By Jeff Harman
Aspergers. Williams hadn’t really heard of it before. Technically he had, maybe in passing, or by some attempt by the national news networks he watched every night to bring “hope and awareness” to “those poor children and their families.” The networks did it once every year, but Williams missed these just because his football team was playing the same time as the telecast. Most Americans hunkered down to their TVs for football.
Williams went to the library every Saturday after what would be lunch break for most people. Ever since he left the police force, he found solace in the knowledge of the mass of written history and fiction. Anything could be found in the library, he told himself. He would start by walking the musty aisles, subject to subject, disregarding the Dewey decimal system but banking on finding the right title or cover. The titles he’d seen in the last year remained in their proper places, standing out less and less as the Saturdays went by. He must have missed the part in school where pupils are told to not judge books, or people, by their cover. Like many Americans who grew up in the various eras of the twentieth century, book learning was perhaps not his most pressing interest in the grasp of puberty. Hormones won out often no matter the decade, which always flustered the educators and intellectuals and caused fretting across the nation with the turn of each ten years. Many high school graduates nowadays can’t even name the rights guaranteed in the first amendment of the Constitution.
Jane Eyre was today’s read. This very aged text was commonly read in higher education and high schools, but Williams might have preferred getting higher than any of those institutions than reading it when he was a pimple infested teen. He told himself he’d read it out of redemption for all the sins which he committed in the midst of youth. Those skipped classes, smoked joints and harassed dorks clouded his waking mind like bees in a hive. Jane Eyre currently faced the hellish fireplace at the start of the book, and as Williams absorbed the imagery he couldn’t help but wonder how many of his classmates from the old days would burn down under, never atoning or wanting to atone, never even learning from mistakes made in the haste to end the high school experience.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Williams broke from Bronte’s lucidness to view the teenager standing on the opposing side of the reading table. Not too untypical for a late teen these days. He probably would fall under the nerd umbrella as much as in William’s day as now, and he reflected on the pulled underwear and Dungeons and Dragons sessions that went with the territory of an early nineties nerd. He didn’t know what nerds did nowadays, nor did he know what made this one stand apart from the others in both his memories and the media Williams barely tasted in his current life. Not one datum he had read in the library since leaving the police two years ago identified this trait in the young man.
“Yes?”
“Can I sit here, please? It’s really quiet and I can concentrate.”
“Yeah, go ahead.” Williams replied out of being polite, and out of the yearning in the back of his head to find out what made this teenager so uniquely separate from the others.
In an immediate way, the teen shrugged his backpack from his shoulders, slapped it to the ground and maneuvered his lean form mechanically into the lacquered wood seat opposing Williams. Every muscle movement seemed too precisely predetermined for the occasion, dumping doubt into Williams’ gourd-like brain, the doubt liquid being whether the teenager felt comfortable in his own skin. He reminded Williams of a molting snake.
As much as he wanted to know more, Williams still looked away to the tale of Jane Eyre, fitting his mind back into the literary puzzle piece. Jane had recovered from the dream debacle with the fireplace, and into her world came-.
“I’m Colin.”
Williams broke free of Bronte’s words to meet eyes with the young man, and found his gaze met with a laser beam intensity of vision. The teen smiled mildly but the depth of his expectant stare penetrated deep into William’s psyche, almost shattering it with a sledgehammer. He barely noticed the extended hand coming at him, but he met it in spite of the distraction, mostly because society told him to.
“Williams.”
Colin’s handshake was more relaxed than his act of sitting, but germinating in William’s brain came a wondering of what lay inside the young man’s mind. Something about it felt too rehearsed. When their hands parted Colin wasted no time reaching down for his bag, separating the zipper main compartment and retrieving the weighty calculus text. Maybe it was curiosity of the unknown, or society’s expectation or perhaps a mixture of the two that caused Williams’ to make his first query to Colin.
“You must be quite good at math to earn that book.”
He didn’t anticipate the change in the teen’s demeanor when Colin responded after three second’s time.
“Uh, I guess. It isn’t my best subject. I like history… uh, more.”
