He rubbed Jamie’s back soothingly, swaying gently. He swallowed hard, hearing Jamie’s voice, interrupted by an intermittent sniff, recite a long list of prime numbers. It was his default for when he was upset. He always went back to the numbers.
“Nineteen, twenty-three, twenty-nine….”
“Shush, now. It’s all right. Everything’s all right.”
“Thirty-seven, forty-one….”
“Do you know where orange juice comes from?”
“From oranges?”
Simon barked out a quiet laugh and pulled his head back slightly so he could catch Jamie’s gaze. “Good guess, but where do oranges come from?”
“Trees. Trees make oxygen.”
“Yes, they do. They also grow oranges.” Jamie was quiet, calmer now, watching his dad. “Do you know how many trees there are in the world?”
“No.”
“There’s millions. Millions and millions of trees. And there are millions and millions of oranges.”
“Millions and millions,” Jamie repeated quietly, no longer crying, no longer reciting his numbers.
“So one cup of juice won’t make a difference, all right?” he said quietly. Jamie didn’t react, didn’t answer. He rested his cheek against his dad’s shoulder, blinking slowly as if he were sleepy. And if anything, he appeared mesmerized by his father’s voice, almost soothed by it.
“Daddy’s gonna give ya a big kiss,” Simon said in a silly voice, earning himself a small smile.
Jamie lifted his head from Simon’s shoulder, and giggled when the kiss to his cheek turned into a soft raspberry. Simon was never more grateful than at those moments that Jamie was a high-functioning case for his condition, and that such small, innocent acts of affection were acceptable to him when coming from his father.
“All better?” Simon asked, and with a final smoothing to that adorable cowlick, he set him down. Jamie nodded, pulling his cape close around him.
That cape. Some kids had a blanky; others sucked their thumb. His kid wore a cape. Every day. And it was currently, Simon noticed, stained with spilled orange juice. He grabbed a dishcloth and, without thinking, reached to wipe the damp mess down Jamie’s front, right near the neckline. The reaction was instant.
“No! Don’t!”
Simon flinched when Jamie squealed, his little hands immediately covering his own ears. Simon tried his best not to show his frustration and anger at himself for being so thoughtless. It always had to be slow movements with Jamie. He dropped the cloth and immediately began to shush Jamie.
“Jamie! Jamie, Daddy’s sorry. Daddy’s sorry, baby.”
To his utter relief, Jamie stopped his agitated cries, only breathing a little heavily and blinking at his dad. In worst-case scenarios, where Jamie would feel that little stretch beyond agitated, he knew his son would not accept any form of touch, even from his own father, and would be rolling on the floor in an instinctive attempt to calm himself. Only a doctor or parent would know that it was actually an attempt to relax his sympathetic nervous system by applying pressure to large areas of his body (a hug without being hugged). To anyone else it was awkward and difficult to witness. Being a parent, it was at those times that he could only sit back and watch unhappily until Jamie calmed.
“Daddy’s being very silly today, isn’t he? Silly Daddy, huh?” His voice wavered ever so slightly in upset, and he slowly reached to tenderly stroke Jamie’s baby soft cheek. “Silly Daddy,” he said softly, soothingly. “There’s juice on your cape. We don’t want that now, do we? I’m going to wipe it off so it’s nice and clean, all right?”
Jamie nodded and watched patiently as Simon knelt close and wiped slowly at the stain. Simon pursed his lips in frustration, knowing that he’d have to wash it when Jamie was asleep, seeing as it was the only time Jamie would take it off, and even then he had to have his dad’s bathrobe draped over his bed in its place.
“Okay, all done. I want you to finish your cereal and brush your teeth. Then we’ll head off to school, okay?”
“Can I play with Gizmo?”
Simon smiled. Jamie loved his hamster. “If there’s time. I want you to finish your cereal first, though.”
Jamie sat back at the table, going back to his Lucky Charms, his sneakers once again banging happily against the chair’s legs as if nothing had happened.
