Once upon a time, several adults sat in a conference room talking about a boy named Jacob Grist. The conference room was blindingly bright due to the overhead florescent lights, as if everyone were caught in a perpetual camera flash, and the room’s orange carpet was worn and smelled of countless boring conversations. The long, wooden table at which the people sat had several swears etched into its top. The room sometimes served as a detention hall, and students, often bored or angry—or bored andangry—would alleviate that boredom and anger by writing unkind words on the table.
Sitting at the head of the conference table was a man named William Warner. He was the head of the Special Education Department at the Mystic Island Middle School, which is where Jacob Grist went to school. William Warner looked like he might be a used car salesman. He had thinning hair that was slicked back with a shining ooze of pomade, strikingly white teeth, and a thin mustache. His face had jowls that distracted from a once prominent cleft in his chin.
William Warner said to the people gathered around the conference table, “Today is October 1st, 2007, and we are here for the three-year reevaluation of Jacob Grist’s Individual Education Plan. It is our job to reassess Jacob’s eligibility for special education services.” Here he flashed an ultra-white smile and he gestured to the group of people at the table as if they were a used Corvette on a showroom floor. He said, “I thank you all for coming to this meeting. You are all integral pieces to Jacob’s success. And, as is tradition at the beginning of our IEP meetings, I ask that each member of this team now introduce himself or herself.” Warner motioned to the woman seated to his left. “And we can start with Jacob’s mother, Joanne.” Warner’s crooked, ultra-white smile widened and he said, “Whoops. I suppose if she is to introduce herself, then I shouldn’t do it for her.” He laughed, but no one joined him in the laughter. He cleared his throat and gestured to Joanne Walsh again, saying, “So, take it away, Mrs. Walsh.”
The woman seated on William Warner’s left was indeed Jacob’s mother, Joanne Walsh. She had a different last name than Jacob because Jacob’s father had died and Joanne had married another man with another last name. Joanne Walsh was a very pretty woman. Once, some may have even considered her vibrant, but it now looked as if life had worn away a great deal of vitality from her features. She had long, chestnut hair that she wore in a haphazard ponytail, and she no longer bothered to wear makeup. Joanne allowed what some might call a “Mona Lisa smile” to creep across her lips. Joanne’s dark eyes had a touch of shame and embarrassment in them as she looked at the other people seated around the table. She said, “I’m Joanne Walsh, Jacob’s mother.”
Joanne looked at the man that was sitting on her left. This man had thick black hair and a horseshoe mustache that ran down the sides of his mouth. The man was a rugged looking, blue-collar type. He was Jacob’s stepfather and it was his turn to introduce himself, but he did not introduce himself right away. Instead, he glanced around the table in silence. Then he said, “Dennis Walsh. Stepfather.”
Dennis did not bother to look at the woman to his left to prompt her for an introduction. The woman spoke in a high, squeaky voice. Some have described this woman’s voice as being like fingernails down a chalkboard. This woman said, “I’m Martha Dell. I’m Jacob’s math teacher.”
Ms. Dell looked to the next person, which was a tall, thin man. He was dressed casually for a teacher. He had shaggy, brown hair and a couple of days’ worth of growth on his chin. This man was Jacob’s art teacher.
Dennis had disdain for the art teacher, too.
The man said, “I’m John Berkley, Jacob’s art teacher.”
Sitting on John Berkley’s left was a very attractive, young, blond woman. This woman was the school’s psychologist. John Berkley looked at the woman to prompt her introduction.
The woman had ice-blue eyes and a warm smile. The woman said, “I’m Amanda Lansing, the school psychologist.”
There was no one for Amanda to prompt for an introduction, because the person to her left was William Warner, meaning it was his turn to speak, and William Warner rarely passed up an opportunity to speak. He said, “Okay, good, now that the introductions are done, we can get down to the business at hand. That business being the reevaluation of Jacob’s IEP. And because this is the three-year reevaluation, we retested Jacob for a better understanding of his cognitive and psychological makeup. And it was our esteemed colleague, Ms. Lansing, here”—William Warner gestured toward the school psychologist as if she were another Corvette in a showroom—“that did the testing. So, without further ado, let’s hear what Ms. Lansing has to say about our friend Jacob.”
Amanda Lansing opened a file and took out a report. She paused a moment, glanced around the table with her warm smile, and then read the report. “Jacob Grist is a thirteen year old male attending school here at the Mystic Island Middle School. Jacob is diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, a high-functioning form of autism. Jacob’s parents are concerned that Jacob’s lack of focus is greatly interfering with his academics.” Amanda paused again and glanced up from her report to look at Joanne Walsh.
Joanne saw that everyone at the table was looking at her. Ashamed, Joanne looked down at the table. She saw a statement etched into the edge of the wooden table. The statement was: PRINCIPAL COOPER IS A DICK.