The confidence and determination left Colin’s eyes with this, like he was wading into a sticky, disgusting marsh containing unknown monstrosities of slimy filth in its dark depths. Colin didn’t seem to know what was scurrying across the floor of silent seas as he answered, but when he finished he looked down at his book, and did not break the cover. William’s curiosity combusted with more explosive kindling coming from this inaction.
“I’m sorry, did I intrude?”
“What?”
Williams backed up like he was driving a truck, “I’m sorry I bothered you. I was just asking about your high level math textbook. I never made it that far in grade school, so I asked.”
Williams could see Colin’s gears turning and revamping for a full on response. Three seconds passed.
“I guess its fine… I don’t’ like math much, it doesn’t suit me, I like history more. And English.”
“Fair enough,” Williams returned after an understanding nod of the head. “I wasn’t into school at all that much when I was your age, so you get an A for that achievement.”
Colin’s eyelids parted like the rift in the Red Sea and the question came, “You didn’t like school?”
Jane Eyre could go back to her fireplace for now.
“Yeah. I wasn’t like you, a kid who cared about As and Bs and that. I still made something out of a career you know, but I could have been somebody else.”
“Oh… okay.”
Colin’s social boundaries receded once again, but rebounded like the basketball no one thought would hit the backboard.
“What did you become?”
It was at this point that Williams appeared to be the defenseless one.
“A cop. Some stuff with that and SWAT. I still do some consulting. Why do you ask all of a sudden? Wasn’t expecting it.”
For the first time, Colin bore the smile of a proud young man, as if the President himself had given him a Medal of Honor, and the words came like linked rounds on a machine gun.
“I’m supposed to. Marlene said I have to socialize with people I don’t know or barely know so I can get points and a treat.”
Williams’ head spun like racecar wheels.
“Okay… who’s Marlene?”
“My mentor.”
“Like… for a job?”
“No. She’s my aspie buddy. That’s what they call the person who helps me at the Johnson Treatment Center.”
“That’s the building on 8th, by Raymond Avenue?” This was Williams’ current request for clarification. Colin’s smile shined on.
“Yes, by the intersection. Marlene helps me because I have Asperger’s syndrome.”
Despite not having a clue Williams nodded away, and then gained enough sense to ask, “What exactly is that? The thing you mentioned?”
Colin’s smile opened up to imbue the wisdom of his mind to that of William’s empty vat.
“Aspergers syndrome. It is like high functioning autism but more mild and people with it have social challenges and can’t relate to their peers and are sometimes clumsy, or they use language atypically.”
Williams’ eyes rounded a little this time.
“Wow. An encyclopedia. You just dumped a dictionary definition on me. I feel like I’m reading one of those instead of Jane Eyre here.”
“I get stuff like that sometimes. I guess people with Aspergers remember certain things really well. Not everyone on the spectrum does, but I do. So do Ramsey, Josh and Katherine. They’re at the Center too.”
Williams realized something for sure, something he hadn’t felt for a long time, not for two years and that day fate dealt him a bad hand. The corners of his mouth went skyward.
“You’re a cool kid, you know that? You’re great. I wouldn’t let them get at you.”
“What do you mean?” And Colin really lacked a clue, so it would seem, from his facial posture.
“Those kids, you know. They tease you right? When I was in high school, well… kids like you got beat up.”
“Nope,” Colin spat out the reply, and reminded Williams of a gunshot in spontaneity and speed, but the barrage continued, “No one’s mean to me at school. I’m a senior and I go to all the classes, the special class and Marlene outside of school, and no one hates me.”
Williams swallowed what would have been a surprised face whole down his gullet, as much as it urged to spew out onto his complexion.
“What about wedgies? Or toilet paper on your house?”
“No.”
“Didn’t anyone ever diss you or call you names?”
“No. They all think I’m funny. We laugh all the time in my classes and at lunch.”
“Okay…” he finally replied while still holding back surprise. “You’re a good kid.”
The chatter from that point became increasingly friendlier. The time for Colin to leave and head to the Center came far too early in their exchange in dialogue, but Colin’s excitement, which had blessed Williams with such unexpressed happiness, was so welcome in the former cop’s heart that Williams knew for certain he would be in the exact same place next Saturday.
