The Beautiful Logic and Symmetry of Autism

Monday was a perfect may day. Low humidity, a gentle breeze, a prime day during rush hour to drive up 128 to Milton for Billy’s haircut. Billy missed his March appointment due to a yet to be explained saucer black dilated eyes that can warp his personality and spirit disrupting all normal routines. For twenty years, Billy has had his hair cut by Robin. It wasn’t always a smooth ride. As a baby I held Billy on my lap and he screamed as Robin did her best to give him the current style. Billy, the little boy, could sit independently in the stylist’s chair as long as the sweet treats lasted the duration. As a middle schooler, the treats were healthier and Billy tolerated the experience on his needed terms. A few choice pinches for me, arm dismissals at Robin’s pointed scissors, timely abrupt departures to circle back to the chair, and an insistence on spraying his hair with water until his chair and Robin’s dog Petie were thoroughly saturated.

At the ripe old age of 20, Billy had mastered all the finer points of a haircut. Despite the initial review of every room, closet and yes the refrigerator in Robin’s lovely home, Billy was by all accounts fine. On this early Monday evening, Billy held a whole foods lime green bag loaded with relatively healthier treats, his device, the outlet cord, and three mini Poland Spring waters. In his other hand, Billy saddled over his shoulder his backup device in its black case. For “ray ban” Billy, carrying heavy objects is no big deal. Blonde hair long enough to flip and wave in every direction around his face and neck, Billy and I once again walked together down the driveway and up the steps to the backdoor.

And then in an instance, the whole picture changed. As was his custom, Billy opened the unlocked backdoor. The basement salon, however, was dark. There was no movement, no music, no broadcast of Oprah on the little white TV, no Robin sweeping the hair up from the last appointment greeting Billy with a big smile. There was hollow silence. Billy peered down the stairs and then proceeded to enter the once lit, upbeat hair salon. He scanned the premise and then walked back up the stairs and shut the backdoor behind him. He placed his bags on the patio table and reclined on the lounge chair. This was my cue that we would wait for Robin

Frankly, I was distressed. Billy’s reaction to leaving without a haircut could be ugly. But my tension mounted even more thinking about what could have happened to Robin. In twenty years, she had never stood us up. There was no reassuring precedent. Standing on the edge of the deck, I knew I had to remain cool, calm and collected so Billy would go with the flow. On the other hand I wanted to race into the house to see if Robin was okay. Thinking she might be sick, I dialed her number three times only to get a very loud voice message echoing out to the patio. So I decided to take Billy’s approach, assume she took the dog for a walk and would be back shortly. Thirty minutes passed and Billy seemed peacefully immersed in the gentle breeze moving through the canopy of trees. As I observed Billy’s almost languid demeanor, I realized how coiled my brain was. Feet up, Billy rested on the lounge chair while I stood teetering on the edge of the deck with my cell phone glued to my sweaty palm

As thirty minutes became an hour, I knew I had to inform Billy that the haircut was cancelled. What I said to Billy was that Robin was not here and that we would come back next week. And I looked Billy straight in the eyes and made a vow “i promise Billy”. Billy returned my searing gaze and then held his hand over his hair as if to say “you promise?” I repeated, “I promise Billy that next week Billy will get a haircut!” The promise was sealed.

Billy sat down at the wrought iron table and methodically opened his lime green whole food bag. First he ate his three brioche rolls. The next ziplock bag contained three apple fruit bars which he ate and then neatly placed all the wrappers and other paper articles in the bag. In a saloon guzzle, Billy downed the three Poland Spring waters and then crushed them as if he were at a raucous frat party. All items were stuffed into the same zipper lock bag. Billy stood up and opened up Robins backdoor and left the bagged refuse on the ledge leading to “Robin’s nest”.

Without a hitch, Billy and I returned to the car and drove home. Later that evening, Robin called to apologize for leaving Billy and me stranded. Her father had died. No apology needed. As we concluded this sad phone call, I told Robin that her dad must have known about her oversight and somehow made sure that peace prevailed.

Later that night, I thought about all the lessons taught and learned that were highlighted to me on that warm may evening at Robins’ house.

What came to mind?

Billy learned the meaning of a promise.

He learned what a message was.

He learned that it was meaningful to listen to a message.

He learned to trust the messenger.

He learned the concept of next week.

He learned that “shit happens” and that’s okay.

He learned that no schedule is fool proof.

He learned to be comfortable trying new approaches.

And I learned from Billy how to relish those wisps of serenity.