Simon ran his hands over his face and left the kitchen for a second. Out in the hall, he leaned his brow against the wall and fought against the tears he could feel stinging his eyes.
Grapes and juice. And it was only 8:00 a.m. He took a deep breath, pulled his and Jamie’s coats from their hooks, and walked back into the kitchen. Jamie glanced at him, and there was that smile. That small, sweet smile.
God, he loved his son.
IT WAS so difficult to leave Jamie when he was unhappy. That morning’s events had been enough to unsettle him, enough to make him cling to his dad’s hand and hide his face against the side of Simon’s thigh. Simon stood there, feeling helpless, with one hand cradling the back of Jamie’s small head, the other limply holding his backpack.
“Don’t you want to say ‘hi’ to Miss Protrakis?” Simon tried, and received nothing but a shake of Jamie’s head in response. Sarah, the teacher in question, gave him an understanding smile and knelt next to Jamie.
“Hi, Jamie, it’s time for school. Smart boys and girls go to school, don’t they?”
“Yes,” came Jamie’s whispered response.
“You’re a smart boy, aren’t you?”
Simon’s smile was strained when Sarah glanced up at him quickly. God love this woman for being so patient and kind with kids like Jamie.
“Well, how about you give me your hand, we can wave bye to your dad, and then you can show all the other boys and girls how smart you are today in math class, huh?”
Simon bit back a sigh when Jamie shook his head and refused to look up at his teacher. Sarah stood again, frowning.
“Did something happen this morning to unsettle him?” she asked quietly, and Simon was grateful for the lack of judgment in her words. This woman understood his day-to-day struggles. Nonetheless, Simon fought the wave of guilt he felt, swallowing, and nodded yes as he gently stroked Jamie’s hair. “I forgot to pack his grapes, and we had a little upset when we spilled some juice.” He looked down, trying to get his son’s attention. “Didn’t we, kiddo? But it’s okay. It’s all cleaned up, and we’re ready for school now, aren’t we?”
“There’s millions of oranges,” Jamie replied quietly.
Simon smiled sadly, looking back at the teacher. “I tried to clean his cape, and I startled him.” He swallowed when Sarah nodded in understanding, her expression showing nothing but sympathy and support. “I was stupid and wasn’t thinking—”
“Hey,” she said quietly and touched his arm briefly. “We all slip up. Don’t beat yourself up. You’re a good father.”
To an outsider, her touch may have looked flirtatious, but Sarah knew he was gay and was perhaps one of his closest friends. It was an unexpected friendship, one that, if it was not for Jamie, might not have otherwise formed at all, but nevertheless was genuine and important to him.
He glanced down at his son, who was hugging that damn cape around him, clinging to his leg. “I’ve disrupted his day. He was okay after the juice, but then… perhaps I shouldn’t leave him today?”
“Simon,” Sarah began as if gentling a startled animal. It took him a second to realize that he was that animal; he was a second away from taking his son home to where he’d feel safe. “I know how protective you are of him, but we’ve talked about this. You know how important it is to get him to interact with others while he’s still so young. We have to keep him engaged. It’s difficult, yes, but believe me, we’ve got to push him past his comfort zones, slowly but surely. Ultimately, it’ll make him more independent, self-sufficient. He’ll make more friends, eventually become curious about more than just numbers, and—”
Simon nodded. He understo
od; it was just so fucking hard. “You’re right, you’re right. Jamie?” He tried to carefully pull away from him to catch his son’s gaze, but Jamie stared at the ground. Simon glanced at Sarah and then pulled Jamie off of his leg, holding him gently by the shoulders and going down on his haunches to look him in the eye. “You’re going to be my brave boy today, all right? Daddy wants you to go learn lots of new things. I want you to go with Miss Protrakis.”
Big brown eyes that were sad and not a little bit betrayed looked up at him, and Simon fought against the urge to snap him up in his arms. “Can you do that for me?”
Simon felt his resolve begin to crumble as that little chin started to tremble again, but then Jamie was nodding.
“Okay, Dad.”