The next week, to a bystander, it would seem nonetheless different than the previous one, at least not in any significant way unless one paid really close attention, then maybe they’d see Colin’s enthusiasm heighten and fire swell slightly in Williams’ bleak eyes. But for these two solemn souls, the bond tightened with every meeting, adding a Gordian knot to the ropes binding Williams to Colin and Colin to Williams. The night after the second get-together, Williams wondered whether Colin realized how much the chords of their friendship were saving his life. Not his actual being, but his soul, the sole thing that science has yet to quantify and may never calculate or measure. Energy as positive as a proton flowing into the human soul is barely unmatched on a philosophical level, and Williams’ elevation went skyward, something he felt for the first time in his life right now.
On the third Saturday Colin let slip a joke he had heard from someone at school. Both found it to be an instant hit, the librarian giving them a stern look in passing.
“Genius, Colin, genius!”
Colin failed to react, or at least didn’t waiver at the significance of the simple act Williams had committed. Never before had Williams referred to Colin by his name. “Kid” this and “kid” that. Colin was the young man’s name, and Williams felt a hit to the heart the second after he spoke. He realized that Colin was a genius just as anyone else who was determined to work for a good life and to live what they earned to the fullest for their creed. In a way he was better, because the sun in his soul that commanded his educational and lifelong virtues would, it seem, be unable to ever flash out of existence. Williams couldn’t foresee anything to stop Colin, smiling there and making a friend, from shining on into the future. Aspie or not, he would go places and no society or person in the worst of a wrongheaded community would let it stop him.
That night, cold beer and cheesy pizza let Williams fall to sleep with visions of hope for a new beginning. Jackie. What would she say? She’d be proud of him. He thought so even if Jackie maybe wasn’t always one for soothing words. Cops in their lineage were not instilled with a tendency for kind words amongst each other, much like a soldier on the frontlines of a far off war. But for the first time in two years, he knew what she would say.
The fifth meeting came now and Williams didn’t even get a book, because no book in his mind matched or approached the euphoria of the glorious rediscovery of a lost passion and meaning. Colin always arrived five minutes after two, but the clock’s little hand went to ten and the rejuvenator of Williams’ life did not show. Tapping of the table with Williams’ index finger let a beat all of his own designs make the seconds pass. But it didn’t prepare him for today’s Colin.
Tears almost came from the wet eyes and the breathing was ragged. Williams’ heart nearly left his sternum as the bead of blood from Colin’s left nasal passage came into focus.
“What happened? Were you attacked?”
Colin didn’t let a word pass the gentle beginnings of a sob, one of more to come it would seem. His shaky bare arm grappled the seat, dragging it out to seat himself. The tear and the line of crimson touched at Colin’s mouth, brewing together as a watered down, salty concoction, being equal parts depression and brutality-born malice. Williams’ eyes flashed backwards into unchangeable history, the dying face of Jackie streaming salty water into deep red splatters as she held his hand for the first and last time. Then the present crashed into him, and Colin’s tears took the place of Jackie’s.
“Who did this, Colin?”
No words.
“Tell me, Colin.”
“They… those guys… the punks outside… I said hi, and they called me a retard… and they grabbed my pack and hit me.”
“Who were they, Colin?”
“I don’t know. They just hit me.”
“Be strong, Colin. Tell me who they were.”
“They were outside by the dumpster… and they were gang guys. They went to the same school I go to. Jeremy and-.”
“You’ve told me enough. Colin, listen to me.”
Colin finally rotated his head to Williams, but he didn’t know if Colin could see what his own eyes were trying to say back.
“Colin, if someone does that to you, you have to do something about it.”
“Marlene… she can-.”
“No. Not Marlene. She’s not part of this, Colin. You are.”
“What?”
“You need to stand up to them, to that stuff.”
“But I can’t-.”
“No. Those punks wronged you. You have to do something about it. Not with Marlene or your parents but you, Colin, have to. You’re smarter than me and those bastards put together. All of you aspies are.”
This didn’t build a dam against the tears at all.
“You gotta save yourself. Marlene can help, but… you’re yourself. You’ve gotta stand up. I didn’t show enough backbone two years ago, and Jackie died. Jackie was the best cop in the world, and because I hesitated she bled out on the pavement, all of it my doing. I lost my partner cop, the only woman I ever loved. I wanted to marry her, at least ask her out, but I didn’t have to balls to run out and take the bangers that shot her. It never happened and it’s my fault.”
