Chapter Five
Emmet
By the Fourth of July, Jeremey was my best friend.
I’d felt he could be my best friend for a long time, but the holiday was when it all came together. We went to the downtown parade—just us, not with either of our parents. We wandered around the carnival in Bandshell Park. We thought about swimming at the aquatic center, but there were too many people, so we biked out to Ada Hayden instead. It’s a park with a water reservoir you can boat on, with lots of paved trails. It was a hot, hot day, but I didn’t mind. I was with Jeremey.
He went with our family to watch fireworks on the Sixth Street hill—the tree line means we miss a few, but it’s not crowded, not loud, and all our neighbors are there. While we were sitting on the blanket, covered in vanilla bug spray, watching kids run with sparklers down the hill to the soccer field at the bottom, my feelings became intense. I was happy, so happy. I still wanted Jeremey to be my boyfriend, and sometimes maybe I thought he might be gay too, but even if we were only friends, it would be okay. He was my best friend, the kind of close friend it’s a challenge for a person with autism to have. We can be tricky to get to know. But already Jeremey knew more about me than anyone, even my parents and Althea.
As the fireworks exploded above us in the sky, the urge to tell him how I felt was huge inside me. I was scared to end my happy feelings if he didn’t feel like we were best friends too, and I worried my autism would wreck the moment. So though he sat right next to me, I texted him.
Jeremey, you’re my best friend. My chest got tight with nervousness. I hope that’s okay, I added, then hit send.
His phone made a soft chime. I held my breath, for once hating my superpower of seeing out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t help watching him pull out his phone, read the text and answer back. When my phone made the heartbeat pulse against my hand, I almost didn’t read it. I was sorry I’d sent anything. If he said it wasn’t okay, all my happiness would crash.
But when I got brave enough to read the text, it said me too.
I smiled as I rocked on the blanket. I had a best friend.
I wished he were my boyfriend. If he had been, I would have asked to hold his hand. But I didn’t. I only enjoyed the rest of the fireworks with my best friend.
We hung out together every day, usually in the afternoons. Usually we played games or took walks. Sometimes we sat on my deck and didn’t say anything. Jeremey enjoyed reading, and when my mom found out, she gave Jeremey her old Kindle full of all kinds of books. Jeremey wouldn’t take it to his house, but every afternoon if I suggested we sit on the deck, he brought the Kindle out and read the whole time unless I talked to him. I loved those afternoons.
I also showed Jeremey The Blues Brothers movie, which he said he hadn’t ever seen. I liked showing him the movie, but at first when we started watching together, I didn’t have much fun. I was working so hard to not be autistic.
The Blues Brothers isn’t just my favorite movie. It was one of the first things I memorized. My dad loves the movie too, and he played it around me when I was little. My mom got mad at him for that, because I would walk around quoting the whole movie, or using the movie to speak. If I wanted something from my mom, I asked her, “Did you get my Cheez Whiz?” I didn’t want Cheez Whiz, but to my brain, it was the only way I could ask for something, using the line from the movie. When I played with my blocks, I would line them up in a row and count them by quoting the part where the guard (who is Frank Oz, the guy who gave the voice to Miss Piggy and other Muppets) lists the inventory of Jake Blues’ personal effects. “One Timex digital watch, broken. One unused prophylactic. One soiled. One black suit jacket.” And when I didn’t want to do something, I didn’t simply say no. I crossed my arms over my chest and said, “No. Fucking. Way.”
I don’t remember doing this, but Mom says I used the whole movie as speech from the time I was four until the first half of kindergarten. I don’t do that anymore, but sometimes my brain whispers the lines from the movie in places it thinks would be a good time to say them. Sometimes people on the mean quote movies, and other people on the mean laugh at the joke. But they laugh differently at me when I quote The Blues Brothers, so I don’t do it in public.
My dad likes it when I quote, though, because he says I do an amazing Elwood Blues. Sometimes when we’re in the car, he says, “What’s this?” and I know I’m supposed to do the part about trading the Cadillac for a microphone. I keep telling him that for it to be right he needs to let me drive, since Elwood always drives. He says no, I’d try to jump a bridge. Which isn’t true. Ames doesn’t have any moveable bridges.
