Boy on the Train

He sits on the train, eyes darting from side to side. Like a prize fighter waiting for the next punch to be thrown. He looks like the train scares him. He focuses on the scenery trying not to let the noise, the shaking, the faces, bother him. He looks at me, very unintentionally mind you, I smile, he looks at the ground, and there it is. I can see autism...can you?

I think "What a brave young man."

He can't be more than seventeen. The others can't see it. They can't see him fighting it off. Focussing to keep himself in check. He rubs his hands together like he's cold. I know better, he's found an ingenious little way to stim without drawing too much attnetion. I smile, and a tear hides behind my eye.

I want to shout at the people: "Can't you see it?! Can't you see how heroic he's being?! This train is like hell on Earth for him and here he sits! No meltdown not even a hint of Echolalia! This kid deserves a standing ovation!"

There they sit, oblivious to his heroism. Well I see it little Jazz fan, and it's amazing. Way to go buddy!

I think about Spirit, he will be this boy someday.

Spirit, in case I haven't told you, you'll always be my hero.

Love,

Guts