_“Sometimes human nature wishes for sometime that is alike to it. Of course, this can not always be achieved.”_

—_A Tree Comprised of Holloways_

***

**Age 2**

“Your son has autism spectrum disorder.

“What.”

“Exactly what I said. His behaviors and actions imply that he has the disorder. This is nothing to be afraid or ashamed of, all you have to do is change your environment to a way he can feel safe in.”

“He’s too young for you to tell.”

“Actually, I have to say the opposite. The younger they are, the more we can tell.”

“Come on, Patty, this doctor doesn’t know shit.”

**Age 4**

“Tull?” Mommy was calling to me in that soft voice of hers. I was glad she did that. Father often spoke too loud, so Mommy was better.

I stuck my head from beneath the covers of my bed and watched as she walked into my room, switching in the light. “Why is it so dark in here, honey?”

I shrugged. To be honest, the light was a little hard on my eyes, sometimes, but I couldn’t speak so she didn’t know this. I suppose I could write it down.

Mommy sighed, giving me a smile. Why was she smiling, though? There was no reason to smile.

“Well, I just wanted to say goodnight,” she went closer to me, angling herself over my forehead, “Can I…?”

I nodded. Mommy truly was the best. Mommy gave me hard press of her lips—soft ones made me uncomfortable—then she left, turning my light off as she did. “Night sweetheart, I love you.”

I gave her a high chirp in response, then tugged the covers over my head again, my too soft pillow forgotten on the ground.

Why couldn’t Father be more like her?

I could never call Father “Daddy”. It seemed too sweet, too loving for a man like him.

Father was more appropriate.

**Age 10**

“Retard!”

“Why won’t you talk?”

“You’re weird.”

“I don’t wanna play with you!”

School was difficult to say the least.

I never liked it.

Miss Amy, my teacher in fourth grade, watched a little girl say this last comment to me and run to her friends. I walked back glumly to where she sat on the bench overlooking the playground on a hill. She had a cream dress on that looked very pretty with her brown skin. I wanted to say this, but as always, I couldn’t.

When I sat down, she handed me a book out of her bag, careful not to brush her fingers against mine. “This one is called _Foul of Row_; a bit good, mind the language and the strange grammatical errors that aren’t really errors. I think you’d like the main character’s personality and perspective on the world around her.”

I barked—a sound I make for excitement; I didn’t think I was a dog as many believed—and flipped to the first page of the book. I saw Miss Amy smile from the corner of my eyes. I had very good sight.

Instead of smiling, I extended a finger. She understood, as this was our secret code, and pressed the tip of her finger against mine.

_Thank you_. It meant for me.

_Your welcome_. Was what it meant for her.

***

_“‘How stupid’, they say to me, ‘How smart,’ they say as well. Why can’t you make up your mind? Why do you constantly have to tell me what I am?_

—_Just a Girl_

_***_

AGE 12

“A writing contest?”

Dinner was hot and ready on the table. My mushed up food was pressed to perfection—thanks to Mommy, of course. Father was busy eating his own un-mushed food, ignoring my presence. Mommy eyed the flyer I gave her for the competition at our school. I handed her the page that I typed in advance, nodding eagerly.

This is what I wrote:

It would be an amazing honor to produce a fiction story—genre being my choice—and to have judges review it and read it. And it’s not just any judges, it’s some of the most well known authors in the U.S. It’s a state competition, so there’ll be thousands of other entries, and I know I might not win, but I want to try anyway.

I had it memorized in my head and analyzed the time it would take for her to read the whole thing, so it was like I was reading it with her.

Mommy placed the paper down and looked at me with an expression I could not place. Emotions weren’t my strong suit, but I did try. She seemed…sad. But she had no reason to be sad.

Strange.

“Oh, honey, I don’t know about…this.”

I slapped my hand against the table in _Why?_ She sighed, having built the gesture speech I was doing now.

“It’s just—“

“Because you can’t do it. That’s it.”We both turned to Father, silent. “You aren’t normal, so why should you participate in normal activities?”

“Johnathan! Tull—“

“Patty,” Father got a scary look in his eyes and his voice pitched low, “You, of all people, will not change my mind.”

And that was the end of that. I was left once again ignored and prodding my fork at my less than appetizing food.

I hated Father.

——

_(Sorry, I have so much work to do and packing up for a cruise. So yeah, this took the whole day; sorry if it seems lazy, I wasn’t my best cause I’m stressed and pissed off at a number of things (Myself included) I just wanna draw and dance around to realease it. Haha. **Life.**_

_Amazing prompt by the way, dear Zain._

_As always, thanks for reading and have a great day! _❤️_)_