It’s fun to quote the movie with my dad, but there’s one problem about watching the movie, especially with someone not a member of my family. Every time I watch the movie, I say the lines along with the actors. I’ve gotten better about not saying every line out loud, but I say every single one in my head. I read a script of it online when I was in high school, and now when I watch it, I say the stage directions too. My dad says the lines with me when they’re his favorites, and he never cares how much of the movie I recite.
When autistic people quote TV and movies the way I did when I was little, they call it echolalia. I don’t have echolalia now. When I speak, one hundred percent of what I say is my words. Some autistic people, though, can’t ever stop parroting either TV or movies or what the person in front of them just said. It’s because of their brain octopuses.
People shouldn’t laugh or make rude faces at autistic people when they parrot. Some can’t help it, and most who can have to work not to. It’s difficult for me not to quote The Blues Brothers all the time even now. When I watch the movie, it’s almost impossible to resist.
I was nervous to find out how Jeremey would feel about my autistic quoting. I didn’t want him to think I was weird and decide we shouldn’t be best friends. So all the way until Elwood and Jake left the nun they call The Penguin, I sat on the edge of the couch, trying not to rock, trying not to hum, and more than anything else, trying not to parrot. It was the first time I ever didn’t like watching The Blues Brothers.
Then my dad walked into the TV room, and said, “Boys, you gotta learn not to talk to nuns that way.”
I rocked back and forth. “Dad, they already did that line.”
“I know. But it’s one of my favorites.” Dad sat down all slouched in his favorite chair, the big fat one with an ottoman to the right of the TV. He grinned as he watched Curtis tell the boys they had to get to church.
This was another tricky part for me. Usually I sing along with James Brown. This time I didn’t sing, didn’t quote anything. Not when my dad did. Not even when he said, “Jesus H. goddamned bastard Christ, I have seen the light!” And I didn’t dance along with Elwood, which was the hardest part of all.
When they were talking about putting the band back together, Dad frowned at me. “Emmet, you feeling okay?”
I nodded and stared at the floor. I was watching the movie, but usually I watched the movie by looking at it. I couldn’t today, because I would start parroting for sure.
Dad didn’t say anything else at first. Eventually he smiled at Jeremey. “How are you liking the movie? I hear it’s your first time.”
“It’s good.” Jeremey smiled back. “It’s funny.”
“You’ve got to get Emmet to do his Elwood for you. He knows every line. Every incline of Dan Aykroyd’s head. Once on vacation he did the whole movie for me when we were stuck waiting for a tow truck. Best two hours of my life.”
I stopped rocking and glanced by my dad’s head. I remembered sitting by the car on the dark road, doing the movie for my dad. I hadn’t realized it was the best moment of his life. It certainly wasn’t mine. The rocks had been hard to sit on.
“Usually,” Dad went on, “when Emmet and I watch together, we do all the best quotes back and forth. Which, since the movie is so great, means we quote the whole movie. You’ll have to forgive me if I do some anyway. Emmet’s being kind and letting you watch it without our commentary, but he has more self-control than me.”
Jeremey’s smile got brighter. “Oh, please do the quotes! I wish I were good at memorizing so I could play along too.”
“Emmet memorizes enough for the whole world.” Dad winked at me. Then he raised an eyebrow and spoke along with John Belushi. “‘First you trade the Cadillac for a microphone, then you lie to me about the band, now you’re gonna put me right back in the joint.’”
I was still nervous to parrot in front of Jeremey, but my brain octopus was so angry at me for not being able to quote, my dad was looking right at me, and it was my second favorite line from the movie. “‘They’re not gonna catch us. We’re on a mission from God.’”
Jeremey laughed—and my chest went flutter flutter flutter. It was the kind of laugh people on the mean got when they quoted and made good jokes. “Oh my God—Emmet, you sounded just like him.”
“You wait,” my dad said. “If we can talk him into dancing during the Palace Ballroom scene, it’ll be your best day all year long.”
I started quoting a little more. I didn’t want to quote all the time, but Dad did, and pretty soon Jeremey watched me more than the movie, looking at me as if he hoped I’d say something, so I gave in and parroted.
“‘You want out of this parking lot? Okay.’”
I loved watching Elwood drive, and the scene in the mall makes me laugh. It looks so fun to drive a car. I’ve driven go-carts at amusement parks. It’s fun. I crash into the walls a lot, and sometimes other drivers, but nobody gets hurt. It’s the best.
