Mirror Image

I always knew I was a bit weird. Weird isn't something someone volunteers as a descriptor for themselves, they're told they're weird and after a time, you begin to agree with it. But I was weird. I was a very quiet kid, never very much to say, If I did speak it was usually about something I had read or seen on National Geographic. Yeah, I was one of those kids. I had no interest in games, star trek, star wars, etc. There was one channel on my TV at home that I cared about and that was National Geographic. I loved Animals, more than I did most people.

People are weird, they ask how you are, they don't care then continue to lock eyes with you like it's a really weird game. Eye contact scares me but Is somehow a sacred rule for communication to everyone else. Baboons don't have whites of their eyes because they don't want their peers to know they're looking at them, yet for society being 2ft close to each other and locking eyes is normal. If we were baboons, Humans wouldn't be around for very long.

Life on the spectrum is very lonely, you feel like a freak, you are routinely told you're a freak by kids your age... and the occasional adult. You sometimes feel out of place in your age group and end up hanging out with people the year below you because they might have the same interests that you do. You can't relate to your parents because they just assume you'll "grow out of it", I'm 25 years old now, if I haven't grown out of it now, there's no chance.

I don't have many happy memories, my parents were always arguing. It never got to a full-on brawl, but it was stressful. But when things are routine, you bock them out, any chance for a happy memory is blocked out by the 9 circles of hell that came before it. But there is one happy memory that sticks out, even to this day, it is my "happy place" to escape to.

It was the 23rd of December, 2009. I'd say around 8 pm, we had a couple of days of snow and this was more or less a sleet-ish day. There were still some snowflakes in the air but they weren't sticking, leaving a puddle of muddy slush on the road. I, my dad, mum, and sister were going to a Christmas Dinner at the support group that my dad went to. My dad had a brain tumor and so, he went to a charity that offered counseling and family support to those with Brain tumors, cancer, etc.

We were on the way there, I was sitting staring out the window, rarely saying anything of substance. This was a normal Christmas meeting, so I thought. So in my mind, it was just going to be a bunch of adults, and another day of me sat on the Office computers playing games or reading the encyclopedias upstairs.

My routine counting of signposts, street lamps, etc was interrupted by my dad yelling "We're here". I had zoned out so hard that I didn't notice the glaring light of the lamp outside the charity blinding everyone in the car. I grabbed my jacket, re-tied my shoes, and proceeded out of the car, still counting the street tiles to occupy my mind.

The big wooden door to the charities office swung open and Annie, one of the Counsellors who had worked there for over 50 years looked down and said;

"Oh, Abe, we've got some friends coming from the Charity across the River"

It was at that moment that the Anxiety hit me, who was coming? Whose friends? Your friends? My friends? Dad's Friends? I had no idea why we were calling them friends, then I remembered that's what Neurotypicals call people our age. Because everyone is a potential friend until you meet them and realize they're a dick.

I huffed and sighed, took my shoes off, and wandered upstairs to the study. I considered this my first protest, I wasn't protesting the government, I was doing the same protest I had done all my life, protesting the idea of socializing. I hung around thinking about who I was going to meet, was there actually going to be someone my age, I didn't get to ponder that thought for long, because around 15 minutes after I had gotten to the Charity the bus of people from across the River screeched outside.

I was sitting at the window watching the bus and realized that there were a bunch of people who were my age. But one face stuck out, I didn't get a good look because it was dark and the people had dipped between the bushes in the way in. I scurried to the top of the stairs and peered over the side. Two older people walked in, the parents, then 3 people my age, plus or minus 2 years. I turned back to grab the books I had been reading, and pretty much as soon as I grabbed the books I heard someone scurrying up the stairs.

I sat down and randomly turned to a page about Mood-related dilation of human pupils, ironic given what is about to happen. It was dark in the study, there were a couple of IKEA lamps turned on and a blinding light through a floor-to-ceiling, Triangular glass window. The person scurrying up the stairs hit the landing and there standing, was a 12-year-old girl. She was a bit panicked, she had come up the stairs to get away from the crowd of people downstairs. It was the same thing as I had done. She saw me and looked like she was about to turn back and run back.

"Hold on," I said, "I'm up here for the same reason you are, it's too busy down there, neither of us can think"

She glanced back and did a half-shrug and sat down. I introduced myself and made a half-joke that we've already got a lot in common. She giggled and said;

"My name is Natasha, although most people call me Tasha"

Little did Tasha know, I still don't think she knows now that, that introduction is the introduction to the happiest memory I have. We sat and talked for hours about our special interests, cracked jokes until we got called down to get some dinner. Dinner aside, we ran back upstairs and continued our conversation.

For the first time in my 13 years on the planet at that point. That was the first conversation I had where I was happy from the start of it and angry when it came to an end. It was the first conversation I had, where both people, myself and she were on the complete exact wavelength. She got me, I got her. It was certainly the only time even to this day that I voluntarily maintained eye contact with. I was giddy, an emotion that is still pretty rare today. I had butterflies in my stomach, I didn't know what that saying meant at the time, I still don't, but that's what I felt.

When the dinner came to a pass and it was time for her to go home, I distinctly remember thinking "I don't want to pass this up", I didn't know what I would be passing up. But I knew I wanted to see her again. Speak to her again at the very least. I asked her mum if I could have her number. Her mum and dad had given her a phone, and I at that time had just gotten a Samsung Tocco Lite for Christmas. Her mum agreed and we exchanged numbers.

We're still in contact to this very day, I'm terminally single because I have no interest in anyone bar her. She's also single, she's had partners in the past but they were more flings than long-term things, that rhymed. Today she's an Artist, an exceptionally good one, I'll add. She's gone through many tough times, She lost her mum some years ago to a Brain tumor, I lost my dad too. Every time she's hit a pothole, and gotten herself back up, the butterflies and pride come back just as strongly as they did 13 years ago.

This was never a story for the world to see that people with Autism do have fairy tale stories. This was always, and will always be a love letter to Tasha. If Tasha is reading this, this is for you.

Tu ne comprendras jamais a quel point ce jour signifiait pour moi, et a quel point tu continues a representer pour moi, Mon Petit chou.