Monday came around and I waited to see if he would come in. There was no sign of him in the morning but he did arrive just a little before the lunch hour rush. He put his backpack and coat in his usual spot and came to the counter.
"Good afternoon, Dan!" I greeted him with a smile, "The usual?"
Quietly, he ordered a sandwich and soda, once again avoiding eye contact with me. I kept my smile on my face but it was a fight as my heart felt as though it had dropped into my stomach. Had he decided he didn't want to go out with me again?
Just then he shyly slid a piece of paper across the counter. He seemed reluctant to release it at first but finally let it go. He was blushing and his breathing was a bit shallow. I was glad that the first of the afternoon customers hadn't arrived yet because I didn't think I could have kept that smile plastered on for much longer. I picked up the paper, fully expecting it to be one of those, 'I like you, but...' letters. Instead, it contained a list of the days and hours that he'd been scheduled for the week. I slowly let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Before I could say anything, the bell at the door rang and several people came in. I gave Dan's order to one of my assistants and leaned toward him with a genuine smile. "I'll bring your food to you when it's ready Dan."
He nodded and went to sit down while I greeted the newcomers and took their orders. I don't think I've ever worked so fast in my life, but I managed to take the orders while my assistants worked hard to accurately fill every one as quickly as possible. Gesturing to Abby, who had finished her last customer and was taking a short breather, to take over the register for a moment, I took Dan's food over to him, as promised. Although it had been a little longer wait than I'd anticipated he had sat patiently, reading yet another book and furiously taking notes as he read.
"Here you go, Daniel," I announced softly so as not to startle him. Despite my care, he did jump a little. With a blush, he closed the notebook and hid the book he'd been reading beneath the table.
I sat down across the table from him and jokingly asked him, "Reading the Kama Sutra?"
His expression was completely blank, but despite the short time in which I'd actually known him, I was beginning to be able to read him a little easier. Right now I interpreted his lack of expression to mean that he had no clue what I was talking about, so I tried a different tactic.
"You know what I used to do when I was a kid still in grammar school? I'd hide a comic book or some other thin book inside my texts, and I'd read those instead of the assignment we'd been given," I chuckled.
For some reason, his expression turned stony and he once again refused eye contact with me. I quickly apologized if I'd offended him.
"In high school, in the special ed class I was stuck in, we were given first-grade stuff to read, like we were stupid or something," he replied with an edge to his voice. "it finally got to the point where we all just refused to do the work any more. We wanted to learn at grade level, but they wouldn't let us. They didn't think we were capable."
He stopped there as he calmed himself and gathered his thoughts, and then continued after a short pause, "We'd have given anything to be working at our grade level and not treated like imbeciles. There was only one teacher in high school who tried, but by then it was too late to learn anything. She made sure that I was put in mainstream classes because she believed that I was capable of learning so much more. She's the only teacher I ever liked."
"So the thought of me ignoring my studies to fool around rather than learn upsets you," I guessed in a quiet voice.
He nodded once, abruptly.
"I'm sorry, Dan. I had no idea." Once again I could feel the heat of shame climb from my shirt collar and into my cheeks. It was amazing what I'd taken for granted when kids like Dan had been treated badly and thought so little of by the people who were supposed to be teaching them.
"Dan?" I began gently, "I don't want to pry, but didn't your parents say anything to them?"
"I never told them," he replied quietly, his hands clenched on the table top.
I was silent for several moments, taking it all in. Were all autistic children taught below their grade level? Would there be something about it on the internet? It just floored me that someone so intelligent could have been thought of, or treated as anything other than a bright human being.
"I was in the BDLC class, even though every teacher I had said that I didn't have a behavioral problem, because they didn't have the facilities to deal with an autistic person. My mother tried to get me into a school especially for kids like me, but the state refused to pay for it and we're... well... we're not exactly rich and my parents couldn't afford to send me there, so I got stuck where I was," he paused again and a definite expression of anger crossed his features.
