Michael and I are the first ones to the table and we both get edge pieces of cake that have lots of blue and white frosting. Josh gets one also. Some grown-ups smile at us and tell us we look like middle schoolers with all the blue and white on us. Michael grins and when I see how blue his teeth are I laugh. Even Josh smiles.
Mr. Walters the art teacher comes over while I’m sucking the last glob of blue frosting off of my finger. He hands me a sketchbook and a big box of pastel crayons.
I Look At The Person.
He smiles. These are for you Caitlin.
How come?
You gave us all something very special today so I want to give you something.
Thank you, I say, and take the sketchbook. I don’t grab the clear plastic box of pastels right away.
I know, he says, you don’t like colors. But I thought you might be ready to give them a try.
I stare at the colors for a moment. There are three different shades of orange AND lots of reds and yellows so you can make your own orange. And with pastels you can blur them if you want to move from one shade to another. Mr. Walters Gets It. Maybe I can too. Slowly I reach out and take the colors.
Mr. Walters winks. See you in August.
Pass it here! Josh shouts, and I turn to see Michael’s dad throw Josh a football. After Josh tosses it back Mr. Schneider throws the ball to Dad and he catches it. I forgot that Dad could catch a football. Dad and Devon used to throw a football in the backyard. Sometimes I played too even though I can never catch it until after it hits the ground.
Michael is still next to me but he’s stepping from one foot to the other. I can tell that he kind of wants to play football too so I tell him he should follow his empathy and go play. I watch him run and tackle Josh and they both laugh and roll in the grass.
I look down at my shoes and socks. Slowly I push off my shoes and let the cool grass tickle my feet through my socks. Then I bend down and pull my socks off and stand right on top of the grass and the earth and I feel a shiver run up my legs and all the way to my neck and it gives me a little chill. But after I move my feet from side to side a little bit I get used to the prickly cool feeling and it starts feeling softer and more like an okay touch than a tickle.
I walk barefoot over to a big oak tree and sit underneath it. The breeze blows the leaves around so it’s partly shady and partly sunny. I put the sketchbook on my lap and open my new box of colors. Now I’m ready to use them because I figured out how I’m going to draw the whole complete picture. I smile and begin.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The shootings of thirty-three people at Virginia Tech University in Blacksburg, Virginia, on April 16, 2007, were horrible and devastating. While I may not have known those involved personally, it happened in my own backyard. It was the deadliest shooting by a lone gunman in United States history. And wherever or whenever this kind of tragedy occurs, it affects us all. How could something like this happen? Why? What, if anything, could we have done to prevent it? Who knows. But I am certain of one thing. If we all understood each other better, we could go a long way toward stopping violence. We all want to be heard, to be understood. Some of us are better than others at expressing ourselves. Some of us have severe problems that need to be addressed, not ignored, no matter what the cost. Saving society money is a travesty if the cost of that savings is in human lives. Ignore and ignorance share the same root.
This book was inspired by the events at Virginia Tech as well as my own need to try to explain what it’s like for a child to have Asperger’s syndrome. The two themes are related in my mind because I believe strongly in early intervention, whatever the disability. Understanding people’s difficulties and — just as crucial — helping people understand their own difficulties and teaching them concrete ways to help themselves will help them better deal with their own lives and, in turn, ours. In this novel, the main character has Asperger’s syndrome but is receiving early intervention through the public school system. She has only one parent and he is far from perfect. Her brother was the family member who really listened to her, tried to understand her, and taught her helpful behavioral skills. Unfortunately, he is killed in a school shooting, and now, but for her school counselor, she is on her own. I hope that, by getting inside her head, readers will understand seemingly bizarre behavior. And I hope that readers will see that, by getting inside someone’s head, really understanding that person, so many misunderstandings and problems can be avoided — misunderstandings and problems that can lead to mounting frustration and, sometimes, even violence.