We kept quoting, and Jeremey kept laughing, and pretty soon this became my favorite two hours of my life. When we got to the Palace Hotel Ballroom scene and the Blues Brothers theme started to play, Dad and I got up and did the dance. He pretended to unlock a handcuff from my wrist, and I handed the silver thing (I’ve watched it over one hundred times, but I don’t know what that thing is) to the pretend drummer behind me.
Dad passed me the broom handle with a cardboard microphone we keep beside the TV, and I did Elwood’s speech before the big number.
I love the song “Everybody Needs Somebody to Love”, but I love the speech Elwood does before it best of all the lines of the whole movie. He says everyone is somebody, and we’re all the same.
I think Elwood Blues is on the spectrum. He’s higher functioning, but he has the signs. Only eating white bread—that’s something an autistic person would do. Then there’s the bad driving, and some of his tics. Also, I can parrot a lot of characters in movies, but I don’t do anybody better than Elwood.
I don’t know if he’s gay too or not, but he never gets excited about girls, so maybe.
I sang along with Elwood into the pretend microphone, and my dad got up and sang into his. Dad likes to play Jake. He says John Belushi was a genius taken down before his time. We do a good Blues Brothers, and only Belushi and Aykroyd do the dance better, Dad says.
I don’t know if Jeremey agreed, but he laughed and clapped and whistled, and when the movie was over, he had a funny look on his face. I didn’t know what it meant, but Dad is good at faces.
He leaned forward in his chair and grinned at Jeremey. “You want to see the Palace Ballroom dance again, don’t you.”
Jeremey blushed, but he nodded.
We did the dance three more times. And now when we watch the movie together, I quote the whole thing. He’s not as bad at memorizing as he says, either, because he quotes it now too.
He does a great Curtis.
I saw Jeremey every day, but some afternoons I couldn’t sit very long on the deck with him, because I had to go to school.
I didn’t have to take summer courses, but Mom and Dad said it would be a good idea for consistency. The class I took was Calculus III, so it wasn’t hard for me and made a smart choice for a summer program. It was in Carver Hall, in a nice room with a lot of light. Most of the time I rode my bike and locked it up at the student union, but if it was raining or too hot, I rode the CyRide bus service. I can’t drive, but I’m an excellent bus rider. I enjoy being independent enough to bus to school, but I don’t spend extra time on campus.
I did take walks on campus with Jeremey, though. It was only a half mile from my house to the edge of campus, and cutting through it was the best way to West Street Deli, where we’d grab lunch if Althea was working. We didn’t talk much while we walked, since Jeremey knew I didn’t like to walk and talk at the same time. When he wanted to say something, he asked if I minded if we took a break, and we sat on a bench or curb and talked for a few minutes. This meant he wanted to talk, not rest, but he never said, “I want to talk to you, let’s stop.”
That’s pretty much how Jeremey is, though, so I don’t mind.
A few days after the Fourth of July, we were walking through campus, and Jeremey asked if we could take a break. We were outside of Beardshear Hall, which is administration offices, and we sat on the steps, looking across the grassy commons. I waited for Jeremey to talk, but this time it took a long time for him to start.
“My parents keep trying to make me apply to college. They finally stopped pushing Iowa City and said I could apply here. That would be okay, I guess, since you’d be here too.”
He fiddled with his fingers in the way non-autistic people do when they’re nervous. I always notice it because I can’t see how it’s different than flapping, and I liked when people did the fiddling thing. It meant they felt strong emotions. I was pretty sure Jeremey was having nervous emotions. “Yes, I’ll still be here. Will you take science or math or computer classes?”
“I don’t know what I’ll take. I don’t want to go to college at all.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Rest. I wish everything would calm down.”
Jeremey often said that he wanted to rest. Except he went to bed at the same time as me and often slept until noon. Some days he didn’t get out of bed at all and had to cancel our time together. But he didn’t have much on his schedule ever. I didn’t understand what needed to calm down, but before I could decide if it was an okay question to ask, he started talking again. This time his voice shook, he was so nervous.
“This is—probably… I mean…” He shut his eyes and took a breath before continuing. “I don’t know if you’d be interested, but I thought maybe we could be roommates in a dorm.”