"I don't want to dredge up bad memories, Dan, but what does BDLC stand for?"
"Behavior Disorder Learning Center," he explained quietly. When I didn't reply he continued.
"One of my aunts told my mother that she should send me away and put me in some kind of home," his voice was tight once again, "she had no idea that I was nearby and could hear every word. I was really young at the time but old enough to understand what she meant. I just stood there. I thought I was going to cry. I was just about to go into my bedroom when my mother told her off. She told my aunt to deal with her own five little terrors before she passed judgment on me, and then said sure, she'd send me off to that place, as long as the family could find a house and jobs nearby, and provided that I was allowed to come home every night. This was kind of early on when no one was really sure what was going on with me. My mother brought me to doctor after doctor. She knew something was off but had no idea what."
"One doctor said I was psychotic. I was five at that time," he paused here and took another deep breath before speaking again but I could see that he was trembling. I put my warm hands over his clenched ones and squeezed them lightly.
"When I was about seven, another doctor that mom brought me to said that I was just a spoiled brat and mom should stick me in the corner when I acted out," here he stopped a moment and chuffed a laugh, "mom asked me to go into the waiting room while she spoke to the nice doctor, but I could hear through the door when she told the woman off. I wish I could remember what exactly she said, but the woman was speechless by the time we left. I can remember that incident because mom is allergic to peaches."
I looked, confused, at Daniel until he realized he'd lost me and explained.
"She'd eaten something that contained peach the night before and was covered in hives. By the time we left, the hives were bright red she was so mad."
"One doctor even asked mom if she'd be upset if she told her that there was nothing wrong with me. I can remember it like it was yesterday. She stood and gathered me up and started for the door, then she turned around and said, 'Miss Sorensen, you notice I didn't bother to try to call you doctor, you don't deserve the title.' I don't really remember what she said after that because the words were too big for me to get, you know? And she spelled some of them out," he laughed again at the memory, "yep, she was pretty good at leaving people with their mouths hanging open."
I grinned at the pictures he painted for me. I hadn't met the lady of the house yet, but I was of mixed feelings about it. On one hand, she sounded like a lioness, and on the other, she sounded like something of a nut, and I worried which one I'd run into when I finally did meet her.
"When were you finally diagnosed, if you don't mind my asking?"
"I was about eleven, and mom brought me to another place. She had already sent in this huge envelope full of papers for the doctor and she had another folder full of more papers. Stuff from my teachers and things like that. I was worried that they'd said I was just a bad kid, you know? I was afraid that he'd read the stuff from them and decide that he didn't like me too. I was a little scared because he wouldn't let her come into the office with me but the guy was ok. We talked a lot, and we played some board games. Then after about an hour, he asked me to go to the waiting room and ask my mother to go in. That's when he finally told her that based on all the paperwork and his interview with me that I had Asperger's Syndrome."
The light switch finally turned on in my head. "Which falls under the autism spectrum," I said, mostly to myself, hoping that I'd read and understood the sites I'd scrolled through.
"I guess so. My sister is on the spectrum but she always got mad when mom would make her go to therapy and she wouldn't cooperate, so she got to stop going. My little brother is autistic as well." He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh, "When I'd go to therapy, I'd say stuff, mostly to shock them to get a reaction, but instead of them saying they couldn't help me in therapy they made me go more often. So I guess I kind of bit myself in the butt there."
"I was in speech therapy, and this therapy and that therapy... back then I hated it but I guess it helped some, now that I think about it."
"Hey, Jonah?" Abby called from the counter, "I'm really sorry but... we could kind of use your help up here?"
Dan and I both looked up to see a harried looking Abby and my other assistants working at a feverish pace to fill the orders. I knew they could handle it but I also knew that I was there to work, not sit and chat with Dan, as much as I wanted to.
"Be right there!" I called before turning to Daniel with a sheepish grin, "Gotta get back to work my friend, when do you get out tonight?"
