To My Dad’s Girlfriend’s Autistic Son: Why Do You Do That?

I’m listening, but it’s like we’re speaking different languages.

Hey Jesse. It’s been a few months now, sharing your space. I’ve graduated from Potted House Plant to Moderately Interesting Figure in your eyes, and I’m a little confused.

Why?

As far as I’m aware, I’ve avoided encroaching on your territory (your bedroom and that little wooden table where you spoon your Cheerios and request iPad access 24/7).

I’m no socialite. In fact, 16Personalities has declared me 83% Introvert, a statistic I proudly stand behind.

I generally avoid confrontation, and, well — you’ve garnered a reputation this past couple of weeks, Jesse, that puts my terrible two’s to shame. (Puberty. I get it, I do.)

So why the ever-loving waffle do you smile at me like I’m the best thing since gluten-free bread?

To settle the record once and for all, I’ve assembled questions. These are the thoughts that have been getting all up in my brain space since I moved in with you, last January.

Yeah, yeah — you’re 13. You’ve got your own shit to do. And you’re sure as heck not gonna pop open this blog article.

Fine. Just think about it, won’t you?

Things I’m Really Quite Curious About

• How do you scream so much? Honestly. It’s like there’s a beginner violinist stuck in your throat. It sounds painful. Your aides tell me you do it for the attention, and I’m inclined to agree…but, ouch.
• Why are you so obsessed with Cheerios? I don’t use the word “obsessed” lightly. When it’s dinner time, it’s Cheerio time. Breakfast? Cheerios. Don’t even get me started on lunch. If you had it your way, you’d spend the day swimming in a bowl of milky white O’s.
• Is Chex really on the same level as Cheerios? Decisions, decisions. You seem to enjoy making this one. You make it every morning. Spoiler: it’s Cheerios.
• Remember that one time I suggested mixing Cheerios and Chex? I do. (Is that why you like me?)
• Why do you smack your mom so often? Like, seriously. All you’re doing is destroying her self-confidence as a single mother. The aides say soft hands, but all I see is one-sided domestic abuse. Not cool, dude.
• Why do you say you like waffles so much? I’ve literally never seen you eat one. It’s disturbing.
• Why must you insist on using the Labradors as bean-bag chairs? The dogs don’t like it, and neither do I. Pet them gently and your furry pals will appreciate you for it.
• Disney? Really? That’s your favorite channel? And you haven’t been inviting me to watch it with you. I’m a little offended, honestly.
• Coordination…do you have it? You run like a drunken chair. With no legs. It’s charming, and you don’t seem to mind, but I’m worried about the stairs. Last time you tripped, you broke your leg and wore a cast for weeks.
• Why do you call me Alex? My name is Cole. C-O-L-E, Cole. You’ve said it before, many times. If this is your way of reassigning me Potted Plant status, let me know and I’ll update my Contacts. Your new nickname: Jesse the Poo.
• Why are you constantly jumping? Your energy is so strong, it’s infectious. I also hope you get that trampoline for your birthday. Maybe we can take turns? Just a thought.
• What’s it like to be the undisputed shortest member of a height-challenged household? Everything must look huge. When I was your size, big meant scary. Despite that, you’re fearless. That's pretty impressive, I think.
• Do you understand divorce? Your parents have been living separately for a while now. Whenever you say Daddy at the dinner table, your momma and sister look at you like you’re porcelain and liable to shatter. I’d like to know your thoughts on this so we can eat in relative security. Selfish of me, I know.
• How are your teeth so white? Watching you smile is like opening the blinds after an overnight bender.
• What do you like about my dad’s Jeep? I bet it’s the rumbling of the engine. No, wait — it’s the bounce of leather seats as the Jeep leaps onto broken concrete. Or is it the fresh, plastic smell of exercise equipment?
• Is speaking English like forcing a foreign language? Sentences are hard. When you speak in your clipped pseudo-phrases, I’m transported to 9th grade Japanese I. Every sentence was a struggle — characters hieroglyphics, illegible. You don't have to force yourself to speak in full sentences — I’ll adapt to you. Just give me time to learn your speech impediment.
• Are you straight? I’m pretty sure you like girls (you’ve sniffed your sister’s shampoo more times than was strictly necessary), but I don’t know you well enough to know…you know. If you ever need to talk queer, I’m here for you.
• How do you process shame? I don’t know whether to be proud or embarrassed. You have literally zero privacy, and yet, you act like your life is impenetrable. Your mom has explained to me that you rubbing your crotch in public is a puberty thing, and it’s something a lot of autistic kids go through. I’m worried that other people won’t be so understanding.
• Where do you see yourself ten years from now? Your mom is convinced you’ll be hanging around for a while longer. Maybe even forever. What about you? Your dreams? Hopes? Needs? I look forward to seeing you grow and try new things. It’s a big world out there, Jesse, and you haven’t seen the half of it.

That’s all for now, Jesse. I’m sure I’ll think of more questions as we further our acquaintanceship.

Despite my confusion, I’m thankful for the time we spend together. You teach me things like how to be patient, how to eat clean, and the value of a simple squeeze on the forearm.

It’s nice to know you care.

Thanks for sticking with me, dude. If you’re reading this, call me Alex, toast a waffle, and I’ll catch you on the flip.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Until then.

Cole is a creative writer and editor. He’s also a compulsive reader and blogger. For freelance gigs, contact him at [email protected].