I had many thoughts and feelings at once. I’d asked if I could live in a dorm when I first applied to college, but Mom had taken me on a residential tour, and I knew right away it would never work for me. Too loud, too many people, too much sharing of public space. I think that’s why she did that, because I wanted to be the same as everyone else, but not once I saw what college dorm life was. But when I thought about living with Jeremey, all I could think about was being in the same room with him, all the time.
If I lived with him, I was pretty sure I could get up the courage to kiss him and ask if he wanted to be my boyfriend.
“I’m sorry.” Jeremey hunched his shoulders and stared at the ground. “That was a stupid thing to ask.”
I hated how often Jeremey said he was stupid. “It’s a good question. I was trying to think if it would work. I would like to be roommates with you, very much.” I remembered the shouting young men and public, dirty showers and began to rock. “A dorm isn’t good for my autism, though. But ISU has apartments similar to dorms.”
“Probably expensive, though.”
I didn’t know. I pulled out my phone and made a note on my to-do list to look up the apartments. “I’d have to talk to my parents. The problem is I’m not good at remembering all the things I should do in a house, Mom says, and cooking all the time would be difficult. But I think Frederiksen Court has on-site dining.” I hummed a little, trying to imagine it. A nice quiet apartment with Jeremey.
I could kiss him on the couch. If it turned out he was gay too. And wanted to date me, not just be best friends.
“I wonder if there are a lot of parties in those apartments. That might not be good for your autism. Or me either.”
No. Parties would be terrible. I hummed and rocked harder. This was a tricky problem. I would have to think about it and do some investigating—but I wanted it to work.
As I sat rocking and humming, a group of guys walked by, and I heard one murmur, “Fucking freaks.”
I shut my eyes so I could focus on controlling my anger.
I understand I can’t lash out when someone calls me a name. Every now and again it would happen to me when I was with Jeremey, though, and it upset me. I hated not defending myself in front of my best friend who I wanted to be my boyfriend. It made me frustrated and angry and embarrassed.
“What assholes,” Jeremey said.
I felt better knowing he hated them too. “I shouldn’t have rocked and hummed. That’s why they said something.”
“Why can’t you rock and hum? You were thinking. That helps you. People have funny little tics all the time. What’s so bad about yours?”
All my feelings swelled up. They were good feelings, but sometimes those make it more difficult for me to talk. If I’d been with my family, I’d have made one of my signs, but I hadn’t taught them to Jeremey. So I got out my phone. He never seemed to mind when I texted him instead of talking out loud.
Jeremey, this is Emmet. You are a wonderful friend. Thank you.
Jeremey smiled when he read that, and he leaned toward me as if he were going to put his head on my shoulder. I went still, not sure if I wanted him to do that or not. Before I could decide, though, he sat up straight, very quickly. He texted back.
This is Jeremey. You’re a wonderful friend too. I’ll talk to my parents about the apartments. That would be so awesome, if it worked. But don’t do it if you think it would be bad for your autism.
Normally I was okay with my autism, but right then I hated it. All I could think about was how if I weren’t autistic, I could live in the dorms with Jeremey. That was bad logic, because if I didn’t have autism, my family wouldn’t have moved to a new city so they could be with me as I went to school, and I likely wouldn’t have met Jeremey at all. I wouldn’t be me, either.
But it wasn’t fair that autism made it so hard to be roommates with Jeremey.
When I asked Mom about getting an apartment, I wore my Stitch T-shirt, which was code for my question being important to me.
I have signs and codes I use with my family and they use with me. I can’t always understand subtleties of vocal inflections, and of course faces are impossible, and Mom says this is where communication usually breaks down. She says it’s why the Internet is full of misunderstandings. I actually do well on the Internet, but maybe that’s because I don’t rely on verbal and visual cues for comprehension.
When I talk to people in real life, though, they expect me to act like non-autistic people, and Mom says even she forgets not to assume. So we worked out the code. I have shirts that mean different things, and when I wear them, everyone knows I’m feeling something in a big way. We have hand signs so Mom can tell me in public if I’m rude, and she stops me from making everyone mad by accident. When I’m overwhelmed, sometimes talking is hard, so we all learned American Sign Language long ago, which is so handy. Everyone should learn it as a second language, really.