"I'm off today," he replied, "I just came in to give you my schedule. Thanks for taking it and not throwing it away."
It touched me that he'd gone out of his way just to give me his schedule. "Hang tight then. When the rush is over we can talk more, alright?"
He half shrugged his shoulder and in that quiet voice replied, "You'd better get back to work. I don't want you to get into trouble."
I grinned at him and made a beeline back to the counter where I helped the crew take and fill orders. It was hectic for a couple of hours, nothing out of the ordinary but I found myself slightly resenting all of these people for keeping me away from my Daniel. I smiled and greeted everyone as usual, but I felt something that I would describe as withdrawal at being taken away from him. I've never actually gone through any sort of withdrawal but I've heard stories, and the feeling in the pit of my stomach echoed those feelings I'd been told about.
When the rush was finally over at three I took a deep breath and let it out, something all of us were doing it seemed. I looked into the corner where my Daniel had been sitting only to find him gone. Once again, my heart sank into my stomach region. I wondered if he'd be back, then I remembered that he'd given me his schedule.
After we cleaned the area, Abby and Mick went around the front of the counter where some of the tables were and sank down onto the chairs, looking as though they were half asleep already. Luckily the rest of the day would be relatively calm, and even the going home crowd wouldn't be as bad as lunch time.
Gerry had headed to the back where a couch and two comfy chairs were situated. He curled up on the couch, much to Mikah's displeasure since 'everyone knew' that was her spot. But being the smallest and most resourceful of the bunch, she jumped up and landed in the space left by his bent knees, put her legs up on him and closed her eyes. Gerry never moved a muscle.
Cheree and Enzio gladly sank down into the overstuffed chairs that flanked the couch, and put their heads back, our premade lunches were momentarily forgotten in the refrigerator.
I turned the open sign to closed and locked the door so that the lot of us could rest and eat before the 'going home' crowd came in for their last minute cups of coffee. As a general rule, the stores in my little plaza all closed at six, though some of us would stay open a little later for special occasions, but I had no intention of staying open late this evening, for any reason.
In somewhat messy print he had written not only his schedule but his full name, which I'd never known, his address and his telephone number. I had a hard time keeping my heart, which had sunk just moments before, from leaping with joy right out of my chest. Although I was just as tired as the rest of them, and my stomach was growling loudly, I went upstairs to my office and called the number.
A pleasant female voice answered the phone.
"Mrs. Johnson?"
"Speaking," came the cheerful sounding response.
"Hi, my name is Jonah. Jonah McIntyre. I'm a friend of Daniel's. Is he home by any chance?"
The silence that followed made me wonder if we'd somehow gotten disconnected, until I heard her pleasant, soft voice say, "Hold on, please." I knew that she put her hand over the phone but I could still hear her call, "Danny! Dan! Phone call!" There was a short pause before I heard my name mentioned. It was only seconds later when Daniel apparently took the phone from his mother's hand. I could hear him say, "Stop smiling at me like that."
By the disgruntled tone of his voice, I could tell exactly what look she was giving him. It was a good thing we weren't in the same room or else I knew I'd start laughing. It was several more moments before he actually answered the phone. I could hear a door shut and the springs of his bed as he settled down onto it.
"Hi Jonah," he finally said, "how was the lunch rush?"
"Like a chicken coop at feeding time," I joked.
There was silence at his end and I wondered if he'd ever seen a chicken coop let alone a chicken that didn't come wrapped in plastic.
"Ever see someone feeding the birds and they all come flocking around trying to get a bit?" I asked.
"Yeah," he finally replied, "me and mom used to like to feed the ducks at the park until the seagulls started flying at them and stealing the bread."
"Well then, the lunch rush was like trying to feed a flock of seagulls." I laughed.
