Autism Over the Years: THE REAL THING

I often wonder if people enjoy how I tell a story? My first book, The

Choosing is written in the first person, Britton's voice, He tells the story. It's unique

in the storytelling world. Writing a story with the main character who is nonverbal

is not for the weak...or inexperienced for that matter. I might be one of those, or

maybe both....But, In case you've wondered the same thing, here is a tiny piece

of a story. It's pretty accurate to our "everyday life." You might enjoy a glimpse

into Britton's world...

"It looks like it's just you and me kid!" Mom gently held my arm, we stood at the movie counter. I reached for the tickets when the young woman handed them to us. Saturdays are often just mom and me. I smiled at the woman's surprise when I took the tickets, she is nice, always acts happy to see us. Her eyes smiled back, and today, she gave us special coupons for snacks. Before we walked away she asked mom, “How’s he been doing?” I smile at her, she has no idea that I understand everything she says. Most people assume because I’m mute, I’m also not very bright. Staring into her sad eyes, I have an overwhelming need to reach over and take her hand.

Disheveled chocolate-colored ponytail, purple moons underline the exhaustion of her own struggle. I wish I could say, “You should pray, Adonai will hear!” But I can’t, so I reach to take her hand, placing it on my birthmark. She looks up into my eyes and decides not to pull away. My prayer reaches up into the invisible, I watch hope flood her eyes. I am like a funnel. Adonai will reach through me and touch her...her despair will break into tiny pieces, like burning trash, and float away on the unseen wind.

Adonai has given me this gift, this “key.” She smiles, and a tear gently leaks from one eye. Mom watches the interaction, she’s seen it many times. She loves it when I use my gift. The lady slowly pulls her hand back and wipes her eyes. She looks down, maybe she’s embarrassed I'm not sure. I don’t know what her battles are, I just know, Adonai eased them. I watch her swallow her blessing and then she calls out. “You guys enjoy the movie, it’s always good to see you.” I nod, we lock eyes. We both know...but how do you acknowledge such a thing? She looks down again, I don’t think she understands what passed between us. It doesn’t matter, Adonai has brought His presence, His peace to her heart.

The sacred spell feels broken when mom takes my arm, escorting me. “I love your desire to help people Britton.” We stop at the concession, and she says, “we’ll have a LARGE popcorn and a small coke.” Mom cuts her eyes at me, smirking. I see the glisten with the smile that’s wrapped her whole face. Cokes, real cokes are not allowed, EVER. Sometimes she’ll let me have the stuff from the health food store. The ones that say, “cola.” What a sad imitation those imposters are. Like people...who pretend to be one thing, but are really something completely different.

In the world of soda, I want to be the "real thing."