This Is Why I Don’t Go to Parties
I'm in a room where laughter dances
and balloons cling to the ceiling like limpets.
I'm in an ocean of people, and a mighty sailor beckons me to her.
She bears puppets as if long-lost treasure.
She smiles, opening her mouth to say something.
Something ridiculous.
Something bonkers.
Something that will change my life and how I perceive it
Forever.
Let's rewind a second
It's the birthday party for the kid that I babysit.
Cute kid.
A bite like a rabid piranha, but cute.
He's autistic,
like me.
I had that conversation with his parents, of course.
It blew their mind
And I got the typical, like, "You don't seem autistic" and "You're so high functioning."
"I never would have guessed."
So the day comes.
They bring up to me in passing
that his grandmother, this sailor of a woman in this sea of chaos, is a lot, super overwhelming,
never stops talking.
And they said it with caution, with extra carefulness and precision in their words to emphasize
the sensory hell this woman would put me through
as if they wanted to protect me from something.
So.
This woman comes up to me.
Her eyes are shining with glee.
"You must be Connor!" She exclaims with joy. "Oh, I've heard so much about you!"
A pause, the world holding its breath.
And in the most condescending, ridiculous voice heard to man, moving the puppet's
mouths to talk to me:
"I heard you're autistic, so I made these finger puppets for us to make!"
I mean, I go through the stages of neurodivergent processing in five seconds.
Shock.
Embarrassment.
Disbelief.
Oh, and,
"This is going to make one hell of a story for support group."
That night, I briefly send the parents a text mentioning what happens, and I leave feeling a lot of things. Restless. I mean, this could have made me start an organization or something, I was that inspired by the injustice that had happened to me.
I mean,
the tone
the talking through the puppets
her saying me being autistic as the second sentence she says to me.
No.
No.
I won't accept this.
I go home, inspired. I'm watching videos about autistic leaders in the community space. I'm talking to my autistic friends. I'm feeling, living, breathing pure autism. I mean, I really let that motivate me to change the world.
Then, I get a call.
From the parents.
"Hey," the mom quips. And she sounds...awkward.
"Hey," I say back. "What's up?"
"So...about my mom."
"Yes?"
"Silly misunderstanding."
The world tilts.
"What do you mean?"
"Well..." She says. Awkwardly. "We never actually told her you're autistic."
"But..." The memories flood me. The puppets haunting my mind as if some fucked up indie horror film. Her creepy smile grinning as she came towards me. No, I remember what she said. Clear as day, I remember what she said. "She said I was autistic."
"We forgot to mention the Boston accent," she says. She sounds sheepish. "It comes out sometimes."
"She said you were artistic."
