Chapter 2
Eye contact is maddening. Eye contact and words and movements that everyone else seems to manage Just Fine do not work for you, do not come out the way they are meant to no matter what you try.
If you look at someone in the eye it hurts, like spiders crawling up your spine and skittering around your fingers until you have to move, have to get Away from the Staring, so you run or you look away and you snap your fingers and that person pretends not to notice.
The X-men, especially Cyclops, do not seem to mind eye contact. You and Mr. Summers have a long conversation completely in sign language with neither of you looking at each other in the eye and he does not mind, even when you start humming happily when the conversation turns to a book you love. He is good in that way, never making you speak or look or stop when you do your Movements.
(No one in the mansion seems to try to stop you when you do your Movements! It is wonderful!)
The way you are is accepted and fascinating and completely normal until you go outside among the humans for the first time, a city day with your classmates and Kitty, Ms. Frost, and Ms. Munroe along as chaperones.
They all love your Things and you love Their Things- Julian’s plants and Josh’s birds and Sooraya’s music and Santo’s The Hobbit and Cessily’s cheerleading- so you all do those things with each other happily. You visit a small garden near the skyscrapers of New York and stop at a bookstore so Santo can look at the new hardcover versions of the Lord of the Rings series that he had been excited about for months.
You wander off to the non-fiction section, browsing next to a middle aged woman who smells of too much perfume.
You run your fingers along the spines of the books on stars, grinning ear to ear and bouncing on your heels.
Kitty peeks her head around the corner, glancing at you and smiling. “Lau, the others are in the fantasy section when you’re done, ‘kay? I’m with you, though.”
You nod, looking at the book you have in your hands instead of Kitty but knowing she realizes that you are listening.
You open the book and flip through the pages, looking at the pictures in wonder and flapping the hand that isn’t holding onto it.
Kitty looks over, eyebrow raised. “Like it?”
You nod, because there are facts you did not know before and it makes you so excited you nearly burst from all the Loud Happy Things you are feeling deep in your chest (all these Loud Happy Things that feel so good and right and make you feel as though you are soaring)!!
Kitty laughs. “Want me to hold it? You can read it on the way out.”
You nod, signing a quick thank you and passing the book to her. Once your hands are free you immediately grab for the chewing necklace that Hank had made especially for you (your teeth are too sharp for normal stim toys, almost fangs, but Hank is a scientist and he made the necklace for you after you accidently broke your finger from biting it so hard).
You chew on it quickly, hands a blur as you flap and talk to Kitty about the new information in your loud-soft way, volume control completely gone from your mind as you explain the new science.
Kitty’s eyes light up and she asks questions which you answer happily, the two of you leaning on bookcases as you talk.
You do not notice the perfume woman moving until she clears her throat, addressing Kitty. “You should really teach him not to do that thing with his hands. People will think he’s stupid.”
Kitty’s demeanor changed at once, eyes going stormy. “That’s my kid sister, and you’ll mind your own fucking business about what she does.”
The woman wrinkled her nose and you stop flapping, hands feeling heavy and dropping to your sides as the smile slides off your face.
“See?” the woman said, nodding in satisfaction. “If you’re firm with them, they’ll stop.”
You really want to growl at her, but Kitty takes your hand and squeezes it quickly, a reminder of not scaring the flatscans. You bite it down and simply scowl.
“Please kindly fuck off,” Kitty snaps, and the woman glares.
“It’s a distraction to me! Just because you can’t control him doesn’t mean we should have to deal with this. Haven’t you tried Autism Speaks, or something?”
Kitty’s jaw sets, and you realize just how supremely dead this woman is.
“Don’t talk to her like she’s not there- just ‘cause she’s mostly non-verbal doesn’t mean she can’t hear you. Autism Speaks is a horrible organization and over my dead body will any of my family ever be dragged there. And if you ever try some kind of dumbass quiet-hands lecture on any of my siblings again, I swear I’ll clock you.”
The woman gasped and Kitty turned around, stalking out of the section and pulling you along.
Your hands still feel heavy and now you feel wrong, even though Kitty has your book and your chewie is still on your neck, right under your necklace.
Kitty pays for the book quickly, walking out of the shop and sitting you down at a small table outside of an Ice Cream Parlor.
You whisper a “stop,” voice mimicking the woman’s without meaning to, over and over until Kitty looks over, letting go of your hand and sighing. “You alright, babe?”
“Stop, stop, stop,” you repeat, word looping around out of your mouth and tears springing into your eyes.
“Aw, Laura,” she says. “Don’t listen to them. They think being autistic is a thing you can cure.”
“Stop,” you say again, for good measure, and then you glance up at her, signing in rapid little movements, hands still mostly in your lap. Autistic?
“Yeah,” Kitty replied, hands tapping her chest. “It’s what we are. And Scott, and Jules, and Ororo, and Jean, and Cessily. It’s a different way of functioning from other people, and it’s not bad, and you don’t need a cure and you don’t need to ever stop stimming. That’s the hand movements you do, and your chewing.”
You nod. I thought it was a mutation side effect.
Kitty giggles. “Nah, some flatscans are like us too.”
What does it do? you ask, and Kitty gets that Look she has when she talks of Star Wars.
“Well, most of us have trouble with social cues, have sensory issues, and have special interests- our Things, you know. There’s lots of other stuff, but everyone has it different! There’s no wrong way to be autistic, and it doesn’t need a cure, no matter what that lady said.”
You nod and she tries for a smile. “How’s’a’bout I buy you some ice cream and we look at the books we got, then head home?”
The tightness in your chest lifts a little and you nod.
You’re lucky you have Kitty to help build your crumbling-self up again, you decide,
And make a resolution to pay her back for the book.
(The ice cream tastes very good and your hands are whacking around the table like no tomorrow within a few minutes.)