Page 18 of Role Model
Dear Autism,
Maybe you can help me understand. I want to be friends with people. Ever since primary school, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I try to buy everyone presents that they’ll love. I listen to people. I ask them questions and I remember their answers. I watch the shows they talk about. I listen to the music that they like. For years and years and years, I’ve tried. I’ve tried again and again.
What am I doing wrong? Why can I never get it right? I walk up to a group of people and all I want to do is get along with everyone, learn more about them and have a good experience. And every single time, I walk away feeling like a freak. I can see the moment they realise I’m different, it crosses their face like a shadow. And so I try again. I try to be positive. But it67never works.
Why am I like this? Why can’t I be like other people? I know there’s nothing wrong with having my disability, I know it’s how I’m made and it’s natural and I will fight anyone who tries to tell me different. No one gets to call me names because I’m autistic, no one. I’ll never let them make me feel like I’m less than them because of it.
But I’m really lonely.
I never used to notice it as much. Now it’s all I think about.
Aeriel.
“You okay?”
I look up from my seat in the SEN space. Txai is regarding me with a concerned expression. His eyes drop to the letter I’m writing and I feel the need to turn it over.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
He frowns but doesn’t push me. Niamh arrives, moving to take the seat next to mine without comment. She also eyes my paper, except she fixates on the small elephant I’ve drawn on the bottom corner of the page.
“I love elephants,” I say, unprompted. “I’m not much of an artist but they’re easy to draw. From the side.”
68She nods in understanding and gets back to her own drawing. Txai and I are halfway through a conversation about the graphic novel he’s reading when Niamh removes one of her many beaded bracelets and drops it onto my paper. I stare at it. It’s made up of pale blue beads and in the centre there is a small white token.
With an elephant on it.
I can’t move. When I slowly pick up the bracelet, I ask, “Is this for me?”
She nods without looking at me. I slip it onto my wrist.
“Thank you, Niamh.”
She nods again.
And I realise that, for the first time in an age, I don’t have the familiar feeling of wasps in my lungs. I can breathe. The SEN space, and the people in it, have made me feel at ease.
She gave me a friendship bracelet. Like it was the simplest thing in the whole world.
69
Chapter Nine
I’m about to be interviewed on the news.
I never watch the news at home. It’s boring and often hard to follow and Mum is on it way too often. I sit in a small room the size of a broom cupboard and blink helplessly at my own reflection in a mirror with bulbs all around it.
The makeup artist doesn’t seem to like children. She pushes my chin back and forth as she dusts powder on me. I hate the feeling of it but I try to smile at her each time she locks eyes with me in the mirror. She doesn’t smile back.
“Hair,” she barks all of a sudden.
She’s straightening my hair and I know that she’s probably used to doing neurotypical people’s hair. They might not be as sensitive to the feeling of the hot iron. The tight feel of the fibres being pulled.
70I watch as my unruly hair becomes straight and smooth. I wonder how many people would like to straighten the rest of me out.
Next is the audio and sound expert. A frazzled man all in black with a grey beard. He’s holding up a microphone pack.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks me, sounding friendly enough.
