something new

With one hand holding back strands of her hair, his hand pressed against the small of her back as he waited for her to make her inevitable escape. He was instantly aware that here in these moments, he assumed that he could literally, physically hold her back. With two hands now clasped behind her back, he tried using the energy behind his eyes to hold her focus.

“Genie, I’m not going to be mad, just tell me where the pictures are”.

His face had melded into the most sincere expression he could muster, convincing himself as always, that he could hold her with his eyes or the softness of his features. She sensed everything. So much that he had grown overly aware of his actions; analyzing every minute detail of his face at every moment, knowing that the wrong reaction could send her away for weeks or even months. And when she returned, she would be different, clearly affected by her extended solitude and endlessly destructive behavior that still remained a mystery to him.

Her expression was much less calculated. Her eyes remained in their comfortable downward stare but it was her lips that moved with every thought. She twisted them back and forth from right to left while simultaneously catching the skin from her bottom lip between her teeth and pulling on it until her tongue was covered in pungent, salty red. Her bottom lip would quiver for a moment and she would sharply turn her head to the right but within seconds she would face her again, pursing her lips in defiance of her own rising tears. Every few moments she would begin breathing in short, quick breaths, which escalated into a fit of hyperventilation as her head shifted from side to side. He would clasp his hands behind her back and tighten every muscle in his shoulders as she would push her shoes into the wall behind him, crushing his stomach between her legs but he remained silent and stable, his interlocking fingers being the only obstacle keeping her from disappearing inside herself.

“I can’t”

a tiny sound seeped from her clenching lips as she struggled to break free.

“I would never get angry at you for this. You can tell me. Whatever it is.”

In a moment, he could feel her back relax and her head collapse into his chest. He knew better than to let go of her back, well experienced in Genie’s manipulative methods of escaping. She was silently shaking. He knew this moment. She would lay there shivering for a while, maybe an hour and then she would tell him that she loved him, kiss him on the forehead and then she would leave when she felt she’d adequately convinced him that he would see her again the next morning. And he would let her go, accepting that there was a limit to how long you could clasp your fingers around someone before you had to let go. He would give into sweaty knuckles as they slid apart, drying an overworked set of palms on dirty jeans.

His mind was in the midst of replaying moments identical to this one on the screen behind his eyes, looking down at the strands of brown sprawled across his grey t-shirt. And in his nostalgia, he realized that nothing had changed for her. He had become an older version of the same boy pressing clasped pre-pubescent fingers into her bony spine, leaning against the back of his garage with misquotes swarming their salty foreheads. He had gone through all the motions between then and now, everything it takes to make you an adult, everything that makes your parents proud, everything that made him look back on his childhood and believe that he had learned something. But she had remained the same. The same hair strewn across his chest, the same biting lips and downward eyes. The same fear, repeated and manifested in the same ways over time. She would forever be 11 years old, with the eyes of an infant looking up at him, waiting for him to read her “a story about people”. She wanted to know, but never experience, she wanted to see, but never touch, she wanted to live outside of her life.

She shifted her head for a moment and as air reached that spot on his chest where her head was resting he felt a dampness and looked down to see his grey t-shirt, now black in one spot which was growing bigger with every tear that dropped from her eyes, slightly elevated above him.

He had never seen her cry and now, as she moved her head closer to the crease in his neck, he became suddenly aware that he had no knowledge of what came next in this scene he’d grown so used to.

His mind flashed to the orange leather chairs in their high school therapist’s office. His hands were pressed uncomfortably under his thighs between his jeans and the sticky leather of the armchairs that always smelled like Lysol.

“Owen, I called you in here today to talk to you about your friend Gene. It is important as her only real connection with the outside world, that you understand the types of actions necessary for Genie to feel comfortable as we continue to treat her. Does Gene ever get upset or scared around you?"

He responded to Mrs. Slitzer with nothing out of loyalty to Genie. She hated these people prying into her life so he continued to bore holes into grey speckled linoleum.

“It’s alright if you feel uncomfortable Owen. I know you and Gene are very close and I’m here to help you help her.”

Silence.

“Alright, well I’m going to give you a few bits of information about Genie so that if she ever becomes fearful you are aware of how to help her calm down.”
Silence.

“First of all, if she ever gets scared applying pressure to her head will help her calm down. See, with children who are autistic, they become very fearful when they feel they’ve lost control. By pressing your hand on the top of her head, she will begin to feel like there is some control in her emotions within the comforting pressure.”

He silently stood up and walked out of her office. Genie wasn’t autistic. He knew this because she told him every day.

He began fluttering his eyelids, hoping to blink away the memory of Mrs. Slitzer and the sticky orange chairs. But as Genie’s visible tears had escalated into audible ones he found himself raising his hand, running his fingers through the part in her hair and pressing his palm into the top of her head. He felt his eyes water as her breath released into his collarbone and within moments, her tears had ceased.

She sat curled inside clasped fingers with her legs wrapped around him as he felt the backs of his knees go numb against the hardwood floor beneath them.

In a while, she looked up at him, directly into his eyes and stared for moments, or maybe hours. She pushed herself up to meet him at eye level and with a few latent tears dropping from her cheeks she leaned towards his ear.

“Maybe I’m crazy”

She whispered almost inaudibly.

He sat for a moment. Contemplating her statement.

“Maybe you are.”

He felt her shaking again, air bouncing feverishly inside her chest and her breath quickened once again. But this time, a quiet giggle, which grew increasingly louder as her laughter began filling the room. His lips turned up slightly as he wrapped his fingers behind her ears and pulled her head to meet his eyes again. He studied her face, a complete mess of salty cheeks, watery eyes, crooked teeth and grinning lips. He pulled her close, tackling her to the ground and joined her in uncontrollable laughter.


When their stomachs ached and their smiles tired they found themselves lying face up on the floor, arms spread out beside them, their minds dulled for a moment following the blades of his ceiling fan.

She looked to her left.

“The pictures.”

“Yes..”

“I burned them in my sink”

“I know.”