"Autism & Memoirs of an Old Maid"…C'hele's Story

November 25, 2007

A Universal Prayer ~

Filed under: Poetry — C'hele @ 23:54
In the darkest, most deepest recesses

Of Heaven,

Music faintly flows.

Various tones entwine themselves-

Independent, they slowly move in unison.

Like a steady current they blend

Moving in spiral formations.

Silently accented by diamonds and colour,

The ebony expanse

Never looked so beautiful, so peaceful.

Watching the music swirl,

I reach out my arms towards the sacred dance

And allow myself to become

Absorbed into the light.

C’hele

“Writing is another form of prayer.” ~ Franz Kafka

 

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November 18, 2007

Autism: He’s Not Autistic…He’s A Bonified CSI Investigator!

Filed under: Aspberger Syndrome, Autism, Special Needs — C'hele @ 09:01

The bell rung, signalling that it was time. Alan had been waiting all week and all morning for this moment. The end of the week was finally upon him and it was now his lunch hour to do with as he fancied. After devouring his lunch meal at his “designated“ spot at a table located at the end of the room, Alan hastily cleaned up his eating area with one large swipe of his napkin throwing food crumbs on the floor. With both hands, Alan scooped up his lunch gear and held them tightly to his chest. Pivoting upon his right heel, his long legs strided towards the door and within seconds, he was out in the hallway. Trying hard to keep up with him, I only ended up running slowly behind him as he walked. His eyes stared straight ahead never looking once at the other kids in the hallways. With a stiffened upper body, his legs did not break their elongated stride until he reached his locker. Fumbling in his pocket, he found his locker key. Opening his lock, he impatiently flung the door open causing it to bang loudly and hurt my ears. Not speaking a word, he threw his lunch kit and utensils into his locker and flung the door closed. His face resembling finely chiselled marble, a loud “click” sound was heard as he forcefully slid the lock back onto the door and locked it. His head bent down, he looked at no one. Still not looking up, he intuitively and quickly strode over to the end of the hallway and abruptly stopped in front of locker number “123.” I was in awe that he never bumped into anything or ran into anyone with his head down like that. Standing so close to the locker door so that his forehead brushed up against the metal, he stared down at the lock waiting patiently for me to approach. Never looking up once or move, I asked Alan: “Alan, before we retrieve the CSI kits out of the locker, do you remember the rules?” Still intensely looking down at the lock, Alan replies: “Yes.” I asked Alan: “Before we get started, can you tell me what the rules of the CSI game are?” Still looking down at the lock, Alan replies stating all the rules. “Very good Alan, and if you do not follow the rules what could happen?” Alan replies, “We will have to stop the game and go back to the classroom immediately.” “That’s right Alan, a very good job you did stating all the rules,” I told him. I retrieve from my pocket the special key that opens this particular locker. “May I?” Alan asks. “Absolutely,” I replied. Alan takes the key out of my hand and deftly opens the lock. Opening the locker door, he bends down and retrieves two Rubbermaid boxes the size of shoe boxes. Finally turning around to face me, he asks: “Would you hold one of these boxes for me please?” “Sure,” I replied and we headed off towards the chosen CSI room. Alan looked down to his right at the box held in my right arm. “Would you please turn the box around so no one sees the CSI written on it?” “O.k.,” I commented. Alan’s lean body was still rigid as he walked down the hallways and only his legs appeared to show any flexibility. Finally, we approached the doorway of the CSI room. Again I asked him: “We’re here Alan. Before I open the door do you remember the rules of the game?” Looking at the door handle and squirming as if he were sitting on hot coals, he answered: “Yes,” and proceeded to mechanically tell me the rules of the game. As soon as I unlocked the door to the woodworking shop, Alan blew into the room like a hurricane. With a quick sweep of the room with his eyes, Alan quickly picked a table that he would use as his “observation table.” As soon as Alan put the two CSI boxes on the table, his posture relaxed. I hear him softly comment under his breath: “Good. No one is here” and he carefully lifted the lid off on one of the boxes. Alan then reached into the box and retrieved his white doctors coat. Suddenly, I notice his face softened and his eyes glazed over. Alan was no longer Alan anymore. He was now a CSI Crime Scene Investigator. With care, Alan almost lovingly made sure that the coat was perfectly on. One by one, he put “important” pieces of equipment into his coat pockets: a fanned paintbrush, a specimen container, masking tape and small bottle of black graphite powder. Next, Alan clipped on a small flashing light onto his coat collar. With some distinguished air, Alan comments: “Police use these you know.” Alan extracts a pair of white vinyl gloves from one of the boxes. Meticulously, he makes sure that each finger of the glove is fitted perfectly against his long, lean and beautiful fingers. Lastly, he positions a pair of goggles on his face. “They’re extremely advanced: light-sensitive, night vision goggles that only professionals use,” he tells me. Quickly turning around, he walks towards the light switches. With a sweep of his left hand, he turns all the lights off. The only light he allows, is the one coming from the teachers office in the middle of the room. Alan’s posture resembles a confident man on a mission. In a voice uncharacteristic of his own, Alan tells me: “You’re my assistant for today,” and we then proceeded to go hunting, searching for any “questionable fingerprints.” I was exactly as he told me: I was his personal CSI assistant and his student. Away we went, in search for any “questionable” fingerprints that may lead Alan towards a breakthrough to solve the crime that he has so creatively invented in his mind. “It will be a brilliant breakthrough” he has told me many times. One that will lead Alan towards success and importance. Something Alan dreams of, but has yet to truly experience in his life.

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