Colin spoke nothing but stopped gasping lightly.
“Those punks are nothing, you are something and Aspergers or whatever you have doesn’t get in the way of that. You want society or whatever to stop that shit, then do something about it.”
The silence thundered as much as the implication and the force of every word and message and interpretation of William’s speech. Colin moved not the slightest muscle but the cognitive gears turned so fast that steam might have shot out of his ears. Williams stayed still, even as Colin left his seat, rushing out of sight before Williams considered batting his eyes. Some time had passed that Williams couldn’t recall due to the storm in his mind. It was a storm to end all storms that would ever occur in his brain, and the ship that made it out knew only one thing had to be done. Now.
Williams stomped through the entrance to the library, and the cool fall air chilled his face like cold packs on a wound. Some vague sound could be heard behind the corner on his left, and the act of rounding that corner to the next chain of events was provided by the tumultuous sea of guilt, emotion and agony, and the sole burden was his. When he saw Colin on the ground, and three punks putting their fists and feet into his sorrowful, thin body, Williams knew what he had to do was what he should have done two years, five months, seven days and twenty minutes ago.
Arriving at the first punk, no more than seventeen in his baggy jean shorts and beanie, Williams’ meaty left hand became propelled by all the physical and emotional and philosophical force inside his mind into the cheek of the punk, the impact sending him into an unofficial slumber on the asphalt, like he weighed as much as he was worth to society, as in nothing. The wide faces of the other two met his guilt soaked rage, and he launched himself to the nearest one, the definition of white trash trying to be cool. The ex-cop grabbed his hoodie and walked him into the street, not a bit of force slowing Williams down as he threw the punk into the lane. The driver seventy feet down the road pounded the brakes on his car in as much shock as in consciousness for the security of others.
Wide empty eyes gazed into Williams’ pupils, which were full of molten wrath and vengeance for one of the only friends he claimed in his life. The first fist hit the wrongdoer in the stomach, the second and third to the ribs, that alone incapacitating him. Williams barely recalled the final foe in his conscious memory as he turned around and met some sharp piece of metal penetrating his stomach wall. The last punk must have been the ringleader Jeremy, smiling a twisted arc of the sinful, malicious pleasure received from his violent action, but wasn’t expecting Williams’ muscular arms to hug his neck and take them both to the ground. All the energy born from rightful hatred of this lowlife found itself in the last strike of Williams’ arm, smashing the bully’s nose in, breaking bone and letting the wet liquid inside run out onto Williams’ iron knuckles. Lacking consciousness made the punk’s limp body fall into an exaggerated pose, like he was running in place and going nowhere fast.
Williams couldn’t sense anything but the stabbing, jagged pain and the life force in him trickling out onto the street. His last thoughts before the inky void enveloped him involved Colin’s safety and the pride Jackie would have felt for him.
Dear Williams Carver,
Nothing in the world can do justice to the amount of gratitude we have for what you have done for Colin. Not only have you saved his life, but you were one of his only friends in an unfriendly, hostile world for people with his disorder. Your humanity made him a more confident and healthy individual, and after the first day he met you, we noticed a new bounce in his step and an even greater openness to the world around him, something that as a father has never made me happier. At his high school, they had a welcome back party in his AP history course during his first day at school after the hospital, and those who had secretly scorned him came forth and apologized for their backstabbing. I have seen many things in my time, but never before have I been moved to tears so quickly. I have looked into my own soul and have resolved to become a better father and person, and realized I too was condescending towards my own son, in a very subtle way. Colin trusted everyone, and it will take a while for his faith in others to be restored, but without you no change would have occurred. When you are released from the hospital you will be welcome in our home at any time. I used to think of my son as disabled, but he is more able of living life to the fullest than any of us ever will, and his mother and I have you to thank for this. May God grant you the strength to heal your wounds, and Colin says hello.
Sincerely and Forever Grateful,
Travis Newcomb
Williams gave the nurse the letter, and he knew Jackie was smiling, wherever she was now. Tears came because they were the tears of a human being, and emotion, Williams knew, separated the humans from the beasts.