Pride, like a goddamn tidal wave, washed clean through him. Until then Jamie had always relied on his father to take him away from situations that unnerved him or made him unhappy. But here he was, doing as he was told first time around, even though it upset him. Simon smiled, glancing past Jamie to where Sarah stood, giving him an approving nod.
“That’s my boy. That’s my big, brave boy. You take Miss Protrakis’s hand, and I’ll be back before you know it. If things get bad, then you tell your teacher, and she’ll call me, okay?”
“Okay,” Jamie echoed.
“Come give me a big hug.”
Jamie tiptoed and wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck, and Simon clenched his jaw tight. He completed the hug, gently cupping the back of Jamie’s head. “I love you, Jamie.”
No response came, and really, he knew better than to expect one, but it always hurt a little when he had to ask. “Do you love Daddy?”
Jamie nodded furiously, and Simon laughed softly. He gently pulled him back, aware that the bell signaling the start of registration had rung some minutes ago, the other children now in class and the playground empty. He kissed Jamie’s cheek, and then slowly picked up the Ninja Turtle backpack and threaded Jamie’s arms through the handles.
“You’re being a good boy, Jamie. Can I have your hand?” Sarah asked, holding out her own. Jamie nodded and slipped his hand into hers. “Wave to your dad.” She waved to show him.
Simon smiled and waved back, watching as Sarah led him up to the double doors that were the school’s entrance. Simon glanced up at the large sign above them.
“Golden Acres School,” and below, in smaller writing, “San Diego’s leading school for Asperger’s Syndrome and Autism.”
He let out a deep breath.
MATTIE was running late. He rushed off of the bus and down the street to the diner he worked at, cursing himself for falling back asleep after turning off his alarm. Being late twice in the span of one week was a surefire way to go about getting your ass canned. And damn, he needed this job. Not that it was particularly interesting or anything, or even remotely gratifying, but it did have its advantages.
It was easy. Any fool could work the sandwich bar at a diner, even one such as himself who couldn’t read or write all that well. The people were nice. In fact, that’s where he’d met Tyler, a full-time employee who worked the cash register and took orders. He knew Mattie was gay, and didn’t care. He knew what Mattie did sometimes to supplement his bills, and didn’t care. He was funny and a general screw up, just like Mattie, and was probably the closest thing to a friend he had.
And then there was, of course, the clientele. In particular, the absolutely gorgeous, adorably quiet, and somewhat nerdy single dad that got him all worked up and hot under the collar every time he came into the diner.
He didn’t talk much, seemed sometimes like he might be carrying the world on his shoulders, and he always sat in the same booth, hunched over his laptop and typing away for hours. Mattie couldn’t pinpoint why he was so head over heels for him, but he was. Oh boy did he carry a torch for this guy.
Tyler liked to tease him, tell him he had a crush on a geek, but he’d just shove the guy in the shoulder and tell him to shut up. Ty was only kidding, finding him and the gay thing in general to be weird, but with an indifferent attitude that made him kind of awesome.
No, he didn’t know exactly what drew him in, but he couldn’t help but blush a little every time the guy ordered himself a sandwich. In fact, when the guy glanced up at Mattie to say thanks before taking his lunch to the cash register to pay, it was probably one of the best parts of his day. He was slim, maybe a fraction taller than Mattie, and always wore a baggy sweatshirt or turtleneck. His hair was short and graying at the temples, and his glasses made him look somewhat distinguished and clever—not geeky. At a guess, Mattie would place him at around thirty-two, a whole six years older than himself, and then there was the whole single dad thing, which just made him want to melt.
He didn’t know what the guy’s deal was. There was no wedding ring, and he’d never seen a woman with him. It was always just him, or him and the cutest little kid you’d ever hope to see. But gay or straight, single or involved, he without a doubt revved Mattie’s engine.
