Page 19 of Role Model

Dr Mars is waiting for me when I arrive.

“I thought you could spend some decompression time in the SEN Space this morning? Instead of form time?”

And while every part of me has been brutally trained to reject any sort of help, I nod gratefully. She leads me there and Txai is already waiting. He looks at me with such sympathy, I feel a sudden flash of anger.

“So, you’ve heard about it,” I say stiffly, sitting down at the table and pulling some paper and pens towards me.

“Yeah,” he says. “A few people are talking about it.”

“You mean everyone is talking about it,” I correct, glancing over at Dr Mars. She’s by her desk, checking something on her monitor.

“Well, a lot of people were invited to Sable’s,” he 150 allows. “Not me, obviously.”

“You did not miss anything,” I say. “It was–”

I stop myself as a prefect suddenly enters the room, smiling at Dr Mars. He brings some papers to her and then drops a stack of posters on our table with a flourish. As he leaves, Txai pulls one towards us.

Winter Dance This Friday: 7pm. Dress to Impress!

I think of the lavender dress in my wardrobe.

“Oh, Aeriel, I was meant to let you know,” Dr Mars suddenly speaks and I glance up at her expectantly.

“Your dad and your, erm, team? Is that what to call them? They called to say that there will be a film crew at the dance on Friday. They’re making a short film about you because of, you know, your public speaking. And I was to let you know.”

Txai makes a noise of distaste but I can only blink at Dr Mars in horror. “Don’t I get a say?”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “Your dad said it was okay when we spoke last week.”

I feel like screaming but I just grab a piece of paper instead. “Okay,” I mumble.

“So, Friday?” Txai says after a few moments of silence. “I thought… I mean, I don’t know. But. I thought maybe 151 we could go together?”

Dr Mars stops typing for a second but she quickly resumes, trying to pretend that she’s not listening to our hushed conversation.

“What do you mean?” I ask, speaking quietly so that Dr Mars cannot eavesdrop.

“It’s, like, a formal thing. My mum’s making me wear a tie and she said I should ask someone I like to go with me. So, I’m asking you.”

I feel myself filling with embarrassment, but it’s for all the wrong reasons. I like Txai. I think spending an evening with him sounds like so much fun, especially after what we did on Primrose Hill. But all I can see in my head are the faces that Sable, Jaya and Ana will make.

“Txai, I can’t.”

His face falls. “You can’t.”

“No.”

“Because… you don’t like me?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s… I’m kind of going with my friends.”

“Your friends,” he repeats, with obvious disdain.

“Yes,” I say, making sure to sound stern. “We have this colour blocking thing planned. We’re all going in pastels.”

152 “That sounds,” he shrugs and moves his chair away from me, “very neurotypical, congratulations.”

“Don’t,” I say.

“Why should you and I care about what they think? Why should any autistic kid be forced to–”

“Txai!” I snap. “Stop. It’s fine for you.

Your family accepts you. Your mum is a nurse, she understands you.

Mine doesn’t. She thinks I have complete control over being autistic.

If I allow any of it to slip out of my brain, I’ve failed.

You have no idea what that’s like. I am always performing.

I am always performing. And I am exhausted. ”

He hears the hurt in my voice and his anger diminishes slightly. “Aeriel–”

“Do you know what they say about me?” I say, and my voice is no more than a whisper. “The people who watch me on the news and read about me in the papers?”

“Yes,” he says indignantly. “They say you’re an inspiration. And a role model. And the best thing since who knows what. They worship you.”

“And what else?”

He understands my meaning. “Aeriel–”

“Some of them say I’m cringe. Or wicked because I’m not exactly like the autistic person they know.

153 Or a liar. Or a freak. They say the most awful things and they don’t even know me.

And they make sure to stop treating me like a person.

Because if they remembered that I’m a person, they might actually feel bad about the awful things they say.

I’m one autistic kid. But, suddenly, I have to be all autistic kids.

When I can’t. I can only be me. And I don’t even really know how to be me… ”

“Aeriel, please don’t be upset. You’re great! Just as you are. I don’t know that girl on the news, I know you. And I think you’re way better.”

“No,” I breathe, staring at my hands. Hands I have ordered to be still. “I’m only allowed to be autistic if I’m inspirational. And it’s killing me.”

At some point during my silly little speech, Dr Mars has approached the desk.

She slides a piece of paper towards me and her silent message is clear.

I should write it all down. All of these feelings that are inside of me.

The voices, the opinions, the wasps in the jar – they’ve escaped their cage and are inside of me now.

In my own head. Filling me with broken glass and hurt and I can’t shut them out.

“There’s nothing wrong with us,” Txai tells me and his voice is delicate and far away. “We’re just outnumbered. But that doesn’t mean we don’t add 154 up. We shouldn’t apologise for wanting to be heard. For who we really are. They need to listen for once.”

“Txai,” I say dejectedly. “Ever since being diagnosed, people have made me feel like it’s wrong. Or that I should shut up and never speak about it, because there are so many kids who have it worse. According to them.”

“Stuff that! We don’t tell people they can’t wear glasses because some people can’t see at all.”

He waits for me to speak and when I don’t, he lets out a sigh.

“I’m going to the library,” he says, sounding defeated. “But Aeriel? Those girls aren’t your friends. Trust me.”

He leaves. I fiddle with some Blu Tack, twisting it with my fingers and pulling it apart.

I know he’s right. I know something needs to change.

I stare at the pen for a moment and then pick it up.

Dear Autism,

I can’t keep writing letters like this to you.

Because you’re not this separate thing. You’re all of me.

And I’ve been hearing the same thing since becoming famous, if that’s what you can even call it.

People telling me not to let my autism define 155 me.

“Oh, don’t let it define you”, they say.

Again and again. And I don’t like that. It feels like they’re telling me not to mention it.

Or feel it. Or talk about it. And that’s all I want to do.

I want to be free, like the spirit in the Shakespeare play.

But I have to set myself free. And so I need to set you free.

You’re not this other part of me, you’re me. And I’m you.

I’ve said so many terrible things about you, the whole world has. But you’ve never said a bad word about me. Not once.

All of this happened because I wanted a friend. I find life so lonely. I find it so mysterious. I want someone to walk with me through the mist and over the mountain and out of the shadow. I want us to laugh. I want us to tell each other about what we’re interested in. I don’t want to be alone.

So I have to be a friend to myself. And remember that you are always on my side. You are here. You are the stardust. It’s not the flower’s fault that the soil is bad. We just need better soil.

I’ll find it for us. I’ll be stronger.

I’ll teach us to fly.

Aeriel