Autism Notes

Part 3

The next morning Social Services showed up at the White's door, and Ashley let the women standing in the thresholds in.

"I am only here to ask a few questions and observe." Said the woman in purple.

The woman, my parents and I sat together in the livingroom. The house was sparkling clean as it always was. There was a light aroma of lavender from some incense on the side table by the couch.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Kevin asked her calmly.

"Oh, no. I'm fine thank you. May I sit down?" The woman pointed toward the love seat in the corner of the room.

"Please." Ashley told her.

I remember this day vividly. This woman, who introduced herself as Beth, and strongly smelled of New West, looked up once and then scribbled into her guacamole colored notebook before she requested us anything. Her hair was blonde, she wore round spectacles, had a thin body with pointy breasts. I counted the wrinkles that were embedded into her porcelain face that slightly drooped, it was imperative that she get a facelift.

This woman had the worst job in the world, and she seemed very unhappy. Her occupation was to take juveniles away from their homes, but there was nothing wrong in this household particularly. I just don't like to be touched, and I know that was exactly what was being discussed. I'm not retarded. I like to keep to myself most of the time. This woman had no right to come and investigate, I wanted to slap her. Hard. I wanted to mess up her makeup with a big fat loogy right in the eye. Her makeup was grisly. A clown must have lent her that blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick. I wanted to physically hurt her for thinking she can take me from my home.

Of course, I sat on the couch stilly with an angelic smile on my face. I glanced at the ceiling fan that was slowly making its revolution and not giving any conditioning to the yellow room. I don't remember much of this conversation, and I heard a lot about speech therapy, which I thought was pointless. I can talk perfectly fine. To this women, she thinks I'm prattling like a six month old. She couldn't possibly be under the impression that I need speech therapy. I don't like talking to people is all. I never spoke around strangers, but if they read through my note book of my opinions on society, I would astonish the world. I looked beside me and the incense had finally burned out. I opened a window and made sure the screen was in so no insect intruders would think they were invited for tea that day in my house.

"I definitely can tell something may be off with his speech, which is not normal."

No, there's nothing wrong with my speech. I just hate interacting with people. Obviously not talking is not normal.

"Sebastian just doesn't want to be touched. Some people are just like that."

My parents already knew that, and so did I. This women is being payed by the minute to stay here. Of course she's making up dumb stuff to scare us and have to come back.

She thanked us, and to my relief said she wouldn't be back, and that we should still look into speech therapy for me. Heck, I wasn't going to make an effort to go. There will be no more questions or inconveniences, and she will drop the case.

Maybe there was something wrong with me though. I never compared myself to others solely because I am always younger than everyone in my surroundings.

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