Page 42 of Role Model
People are listening now, even as the music thunders over our heads.
162“I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not,” I say. “I’m tired of coming to dances like this with my real face. While everyone else wears a fake one. I’m tired of trying to fit in with people who don’t even like who they are.”
I look at the camera crew and then at Txai and Niamh, who are watching me with wide eyes.
“You’re like the ringmasters,” I tell Sable and Ana. And Jaya, too, I suppose. “And I’m so tired of the circus. I don’t want to perform anymore. I don’t want to be laughed at. I wanted to try and show the world,” I gesture towards the film crew, “I wanted to try and show all of you… everyone watching me, that we’re more than spectacles. That we’re real. Humans who are different and varied and special and unique and so much more than you make us.”
I feel a sense of relief washing over me. I don’t have to do this anymore.
“But some people will always want the circus,” I add. “They can’t love a smart, proud thing when it’s free. They can only love it when it’s chained up, doing as they want it to.”
I rip off the last strip of the skirt and dump it on the other scraps of fabric. It makes a nice little lavender pile at their feet.
163“I don’t want to be your friend anymore,” I tell the three of them calmly. “And you were never a friend to me.”
And I leave. I walk out, leaving scraps of a dress and lots of bewildered faces behind me. As I step out into the cool December air, ignoring the shouts from bemused teachers, I hear footsteps running to catch up with me.
Txai and Niamh. They take up their places. One on either side of me. They hug me. We sit down on the steps, huddled together. The three of us.
And the wasps start to go. One by one. They slowly leave my head. And I realise that it’s okay to be hated by people who don’t really know you. As long as you’re loved by some people who do.
“Aeriel!”
We turn as one, a little amoeba of three people who have become a united force. It’s Jaya. She’s here alone and her eyes are wet.
“Aeriel, I’m sorry,” she tells me, her voice weaker and more fragile than I’ve ever heard it. “I don’t know why they did it, I didn’t stop them but I also didn’t–”
“It doesn’t matter, Jaya,” I say quietly, because it doesn’t. “It’s over.”
She stares at me and there’s a wild sadness in her.164“I’m not like this.”
She’s begging me.
“I’m not,” she insists. “I just… this is all like sleepwalking. I hate it. But it will be over one day and then I won’t look back. But I am sorry. I mean it, Aeriel. I really am.”
Maybe none of us are like this. Deep down. But I’m so used to being dehumanised. I’m used to being a punching bag for all of their feelings.
“Your autism is nothing like my son’s!”
“You’re disgusting for telling people it’s okay to be autistic, it’s a terrible disability!”
“You should talk more about how you like being autistic, sometimes it seems like you don’t always like it and that doesn’t make you a very good role model, it’s a superpower remember!”
“Kids like her, they’ll never write a poem. Or go on a date.”
“You should smile more!”
“You should talk about people who are more autistic than you!”
“You should be better at looking into the camera!”
Should, should, should. None of them would last a minute. Not one minute.
I turn away from Jaya; I have nothing to say. Niamh gives me a thumbs up and a thumbs down, asking165me in her way if I am all right. I nod and give a gentle thumbs up.
“So,” Txai says, leaning against me so I stay warm. “Tell me all about elephants, Aeriel.”
And I do. They listen. Niamh tells us about the elephants she saw in South Africa. Her tablet has pictures as well. Then a comfortable silence falls.
