His Point of View
The neighbourhood has seen better days, but Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone can remember. She raised a family of six boys, who’ve all grown up and moved away. Since Mr. Pauley died three months ago, she’d had no income. She’s fallen behind in the rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police, have come to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years. Today’s prompt: write this story in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street.
It’s hot. Hotter than most days I can remember. I remember most days.
Wish I had a chair. The steaming sidewalk concrete grits my bare legs. I press my hand down for 1, 1, 2, 3 seconds. I inspect the peaks and valleys left in my skin, the red indentations. Funny how skin molds around what you touch. Legos are best; if I press carefully, sometimes I can even see tiny letters on my fingertip. I brush the sandy bits on my shorts. Sand off, clean hands. That’s better.
I heard Mrs.Pauley tell mama she’ll probably be leaving. She doesn’t pat me on the head or look at me, so I know she likes me. She never tries to hug me. All mama’s other friends hug me. Mrs. Pauley just sits next to me sometimes to talk about the yard, or the flowers, or something else she thinks about. I like that. Mama said Mrs. Pauley lost Mr. Pauley. I don’t understand this. How do you lose a grown man? I don’t know. I am only twelve. I will probably know more when I turn thirteen.
Most of the time, adults make no sense. But mama says since Mr. Pauley is lost, he can’t go to work, and Mrs. Pauley can’t pay the piper. Don’t know about any pipers. We had a man come to our house about the pipes under the sink, once. I watched him until mama made me stop. His breath smelled like coffee and burritos. I like burritos except for the mushy part. The rice is good, and the meat. I wonder why he wants Mrs. Pauley’s money. I don’t know why she has to leave. I like her.
I don’t like the man on her front porch. He has weird eyes. They will probably burn a soul to nothing, so I stop looking. Police men stand in the yard, but they seem okay. Mama says people in uniform are here to help. Robbie one time called them the Po-Po but mama said no that’s not polite and how would Robbie like it if the police called him Ro-Ro. I try to be polite, so I always think “police men” about the police.
I sit back against the handrail post. White paint flakes down my collar. Yesterday, Daddy said the rails need a new coat. I never saw a coat on this rail once, even in winter. I don’t think a new coat will do any good, but it might make the post a little softer to lean on. Maybe we can get one of those puffy ones. I squirm, but I got sweaty and now the flakes are sticky. I want to go inside, but mama said wait here for a few minutes. I don’t know how many is a few, but I tick off seconds in my mind. I’ve been here for six minutes and thirty-two seconds. Thirty-three. Thirty-four. So I think it’s almost a few. Maybe.
The man is too loud. He banged on her front door, then tramped around back and pounded. Now he’s back out front, and I think the police men want to tell him to shut up but they don’t because they probably think it’s not polite. If he keeps being loud I want to call him a name that is not polite. Like Dum-Dum. Robbie called me that and mama said that name is in a propriate. I don’t know what a propriate is or how you put a name in one, but he stopped. I want to put Dum-Dum across the street in a propriate and lock the door. Loud. He hurts my ears. Earmuffs would help but mama says it’s not winter. No earmuffs. People think that’s weird.
Mrs. Pauley finally is on the porch. Her face is wet. I don’t like it. She waves at me and says, “It’s okay, Joey.” She doesn’t look at me because she likes me. I don’t think it is okay. Maybe I should find mama, but mama said wait. Seven minutes and fifty-four seconds. Fifty-five. The loud man says get out and I told you and too bad lady but you gotta pay like everyone else. This is not the piper man, so I don’t know why he wants her to pay. I think he might hurt Mrs. Pauley. I have to help. I have to protect her. I know mama said wait but I get up and walk over. The man’s boots are dirty. I think he stepped in dog poo. I look closer. Yes. Definitely poo.
“Get away from me, kid!” The loud man pushes me. I scream and lunge for his knees. If I can’t see his eyes, he can’t hurt me. Mrs. Pauley screams, too, “Get your hands off Joey!” The man grabs my middle. Pain sears everywhere he touches. He must be from that place the preacher talked about. He tosses me into Mrs. Pauley. I think he is really going to hurt her. That’s it. I have no choice. I brace myself, then look straight into the loud man’s eyes. My stare will destroy his soul. I count, waiting. 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34…nothing happens.
“That kid is creepy,” he says. “What is he doing?” I don’t understand. This is killing me. My eyes are burning, but he just stands, facing us. “Mrs. Pauley, get your stuff out of the house. Now. And get rid of the retard.” Retard? Robbie called me that, too, and mama said that one was in the same propriate as Dum-Dum. Now the police men are walking over. I think one of them is going to touch me, but Mrs. Pauley stops them.
