one at a time she held them out to him, explaining their meaning, reading the words at the bottom of each one.
Kate repeated the words as they went, but eventually she finished her snack and cleared her plate to the sink. Then she pointed to the living room. “I have to read, so I’ll wait out there. For the movie, okay?”
“Okay, sweetie.” Tracy watched her leave. She was so sweet, so much fun and energy. But Tracy needed time alone with Holden, so this was perfect. She held up a music card, one with musical notes and a heart in the middle. “See this one?”
He didn’t look. Instead he mixed through the deck he was more familiar with, intent on whichever card was on top of the stack.
“This one says ‘I love music.’ See? It has music notes and a heart. Hearts stand for
love,
remember?”
Holden tapped the table, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
Tracy moved to the next card. This one had music notes and an oversized ear. “This one says ‘I can hear the music.’ “
Holden blinked at that, and for half a second he looked at the card. But then, just as quickly, he looked away again.
“That’s okay, Holden. I understand.” She felt tears gather inher eyes, and she fought them back. “You can hear the music. I know you can.” Nothing.
She went over half the cards in the deck, but by then his snack was gone, which meant she had only a small window of time to get his movie going. She left the music cards on the table. His therapist would help him use them the right way, and in time Holden would work them into his days.
“Okay, movie time.” She kept her smile in place in case he was watching. Even from his peripheral vision. There was no deciding which movie to watch. It was the same every day. If she tried something new, he would pace the living room, agitated and grunting, or drop down and rattle off thirty push-ups.
She’d made the DVD years ago on her Mac—a gift from Dan on one of his visits home after a particularly good month at sea. It was a thirty-minute movie of photos and video clips from before Holden’s diagnosis. Back when he was like any other little boy. Before the nine vaccinations he received the week after this third birthday—not that anyone had officially linked vaccinations to autism. Still, Tracy couldn’t help but wonder.
She walked into the living room where Kate was reading a thin paperback book, her legs sticking straight out as she sat back into the sofa. “Is it movie time?”
“Yes, honey.” She wondered if Kate would be disappointed when she realized what type of movie it was.
“Where’s Holden?”
She smiled. “He’ll be here.”
The DVD was already in the player, so she hit the power button and turned on the TV. Seconds later the loop at the beginning of the movie was on the screen, the music filling the small room. The song was one Holden used to sing with her as a little boy.
Never Be the Same
by Christopher Cross.
The music was melodic and meaningful, the message heart-wrenching.
The first notes drew Holden from the kitchen to his spot, cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV.
“Is that where we sit?” Kate hopped down from the sofa and took the spot next to Holden, their knees touching. Holden didn’t acknowledge Kate, but he didn’t move away, either.
This should be interesting.
Tracy studied the two—small Kate, with her abundance of love and buzzing energy, and Holden —quiet and indifferent by all indications. Tracy picked up the remote control and sat in the old recliner. She knew better than to jump to the beginning of the movie. For Holden, the loop was part of the experience. So she let the song play out, let the images run across the screen.
Holden as an infant, safe in her arms … Dan standing beside them, his hand on her shoulder. Holden as a six-month-old sitting up, grinning at the camera. Holden and Ella Reynolds, eighteen months old, holding hands on the shore of Tybee Island. Holden and Ella dancing on
Kate repeated the words as they went, but eventually she finished her snack and cleared her plate to the sink. Then she pointed to the living room. “I have to read, so I’ll wait out there. For the movie, okay?”
“Okay, sweetie.” Tracy watched her leave. She was so sweet, so much fun and energy. But Tracy needed time alone with Holden, so this was perfect. She held up a music card, one with musical notes and a heart in the middle. “See this one?”
He didn’t look. Instead he mixed through the deck he was more familiar with, intent on whichever card was on top of the stack.
“This one says ‘I love music.’ See? It has music notes and a heart. Hearts stand for
love,
remember?”
Holden tapped the table, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
Tracy moved to the next card. This one had music notes and an oversized ear. “This one says ‘I can hear the music.’ “
Holden blinked at that, and for half a second he looked at the card. But then, just as quickly, he looked away again.
“That’s okay, Holden. I understand.” She felt tears gather inher eyes, and she fought them back. “You can hear the music. I know you can.” Nothing.
She went over half the cards in the deck, but by then his snack was gone, which meant she had only a small window of time to get his movie going. She left the music cards on the table. His therapist would help him use them the right way, and in time Holden would work them into his days.
“Okay, movie time.” She kept her smile in place in case he was watching. Even from his peripheral vision. There was no deciding which movie to watch. It was the same every day. If she tried something new, he would pace the living room, agitated and grunting, or drop down and rattle off thirty push-ups.
She’d made the DVD years ago on her Mac—a gift from Dan on one of his visits home after a particularly good month at sea. It was a thirty-minute movie of photos and video clips from before Holden’s diagnosis. Back when he was like any other little boy. Before the nine vaccinations he received the week after this third birthday—not that anyone had officially linked vaccinations to autism. Still, Tracy couldn’t help but wonder.
She walked into the living room where Kate was reading a thin paperback book, her legs sticking straight out as she sat back into the sofa. “Is it movie time?”
“Yes, honey.” She wondered if Kate would be disappointed when she realized what type of movie it was.
“Where’s Holden?”
She smiled. “He’ll be here.”
The DVD was already in the player, so she hit the power button and turned on the TV. Seconds later the loop at the beginning of the movie was on the screen, the music filling the small room. The song was one Holden used to sing with her as a little boy.
Never Be the Same
by Christopher Cross.
The music was melodic and meaningful, the message heart-wrenching.
The first notes drew Holden from the kitchen to his spot, cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV.
“Is that where we sit?” Kate hopped down from the sofa and took the spot next to Holden, their knees touching. Holden didn’t acknowledge Kate, but he didn’t move away, either.
This should be interesting.
Tracy studied the two—small Kate, with her abundance of love and buzzing energy, and Holden —quiet and indifferent by all indications. Tracy picked up the remote control and sat in the old recliner. She knew better than to jump to the beginning of the movie. For Holden, the loop was part of the experience. So she let the song play out, let the images run across the screen.
Holden as an infant, safe in her arms … Dan standing beside them, his hand on her shoulder. Holden as a six-month-old sitting up, grinning at the camera. Holden and Ella Reynolds, eighteen months old, holding hands on the shore of Tybee Island. Holden and Ella dancing on
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