Patterns

Words swarm inside my head, creating a cacophony of chaos. The well-intentioned comments from my fellow classmates spin rapidly into the vortex:

“It’s so….mechanical,” she said when speaking of only my art, while everyone else was viewed as artistic.

“It’s alright, you’re just a bit odd.”

“You’re quirky.”

“Why are you making things more difficult?’

On and on they go, feeding into my mental image. The words that overpower everything: cold, robotic, and simply wrong.

The noises from outside add to the chaos, the too-bright colors of the world hurt my eyes. I descend into my sanctuary, looking for my escape. My gaze sweeps across my highly prized collection of Shadowhunter novels. It occurs to me that the third and final book in the most recent extension of the world is coming soon. After having read the first book, Lady Midnight, time seemed to slip out of my hands as school started up again. I pick up the second one, Lord of shadows, and hold the thick binding of pages in my hand.

“Looks like you’re it,” I inform the book.

I sit down to read and am enveloped into the pages. The ink turns into tiny grains of sand as I emerge on the beach. I am reintroduced to the cast, page after page. I remember their quirks and the humor I love so much. I am drawn to the kids of this particular institute. Ty, Livvy, and Kit are plotting once again. Seen through Kit’s eyes, I pay more attention to Ty. I remember it was mentioned in the previous book that Ty is Autistic. That thought flashes back in my mind as I read the first scene between them, Ty doesn’t look the other boy in the eyes.

Interesting, I think, I get that.

As more ink is spilled and more demons are dispatched I see more and more of Ty. His heart shines through all of the scenes. I unknowingly keep repeating the same phrase in my head, I understand that. After long segments without Ty present, I flip through the next several pages to read his parts.

The noise splitting my head had long since stopped and another feeling developed inside my chest, this time one of recognition. I read how Ty has counted all the windows of the building and therefore knows the exact number.

“I do that,” I express out loud to an empty room. After the sound of my words echo in my ear I realize the implication.

“Oh,” the small sound comes unbidden from my lips.

After much research and several visits to a psychologist, I officially receive my diagnosis. I come home and clutch the book to my chest.

“I’m like you,” I whisper into the pages.

The unbidden image of my own face pops into my head. Instead of the usual metal cogs and screws that fasten me together, I see the flesh and ever-beating humanity that has always been there, waiting to be seen.