He Smiled At Me
The privileges and damages of autistic masking
Today a man came into the restaurant. I had never seen him before, but apparently others had. They told me not to talk to him and I didn’t. He paid in coins and rocked in his seat as he ate. I don’t think they could tell, but I could. I know my own face. I wonder if they would be wary of me too if I didn’t break down and rebuild every morning and night. If I told them, I don’t think they’d believe me. I don’t believe them. They show themselves scared but I can see the way their lips curl down. The way they pull up their noses. I don’t think they’re scared. They told me not to let him order again, but he never tried. He looked thin, but then again I never knew him before or since. I tell myself I said something. That I took my fifteen and sat catty-corner from him, and we talked and ate and rocked in our seats. I’m going on my smoke break.