"Seagulls attacked me, mom, and my sister one day when we were walking to the mall. We had a bag of cheese puffs," he replied seriously, "mom put her jacket over our heads and threw the bag somewhere behind us and we ran the rest of the way to the mall. Mom was afraid that we were going to get hurt it was so bad."
I wasn't sure because of the lack of tonality in his voice, but I thought I could hear a hint of a rebuke in there. This conversation wasn't going the way I'd imagined it at all.
"Well," I rallied, "it was hectic but we made it. So, what did you do after you left the store today?"
"I worked on a painting," he replied quietly.
"You paint? That's great, Dan." I said with a smile, "I do a little sketching but I'm terrible with color so my stuff is usually all done in pencil. What do you like to paint?"
"Whatever's on my mind."
"What was on your mind today? Can I ask?"
"Just stuff."
"Do you think I can see some of your paintings someday?"
Once again there was a brief silence before he answered, "I'm not very good. My paintings are kind of abstract. I don't think a lot of people would get it. I'm pretty sure no one would like them."
"Dan, have you ever heard the song, 'If You Wanna Sing Out, Sing Out?' "
"I can't sing. My brother says I sound like a dying moose."
I caught myself before I could allow the laughter that welled up inside of me out. "I don't sing well either," I admitted, "what I mean is, the song is basically about doing your own thing and not worrying about what other people think." I sang a couple of bars, knowing that my voice sounded uncertain as I tried to remember the words, not to mention that I was self-conscious as well.
"You don't sing that bad," he replied. I could hear the confusion in his voice. I was becoming very good at hearing and interpreting the various tones that did come out on occasion.
"Well, I'll never win any talent shows," I joked, "but I can manage a little bit now and then. The point is, I like to sing, at least when I'm alone," I added with a laugh, "so if you like to paint, then paint. Paint what you think. Paint what you feel, and don't worry what other people think, got it?"
"Yeah," he replied.
"So... can I ask what you painted today?"
"The Archangel Michael."
"Sounds impressive! What else have you painted?" I took a moment to smile and nod my thanks to Abby who had brought me a sandwich and a cup of coffee.
Dan went on to describe some of his paintings, his voice becoming slightly uncertain the more he spoke.
"Now you've really got me curious," I replied, "someday, maybe soon, you'll let me see some of them? Please? The one of St. Peter sounds fascinating."
If it were possible to hear a shrug over the phone I'm sure I would have heard Dan doing it just then.
"Whenever you're ready to share, ok?"
He replied in the affirmative and then went silent again.
"Anyway, Dan, the reason I called is because we both have Sunday off, and I thought we could go see a movie... your treat, I promise. Anything particular in mind?"
"There's a documentary on the Battle of Gettysburg that I was going to watch on Sunday, do you mind if we do that, then we can go and see a movie another night?"
"That sounds perfect, I didn't know you were into history," I replied, it sounded as though it would be a great night.
"My father studied archaeology in college and I always had a fascination with history. I never went on any digs but my father used to take me to the dinosaur museum when I was a kid. He'd also take me to the airplane museum and I'd see all the old planes there."
"It's a date then. I'll bring the popcorn," I joked.
As I was beginning to find out, Dan was a very literal person and he replied, "We have popcorn here. And soda. Like my mother says, 'Just bring yourself. That'll be plenty.'"
I couldn't help but to chuckle, despite his earlier stories his mother sounded like very down to earth person and I liked that. Suddenly his voice was muffled and I thought perhaps the connection had gone bad.
"Dan. Dan?" I asked, "Are you still there?"
His voice returned to normal and he said, "Mom asked me to ask you to come to dinner on Sunday. Are you ok with that?"
He sounded a little bit nervous so I assured him immediately that I'd love to go. He told me the time and gave me his address once again. "Do you like spaghetti?" he asked, "If you don't mom said she'd make something different. We're going to use my grandma's sauce. She visited and dropped off a big jar of it. It's homemade and it's a real treat for us."
"Can't wait," I replied with a grin, "see you then."
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