30 days of me just sharing whatever pops in this head for Autism Month. Unedited. Untouched. Just rambling that kinda makes sense. Rants that make no sense. But there’s a story in there somewhere.
RUNNING WATER
I don’t care much for water…
Puddle water
Pond water
Reservoir water
Drain water
Bath water
Sink water
Dog bowl water
Hot dog water
Cup noodle water
Ice cold water
Clear glass half full, half empty water
Rainwater that pools in shallow fields, ditches, or flower beds
Nah, none of that.
Water that’s large enough to hold vessels that carry people
Water that houses creatures big enough to swallow men
Nah, I don’t do either
Water that’s led by the wind
Water that minds the moon
Water that races through rocks like it has some place to be
And yet always late
Running water
In showers
In faucets that fill sinks for stained dishes
Water that falls from cliffs
Nah, I don’t do that either
They say minds like mine find water every time
When we wander, they say, “check the ponds” “there’s a stream a few miles that way…”
They go, “Something about water draws them”
“The water calls to them in some way”
Deep.
And shallow.
Deep for the “calling”
Shallow for the “some way”
A non-answer for a question that could have many answers.
Why water?
For them?
And not for me?
Outside of a remedy for dry tongue.
Or biological necessity.
Water is of no use to me.
An odd thing to doubt one’s diagnosis over.
The allure of water has never made its way to me.
So, I don’t fit this spectrum. This isn’t a diagnosis for me.
Water makes a noise I cannot get past.
All water.
It moves in a way that stirs my spirit. Causes unease.
I don’t drink from clear cups. I don’t want to see the water.
I don’t take baths. I don’t want to see pooled water.
My parents have a pool.
I challenge myself to stand outside beside it. My mind is a war zone quickly filling with water as my niece tries to tell me something about her dinosaur.
I caught half of it.
Less than half.
Okay none.
I smile and say, “ohhhhhh that’s awesome!”
And hope it fits with what she said.
My son wants no part of water.
He takes after his mama.
He’s the kind of Autistic that people would spot from the moment he enters a room.
They don’t always know “it’s Autism” but they know something about him is different than them.
They don’t need to know in what way.
They just know that he is.
He doesn’t like water.
I wonder if he doesn’t like water how I don’t like water?
This is a secret he won’t reveal as he cements his feet in the ground when water is near.
Took us about an hour to get him to touch the far end of the sand at the beach. You know that sand that mixes with the greenery on your way from your car?
That part of the beach.
We take the long route around the park because a large pond sits at its center.
There was no feeding the ducks for us.
Water, he isn’t drawn to.
And yet he’s Autistic af.
Visibly. Wholly. Unapologetically.
Pulling from my son to validate my place on within this spectrum wasn’t something I ever thought I would do…and yet, there I was.
“Aight, he don’t like water, so it’s cool.”
The whole time though, the mind that is drawn to the water can be a mind that is repelled by it as well.
Running water.
The way my mind has made an enemy of water could very well be one of the reasons I belong where I belong.
Autistic.