Page 36 of Light Up The Night
Once again, she speaks as if reciting a textbook definition. "Autism Spectrum Disorder is a condition characterized by difficulties or differences in social communication and/or interaction, an intense need for predictability and routine, sensory processing difficulties, a tendency to hyperfixate on areas of personal interest, and repetitive behaviors."
I blink, processing. “Uhhh, you're gonna have to break all that down for me, sweetheart. That was a lot."
"Very well." She's sitting in perfect posture—back perfectly straight, chin high, hands folded on her lap, knees together; regal, that's the only word for it. "Let us go through the definition piece by piece, as it relates to me. First, difficulties or differences in social communication or interaction. This is the one that is most glaring, with me. ASD, Autism Spectrum Disorder, means that my brain is wired differently from yours. Very,verydifferently. I have a hard, if not impossible, time understanding the emotions of others. Not merely emotions—facial expressions. Nuances of verbal expression. When you look at your good friend, Sheriff Cole Mannix, for example. If he makes this face—" she scowls. "You would interpret that how?"
I shrug. "Depends."
"On what?"
"Context. He could be thinking. He could be mad. He could just be concentrating. He might be trying to fart."
"Precisely. A scowl can mean many things. My brain only sees it as anger. And a scowl is a fairly broad expression, correct? It is not subtle." She blinks. "Trying to fart?"
I laugh. "Caught that, huh?"
She shrugs, nodding. “It is a valid answer. Anyway, consider the infinite other facial expressions that you, a neurotypical person, easily and automatically interpret on a daily basis. If you say something inappropriate, you can tell that you have made someone uncomfortable simply by the way they look at you. I, on the other hand, will not be able to see that. I will miss the nuance of facial expression."
I hum thoughtfully. "I'm following you so far."
"Now consider verbal social expression. This is where, more than anything, I struggle the most."
"Verbal social expression," I say, “You mean…talking?"
"Yes. I realize that to you, it may seem redundant to differentiate between verbal and nonverbal social expression, but to me, they are vastly different things. Nonverbal expressions are largely lost on me, as I have said. Verbal expression, however, is far more nuanced. As you may have noticed, I am quite literal in my understanding of what is said to and around me."
I can't help a laugh. "Yeah, I did notice."
She smiles, but it's thin. "When your friend told me to keep you out of trouble, of course he was not being literal. You are not, so far as I have witnessed in the time we have been acquainted, prone to misbehavior, legal or otherwise. But my mind does not automatically process these facts. It ignores them. I hear Sheriff Mannix tell me to keep you out of trouble and my reaction is,‘Oh, alright. I shall keep him out of trouble. But…why, if he is not prone to troublemaking?’” She shrugs. “The idea that he could be jesting simply does not occur to me. It is the same with anything which may have more than one possible meaning. It is not that I do not enjoy laughter or that I do not have a sense of humor, but what registers as humor to my brain is broad, if you know what I mean by that. Slapstick, for example. Physical humor. Metaphorically speaking, in order to register something as humor, I need the broad wink to tell me so." She peers at me. "You have thoughts to share, I believe."
“Yeah, I…" I exhale, trying to figure out where to start and how to ask the questions that are bubbling up as she explains this shit.
Before I can go further, she rests her hand on my knee. "Before you say anything, Riley, please hear this. I wish you to be honest. Do not seek to preserve my feelings by tiptoeing around what you really wish to know. Whatever cruel, unkind, or mean-spirited thing could be said about me, know that I have heard it before, many, many times. Furthermore, I believe I know you well enough to know that you will not intend anything to be mocking or mean-spirited."
"I hate that," I say. "That people have been so fuckin' mean to you."
She shrugs. "People are frequently cruel, Riley. It is a fact of life. And people are never quite so cruel as to those whom they do not understand, and to many people, I am so different that I may as well be an alien." She huffs softly, a sort of sighing laugh. "Do you know what my nickname was, when I attended public high school?"
I groan. "Oh god, I'm scared. What?"
"Rosie."
I frown. "Um…I've gotta be missing something."
"Yes, most likely. Have you ever watched the old animated series,The Jetsons?"
The meaning of the nickname comes crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. "The robot maid."
"Correct. It began as Robot-Girl, along with a variety of infantile derivations, such as Robo-Cop, Robo-Bitch," she shakes her head, waves her hand. "I need not list them all, of which there were many. And then some humorous soul with too much time on his or her hands created a…a meme, I suppose, of me. The person must have stumbled across a clip of the show featuring Rosie the robot maid, thought of me, and used computer software to transpose my head onto Rosie's body, using a previously recorded video of me taken during a school function, in which I speak as I normally do. I do not remember what I said in the clip, and it does not matter. It went viral throughout the entire school. And from then on, I was never again addressed as Cadence or Cadie by anyone at the school—by studentsorfaculty."
I gape at her. "The fuckingfacultycalled you that?"
"Yes. I combated the efforts for some months by simply not responding to the name, but it became so widespread that by the end of the year, I simply had no other choice but to respond to it. To this day, if I run into someone in my hometown with whom I attended high school, they will address me as Rosie."
"Jesus fuck, that's evil."
She shakes her head. "No, it is not. It is completely understandable. Hurtful, perhaps, but understandable." She looks at me, hard and piercing. “Can you truthfully tell me you have not had a thought along those lines?"
I can't, so I don't answer.
