Silent Voice

Chapter 4 - The Support Group

"It's great to see everyone here!" Angel says to the group of non-autistic parents. People have gathered in an area of the enormous living room to talk. Claire listens and stares out the window at the clouds floating by.

"We have a new family here today," Angel continues. "John, would you like to introduce yourself?"

Claire's dad nods. "I'm John Fields and this is my daughter, Claire. She came into our home at age 8, and we are very lucky to have her. Claire, do you want to say anything to the group?"

Claire considers this for a moment. Then she starts to type. "I'm Claire. I have 2 awesome dads and I love to write. I'm a future senior in high school, and my favorite color is purple."

Which was probably fairly obvious, since she was wearing lots of purple, as usual.

The Middle Eastern woman with big glasses smiles at Claire. She has a strong chin, like Ahmed. "Are you planning on going to college, Claire?"

Claire nods. "If any of them will take me."

"I'm sure they'd love to have you, Claire." And the woman flashes a bright smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you two!" says Angel. "So, how have everyone's weeks been?"

The blond man, the one with the angular face and very strong eyebrows, folds his arms. Claire remembers that he is Glitter's dad. "It was horrible," he says. "Elizabeth made another mess. Paints all over."

The orange-haired woman speaks up. "My Ava used to do things like that. She said she was going to be an artist. I just told her that if she makes the mess, she cleans it up! I had the most lovely artwork for the fridge, though."

Glitter's dad scowls. "Well, you have a very high-functioning daughter. Elizabeth's results could hardly be called 'art.' It's just a mess! All the shrieking! And the bizarre motions with her hands!"

Ahmed's mom sighs. She looks out at the window.

Claire has learned that when non-autistics look away, it usually means that in their hearts, they wish they could be somewhere else.

Glitter's dad continues his rant. "Elizabeth is low-functioning. She'll never fit in to society."

Claire's dad frowns. Maybe bringing Claire here was a mistake.

Glitter's dad puts his hands on his hips. "The intensive therapy is just not enough."

About ten years ago

Trigger warning: child abuse. If you want, you can skip to the next bold line you see, and avoid reading the scene.

For forty hours a week, a therapist would be at Claire's house, doing drills. "Touch red." "Look at me." "Good girl."

Claire didn't know it, but it was a form of compliance training, based very closely on Lovaas ABA therapy. It was the expert-endorsed treatment for children like her.

"You need to look at me, Claire," the woman demanded.

Claire looked at her feet. She hated this part.

"Look at me."

Slowly, Claire lifted her gaze. She saw the therapist's eyes locked on her, staring, pupils tiny, streaks of hazel and green, intense, fixed, trapping her, and scanning her, and raging, and unrelenting, and and and

Claire broke eye contact and turned away, rocking back and forth in an attempt to calm down.

"CLAIRE! NO!" the therapist screamed.