He got the feeling that the kid was… special? He didn’t know the PC term for it. The kid was clearly not dumb. He’d seen him sitting across from his dad, always wearing that cute cape, running his fingers along the menu and slowly reading the lunch special (which was more than he could do, for damn sure). But the kid was… he didn’t know. It was more than shyness that stopped the little guy from even looking at anyone other than his dad. It was something in him that was born that way. Just watching this guy smile at his kid, watching him gently stroke his hair or hold his hand and take him to the bathroom, hit all of Mattie’s mush buttons, and he was man enough to admit he had such buttons.
So, yeah, the place had its advantages. It was just a shame that the pay was for shit. Renting a tiny apartment and sharing a bathroom with ten other people was quite costly, believe it or not. And then there was the cost of his canvases and paint supplies, but he got around that. Mattie shook his head and pushed the door to the diner open, the familiar bell ringing above his head.
“Hey, the boss around?” he asked Tyler as he ducked behind the sandwich bar and shoved his jacket under the counter.
“Nah, you lucked out.”
“Sorry to leave you hanging.” There was only Tyler and himself in the diner. Though undoubtedly the waitress, Daphne, was out back having a quick smoke, and Jules, the overweight, introverted chef who he occasionally helped out, was probably reading the paper in the kitchen.
“It’s not like they’re lining up around the corner, Matt, so no worries. Just don’t let Don catch you coming in late again.”
Tyler was counting the cash register, the black apron with the simple “Don’s Diner” logo hanging loose from his neck. Having finished counting, he closed the register and then pulled the strings of the apron around his body to tie at the front. He nodded toward the door. “Flip the sign, would you?”
“Sure.” Mattie looped an identical apron around his neck and flipped the sign to say “open.” “I’ll come in early tomorrow and help you set up, promise.”
“Cool.” Ty slapped him on the shoulder as he walked by with a couple of refilled napkin dispensers, and set them on the tables. “Hey.” Ty looked up, leaning against one of the tables. “There’s this band, ‘Residue’, playing at the Noisy Cricket tonight. You want to come check it out with me?”
Mattie shrugged. “Na, I can’t. Thanks, though.”
“Sure? I know you don’t like that bar but they’re supposed to be good, kind of a cross between Rage Against The Machine and the Chili Peppers.”
No, he didn’t like that bar, though he’d never enlightened Ty as to why. He breathed out heavily through his nose as he started to slice open the baguettes and butter them. He pictured the rope inside of him, or what he thought of as the coil. He always thought of the coil when his thoughts strayed into not-so-great memories. It was at the Noisy Cricket that he’d picked up his first… what? Customer? Client? He shook his head minutely. He didn’t want to give them a label, didn’t want
to make it in any way official. All the same, he didn’t go there, to that bar, anymore.
“I can’t, got… stuff to do.”
“Oh.”
Mattie looked up and saw the brief look of comprehension on his friend’s face. There was no judgment, but perhaps a hint of pity, which in a way was worse, but Ty would never be unkind to him. Mattie bit the inside of his cheek as Ty walked over to lean against the sandwich bar, glancing at the diner entrance to check that no customers were about to walk in. His voice was quiet, understanding.
“You need to borrow some cash, Mattie?”
The coil inside him pulled tighter, the thick rope with its frayed ends creaking and burning around what he supposed was him in the middle. His jaw clenched, but he glanced at Ty when his hand touched his shoulder.
“It’s okay. Tips have been good this week. What do you need?”
He forced a smile. This was Ty after all, and it wouldn’t do to snap at the one good friend he had.
He made minimum wage shifting boxes, cleaning the bathrooms, and making sandwiches, and obviously, the cash didn’t stretch too far. It always came back to money. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have any higher aspirations. He’d love to be doing something else, something better paid, but seeing as he couldn’t fucking read or write like a normal twenty-six-year-old, he was staying put for the foreseeable future. But he was working on changing his circumstances, attending night classes for illiterate adults at the central library at 820 E Street, only a bus ride away. But those classes were not free, and neither were his paint supplies. And he had to paint; sometimes it was the only thing that would let the rope go slack. All of these things, the vital and his one indulgence, cost more than what minimum wage provided. So, he made money another way while juggling the low self-esteem and self-hatred that came along with it.
The Coil Page 2