Page 3 of Summer of the Boy

Silence.

Then he speaks, “No. I landed on one of his friends. He shoved me off, then I fell.”

“They laughed, didn’t they?”

More silence.

He doesn’t need to answer. His non-answer confirms enough. “Can I ask you a question?” Not waiting for his answer or non-answer I push on. “First, what’s your name?”

“Ridley. McAllister.” Like my cousin, his answer sounds automated and I wonder if he’s always lived lacking inflection or if it’s because he’s nervous.

“Okay Ridley McAllister, are you…” Well shit. It sounded like a perfectly legitimate question in my head. I don’t want to offend the guy but he’s gorgeous and I don’t know enough about autistics to know if I’m picking up the right signals. “Are you, that is, you wouldn’t be…gay?”

I want him to look me in the eyes. But he won’t. Instead of doing what I want, he begins pacing back and forth with his arms straight at his sides, opening and closing his hands into fists.

I’m losing him again.

“Ridley. Stop.” To my great surprise, he does. Stops mid-step, back to me. “Turn around.”

He does. Slowly.

“John won’t be happy.”

“Who’sJohn?” My mind fills with some other guy touching him, celebrating with him when he’s happy, comforting when he’s sad. Getting to be on the receiving end of one of those smiles which just about brought me to my knees.Whoa!What is wrong with me? I helped the guy out of a bad situation. I have no right to feel this protectiveness, possessiveness toward him. Closing my eyes for a couple seconds, I try to regroup. Clearly, there’d been an attraction since I first laid eyes on the man, but this is a hell of a reaction for a first meeting.

Ridley lets me off the hook, though. “Therapist,” he says. “He helps me.”

Therapist.

Okay, I can work with therapist. “Why won’t he be happy?”

“Because when Mr. Trucker, he’s my boss, calls my mom. He’s supposed to call her if I have an episode. She’ll call John. He’ll be disappointed. We have to reset the DWI chart now.”

DWI? “Driving while intoxicated?” I ask. He cocks his head, staring at me like I’ve just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

“Days without incident.”

“Well that makes more sense, doesn’t it?” I’m not really asking him, more speaking to myself out loud. Ridley nods just the same. “But you didn’t answer my first question.”

More opening and closing his hands.

“Mom says it’s just my autism. Autistics can’t be gay.”Whoa.Mom sounds like a judgmental, in denial, bitch and I call bullshit.

“When did she say that?”

“When I told her a boy from therapy was pretty.”

Yes. Judgmental. In denial. Bitch.

“What do you think?”

Nothing.

“Would it help you to know I am too?” I ask while rubbing at the back of my neck. This whole conversation has taken a turn I had no intension of turning down. Great, who else can I blurt it out too? My family won’t be able to show their faces in public I keep this up.

He averts his eyes, smirking instead of smiling full on, but highly effective nonetheless. “I know.”

“How do you know?”

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