My Stitch shirt says ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind. I wear that one when I want to talk about something important to me. So when I sat her in our talking chairs in the living room and she saw me in that shirt, she didn’t tell me she didn’t think it was a good idea to get an apartment or remind me of what the dorms were like. She said, “Tell me more about why this is important to you, Emmet.”
I had practiced my reasons with notecards in my room, and I wrote an essay about it I could have read aloud or handed to her, but I wanted to show her how hard I was trying and did it the talking way instead. “Jeremey is my best friend. He’s nervous about going to college, but his parents are making him. I think his depression is as nervous about being in the dorm as my autism is. Also I think he has an anxiety brain octopus he doesn’t know about. Plus I want to live in an apartment with him like a regular college student. Frederiksen Court has on-site dining and groceries. It is the perfect place for us to start our independent living experience.”
“Sweetheart, do they have openings this late in the year?”
I didn’t know, and I worried about that. We would want the two-person two-bedroom, which the site said was very limited. They capitalized and bolded the word very, so they were serious. “Mom, I need to do this.”
“I understand. Unfortunately the world doesn’t always work itself out simply because we need it to be a certain way.” She rubbed her leg as she leaned back in her chair. “This is a sticky one, sweetie. I’m not sure you’re ready for a regular apartment, even on campus. You work hard and you try, but when you get frustrated by something, you need help in a hurry. We would do our best to prop you up, but it’s not as easy when you don’t live upstairs. Maybe we could talk to your dad about finally turning the basement into an apartment.”
“I don’t like the basement. It smells funny.”
“Your choices might be the basement or nowhere, honey.”
“Then I want to live in the dorm. We can find a quiet one.”
Mom sighed. “I appreciate how much you want this. Please remember I want this for you too. I can promise I’ll start looking into options as soon as we’re done talking. But I need you to understand it might take a long time, and my solution might not be the exact answer you want.”
I understood the logic of what she said, but it made me angry and sad. I thought of the guys calling me freak, of how something like that always happened if I was myself in public. I thought about how nervous Jeremey had been when he asked about living together, because he wanted this as much as me, and he needed help.
I don’t like to hate myself, and hating my autism is hating myself, but right then I was so angry, I wanted to be a different person. I worried Jeremey’s parents would send him away to Iowa City and we’d stop being friends. I worried he would meet someone not autistic and like them better. I hadn’t seen his friend Bart tag him on Instagram or come to his house, and Jeremey never talked about him, but I always worried Bart would take Jeremey away. I thought of all the not-autistic Barts at college who would be brave enough to tell Jeremey they were gay and maybe try to kiss him.
“Emmet.” Mom’s voice was gentle, and she put her hand by my leg, her way of touching me without adding sensation. “I know how you feel about Jeremey. I know how important he is to you, and that’s why this hurts so much, not being able to give him what he asks.” She held her hand out flat, her sign for I need you to listen to this part. “I am your advocate. I watch for you and fight for you even when you don’t notice. I know you’re upset, and I think you need some quality time with the foam hammer once we’re done talking. But don’t you let those bad voices tell you I’m not helping you.”
I know she’s my advocate, and I’m glad. But I was so angry. Maybe my face didn’t show it, but inside I felt like fire and sadness. “I’m too different, Mom. I don’t want to be so different.”
“Everyone’s different. Some people are more able to shove their differences into the dark, to blend in and be sheep, but that isn’t always a good thing.”
“I’d rather be a sheep than be alone.”
“But that’s the big secret. The sheep are more alone than everyone.”
She was right. But I was still pissed off and wanted the world to stop getting in my way. “You’re right. I need to go use my hammer.”
“And I need to go make some phone calls. Can I have a hug, jujube?”
I am not a fruit from China, which is what a jujube is, and I was too angry for hugs. But can I have a hug, jujube is my mom’s code for when she needs a hug. She’s a mom with lots of superpowers, but she says they’re powered by hugs.
I really needed her superpowers at full blast right now. So I hugged her and let her kiss my hair, which she also cried on.
I did not cry. I went upstairs, got my foam hammer from the closet and pounded on the bed and yelled for fifteen minutes. I said a lot of bad words.
When I was done, I did some algebra. It’s always soothing. I can’t live in the dorms and I can’t stop people from calling me a freak, but I can always solve for X.