he still reminds me of this whenever i am his aide. the same with the day my car broke down and it was fixed by a woman mechanic. car broke down?, etc. (he still finds it funny that a woman fixed my car.) when we reach the back parking lot, burpy runs off to watch the mechanics work on a dying van. he searches the cab for anything to salvage. marker four: burpy carries photographs of things that interest him around with him. he likes certain machineries like dishwashers, remotes, vaccums and cars, and he loves portraits, usually of men who have long hair. he likes to search wallets for expired licenses and savings cards, video rental ids, old keys. burpy finds a sale pamphlet on the ground and searches its pages for a good picture. when he finds it, he points to it and makes me fold the pamphlet around the picture for easier viewing. i do so and he points at what he's picked out and asks me, draw blood? i squint at the picture and guess that it is a blood pressure checker-thing, popular with people like my grandpa who constantly monitor their inner-tickings. but i am wrong. it is a home pregnancy device, a more advanced form, an actual machine that you keep in your bathroom instead of discarding after it turns pink or blue. it also keeps track of your fertility. after a pause and one of those silent giggles, i tell him no, it doesn't draw your blood. i think you pee on it and it tells you if you are pregnant. pee? pee. can you get pregnant? no. man. (at this point i want to ask him why such a thing interests him, but asking the kids i work with WHY anything and you'll be given a blank stare. there is no why. there is only because.) after making him promise not to run off again, we go to the shell station so he can gas up the van and feel proud of himself, which he does. he laughs and his laugh is this breathy squiggle that shakes his shoulders and bobs his head. (it's really cute in an autistic 21 year old way.) after re-hashing that sticking your hands inside a car wash would not be a good idea (hands cut off? maybe, i don't know. just don't do it, it's not a good idea. hands cut off? cut off hands? yes. the car wash will eat your hands if you run into it. so don't do it.), we leave the shell. as a reward for not running off at the gas station, i take him for a short van ride before we go back to school for his speech therapy. i choose the highway out past san pablo dam road, the one that runs all the way to moraga. it follows the edges of the mountains and for a short while the radio fritzes out. he stares at the lake on the other side of the road. after ten or so minutes, burpy turns to me and declares you have to go to the bathroom? nice. ok. there's a gas station up ahead. promise me you won't bang your head or run off? promise. we pull into the station and an epiphany hits me as he opens his door: ARE YOU GOING TO PEE ON THAT PAPER? nice. ok well first of all IT'S PAPER, it can't monitor your fertility or tell you if you're pregnant BECAUSE IT'S PAPER and honey? second of all you can't get pregnant. he looks dissapointed for a split second before bolting towards the bathroom. i tear after him shouting his full name and some key phrases that he usually recognizes like "you aren't earning the front seat!" last ditch effort: I'LL BUY YOU A NEWSPAPER! he stops short and turns around to face me, grinning. he laughs the shaking shoulder laugh. hand me the picture and i'll hold it while you pee. when you're done i'll buy you a paper. at this his face squeezes up and he wraps his hands around a large metal pole, aiming his forehead, zeroing in. OK PUT THE PAPER IN YOUR POCKET WHILE YOU GO TO THE BATHROOM JUST PROMISE ME YOU WILL NOT PEE ON THE PICTURE OF THE HOME PREGNANCY TEST. no. put it in your pocket or no paper.
last week we had twelve. you just gotta laugh.
a month or so ago, those-in-charge changed burpy's medication. now he is on an obscenely large amount of prozac, causing unquiet and general hyperactivity in what was his usually obsessive and rigid routine. as i was cleaning out a van with the duck, i saw another aide streak past us with burpy charging behind her. he wasn't even breathing hard and they had been jogging circles around the school for an hour. (while this may seem as an obviously inane thing to do to a severely autistic 21 year old, what with altering his mindset and causing changes in his moods and routine, it is also standard procedure for anyone who will be on meds for the rest of their lives. they have to try several combinations to see what works, and his aides at school have to deal with the transitions 8:57 pm - 11.14.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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