Page 38 of Summer of the Boy

“What?” She sort of whisper yells, aghast. Placing her hand over her heart. “Ridley, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then she looks at me. “What have you done to him? He’s not… he’s just… he’s just autistic.”

“No mom. I’m autistic, and I’m gay. You have to deal with it. You either accept it or you don’t, but either way, it’s the truth. I’m autistic. I’m gay. And I’m in love with Leif Fraser.” I can sense a little of his bravado draining away. Standing up to her takes a lot from him. He starts to drop his gaze, but catches himself so she can’t throw that in his face. He ends with, “I love you, Mom. But you can’t talk to him like that. Never again.”

The woman acts like she wants to say something but leaves a long, drawn out pause. I wish she’d just get on with whatever she wants to say so I can kiss my boyfriend. Respectfully, of course, like other couples do in front of parents. My mother will be absolutely thrilled he’s put his foot down to his mother about us. My problem will be keeping her from showing up on their doorstep unannounced with her Autism and Homosexuality pamphlet ready to discuss Rid’s and my future together.

I’ve been so tired of sneaking around, and now everyone of importance knows. My family, Amanda, and now Ms. McAllister. Rid doesn’t know the gift he’s given me.

The happy glow fades when Ms. McAllister looks at me, “You need to go.”

Is she kidding? He’s my boyfriend. I love him. He loves me. Why is that so bad?

“Okay.” Ridley moves his arm from around my waist to hold my hand, and starts to lead me toward the garage door off the kitchen. “Let’s go.”

“I was talking to him.” She calls after us.

“No. You were talking to us both.”

When he reaches for the doorknob, I still his hand, “Babe, are you sure?”

“Leif, I gave her a chance. We could have talked it out like adults. Sat and given her the chance to ask us questions. She chose wrong. That’s on her. Now let’s go.”

Who is this man and what did he do with my sweet, demure, autistic boyfriend? It appears as if I’m dating a badass now.

Because he walks us fast, after like two seconds we’re at my car where he pushes me against the driver-side door and plants a hot and heavy kiss on me. Putting his foot down with his mother must equal us coming out to the world as a couple. I’m very okay with it. To hold his hand whenever I get the urge to hold his hand? To kiss him and not have to worry about who might see us, we’re on our way to living the dream.

Pulling back from a kiss with the intensity of the kiss he planted, we’re both heaving trying to recapture some of the breaths we didn’t take while our lips were locked. “Hey,” I ask him between pants. “You feel good enough to try driving again?”

“You’ll let me?”

I nod.

“Back roads?” he asks.

“Back roads are fine.”

“Then yes, I’d like to try to drive again.”

It takes us ten extra minutes to leave his driveway because Ridley has to be comfortable enough. Seat adjustments, mirror placement, in cabin temperature, as he calls it. Radio at the perfect volume. Though, seeing him back out with the confidence of a man makes the extra time so worthwhile.

I can honestly say I hate his mother right now.

He’s a man, not a child. So what, he’s gay. Get over it. He has. He’s been living that life, a life independent of her if she chose to see it, for a while now. But that’s the crux isn’t it? She doesn’t choose to see it. Wait until she finds out about school.

The silence filling the car, the concentration on his face, Ridley wants so badly to do well. Getting a driver’s license would mean the world to him.

A quarter mile warning before turns, that’s my job to warn him as the navigator. And then just to remind him, and to push his comfort zone, which John the therapist told me to do, I point out each turn he needs to take which dictates an, “I know.” Every time.

Finally we reach the backest back roads and I watch as Rid visibly relaxes his shoulders, loosening his grip on the steering wheel.

“Can I talk again?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers, but without looking at me. At first I thinks it’s just concentration, but he has that look again. The one saying something’s swimming around in that brain of his.

Even with something on his mind, he has no reason not to look at me. I’ve told him time and again there’s nothing he can’t say to me. “Talk to me, Rid. What’s wrong?”

Silence.

“Please?” I beg.

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