“Wait. Let me call his mother. Please don’t put your hands on him. Joey has sensory issues; it’s very painful when others touch him. He functions at a three-year-old level. I’ve never seen him make eye contact before today, and he’s non-verbal. We’re not really sure how much he understands. Most people think he has nothing in his head, but I’m convinced he’s locked away somewhere in there.” She smiles at my shoes. “Someday, we hope Joey’s family can afford a special computer to help him communicate, but their insurance isn’t good and it’s very expensive. He understands simple directions.” She tilts her head toward me and holds out her hand gently next to my arm, not touching me. “Joey, please get your mama.”
I turn toward my house. Behind me, I hear Mrs. Pauley again. “I’ll get my things. You don’t need police. Everything is packed; I was just hoping something would work out. I hate to leave him.”
I wonder who she will leave. She already lost Mr. Pauley, so she can’t leave him. Maybe she wants to lose someone else. I look for mama and hope the loud man is gone when we get there. I want to sit by Mrs. Pauley. She likes me.
Posted on May 3, 2015, in Parent. Bookmark the permalink. 28 Comments.
This is great 👍. I love the number series. I used to love when they came up on the Stanford-Binet tests. You see, I am also a high functioning autistic. You have totally grokked the concrete thinking thing. I had an adult friend who “got” me also. I often wonder what ever happened to her.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s awesome! (How many people have said that when you tell them you’re autistic?) 🙂 I have a magnet or something; autism fascinates me and so far I’ve been able to connect with several people on the spectrum; they actually like me! 🙂 I wish now that I’d gone to school to work with children on the spectrum. I’ve considered going back for a Ph.D. in Education (once the kids are grown); if I do, I’d like to focus on special needs and specifically Autism and Asperger’s.
I met my cousin’s son when he was seven. At the time, he was wearing headphones (he’s now late teens, doing great and learning to drive). He and I had a super time and he even let me carry him out in the lake. I was in my early twenties and it was my first in-person experience with anyone on the spectrum. Later, my cousin told me how shocked he’d been, because his son didn’t normally connect with anyone outside their small family unit—especially not immediately. That really sparked my interest.
Have you read Temple Grandin’s Thinking in Pictures?
Also, thank you for the new word (grokked). I LOVE new words. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh yeah, Temple Grandin is my hero. I’m actually in Colorado right now, doctoring with my dog at Colorado State University. I could probably get an audience with her, but I have a terror of contacting people, even though she’d probably say yes, so it won’t happen. Even if someone else offered to make an appointment, I would not do it. Oh well. You know that Oliver Sacks died, right?
LikeLiked by 1 person
She’s amazing. I actually referenced her book in one of my posts and sent it to her and got a message back saying thank you! (It might have just been her assistant, but I like to think it was really Temple.) 🙂
What if you just write to her in your blog and then send her the link? Then you’re not technically writing to her. Or if sending the link is too much, I can send it. 😉
I did not know he died. 😦
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ehhhh….still too much, but thank you. Yes, I can never remember to look at the news, so I have this app that alerts me when anything I have selected as important happens. He was a great man. He is someone who embodied what I would have loved to do, if I had the energy.
LikeLiked by 1 person
What’s the app? I never watch the news either. It’s either drivel or terrifying…either way, I can’t take it.
Yes, he was pretty incredible.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Just Google News And Weather. I have Android.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks. Me too–I’ll check it out.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh yeah, grok is from Robert Heinlein, from “Stranger in a Strange Land,” which of course appeals to Aspies…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was similar to your son as far as early development, and I’ve wondered if I were tested whether I’d fall in the spectrum, but I also talked to everyone (thought every waitress was my best friend) so I think that rules me out. Evidently I’m just socially awkward. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
You might like to read “Neurotribes: The Legacy of Autism and the Future of Neurodiversity,” by Steve Silberman. It might shed some light for you. Also there are a number of self-tests for Asperger’s on the internet. Being gregarious does not rule you out. It’s a spectrum, after all…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Downloading it now! It’s on Audible.com, which means I’ll be able to have it read to me while I do everything else I need to do! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love audiobooks. When the shit was hitting the fan with my kid, he was in the Northeast while I was in the Southeast, so I made my very own groove in I-81 going back and forth. My fuel was the complete works of Charles Dickens, to start with. I forget who read it, but they were very good.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very moving.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have nominated you for the Liebster Award. The details are here https://jabrushblog.wordpress.com/2015/05/06/the-liebster-award/
LikeLike
That was a great read.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
Hi friend
Great post. Hope all is well with you.
:0
M
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much! I’ve been praying for you to feel better! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I’ll take all the prayers I can get. My health is worse than thought. I have a lot to think about.
Hugs
M
LikeLiked by 1 person
Praying for your health this evening!
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLike
Amazing!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks! 🙂
LikeLike
Awesome job! Bad po-po and I want to give Joey a hug, tho I know he doesn’t want one so I will give Mrs. Pauley one 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLike
I want to hit the “Like” button a few more times, but it won’t let me. I like Joey. A lot. Thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank YOU! 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person