Amanda Lansing continued with her report. Amanda saying, “Jacob’s parents are also concerned that Jacob is having problems with the social dynamics of school. And that he may be the target of bullying.”
Joanne looked up from the table and said, “He may be?” She said this in a sarcastic tone.
Amanda Lansing did not respond to Joanne Walsh’s sarcasm. Instead. She said, “The testing shows that Jacob is highly intelligent, but easily distracted.”
Dennis Walsh flashed his bitter glare toward Amanda Lansing. Dennis saying, “Easily distracted. Is that shrink jargon for lazy?”
Amanda Lansing’s ice-blue gaze snapped to Dennis, forcing his eyes from her cleavage. Amanda said, “Often those with Asperger’s Syndrome are easily distracted. And I certainly found in my testing that Jacob was having great difficulty focusing on the tests.”
“Did you wear that shirt when testing him?” Dennis asked.
“Excuse me?” Ms. Lansing said. Her tone was a mix of shock and anger, and she arched her right eyebrow.
“I’m just saying,” Dennis said, “some might find that shirt distracting.”
William Warner put up his hands and said, “Okay. Okay. Let’s stick to the report here.”
“I thought we were,” Dennis said. “I’m just questioning the test’s authenticity.”
“I don’t see what my shirt—” Amanda Lansing began to say, but William Warner interrupted her.
William Warner saying, “Okay. Okay. Like I said, we need to stick to Ms. Lansing’s testing results. So please continue, Ms. Lansing.”
William Warner then glanced at Dennis and gave him a very slight, sly grin.
Amanda Lansing took a deep breath, her bosom rising and lowering in her low-cut shirt. She cleared her throat and said, “What I do find interesting about Jacob is that, although many people with Asperger’s Syndrome have poor motor skills, Jacob is an exceptional artist.”
Dennis muttered, “No, he’s an exceptional doodler. He doodles when he should be doing his homework.”
John Berkley said, “Jacob has a gift. I have never seen an artist like him. His sketches take on an almost life-like quality. When the light hits them right, you would almost swear that the drawings move. And he certainly has great focus when it comes to his art. It’s almost trance-like.”
Dennis looked over at the art teacher. Dennis saying, “Yeah, you’re right, Mr. Art Teacher, trance-like is a good term for it. When Jacob is supposed to do his homework, he goes into a trance. When Jacob is supposed to do his chores, he goes into a trance. It’s called selective hearing. Jacob is lazy. And he’s weird.”
Joanne placed her hand on her husband’s forearm. Joanne saying, “Dennis, please.”
Dennis took his arm from under his wife’s hand, Dennis saying, “No, it’s true. All these people talk like they somehow know Jacob more than we do. They talk about these”—Dennis made what are known as air-quotes with his fingers— “‘trances’ like they’re something other than a kid just being lazy.”
Dennis then said, “What Jacob needs is a swift kick in the rear to wake him up.”
Amanda Lansing said, “People with Asperger’s Syndrome are generally hyper-focused on some things, while at the same time, they can be completely unaware of other aspects of the day-to-day world. Aspects that we take for granted.”
“And you know, that’s another thing,” Dennis said. “Who even says that Jacob has this Asperger’s thing?” Dennis gestured toward Amanda’s cleavage. “You even said it yourself, these Asperger’s people can barely write, never mind draw like Jacob can draw. Have you seen him twirl a pencil in his fingers? You call that a lack of motor skills? I don’t buy what you’re selling here, lady.”
Amanda said, “Twirling the pencil is known as a stim, or a self stimulatory behavior, and—”
“Uh-uh, no,” Dennis said, shaking his head. “I don’t buy it. He’s just a weird kid.”
Joanne flinched at her husband’s statement.
Dennis glanced at his wife, Dennis saying to his wife, “Sorry, Honey, but he is. And he’s lazy. And it’s nothing to do with Asperger’s or autism, or any of these other ADHD, QRST, whatevers. He’d just rather draw than do his work. Hell, there’s things I’d rather be doing than working, too.”
Joanne said under her breath, “You’re notworking.”
Dennis glared at his wife. For a moment, it looked as though he may actually have wanted to strike her. Joanne looked down at the carved sentiment about Principal Cooper being a dick. Dennis looked around at the others at the table, Dennis saying, almost apologetically, “I’m out on disability.”
John Berkley said, “Mr. Walsh, Jacob is gifted like no one I’ve ever seen before. We need to foster that gift.”
Dennis raised his eyebrows and looked at the art teacher. Dennis saying, “Foster his gift? At what price? His not being able to function in the real world? Jacob needs to learn to fit in.” Dennis glanced again at his wife. Dennis saying to Joanne, “You said it yourself. He needs to fit in. Right?”
Joanne looked up from the table and said, “I just want my son to be happy.”
While Joanne was saying this in the school’s conference room, across the school,
in a classroom, students were seated in rows of bicycle desks, each student bored to death, each student pretending to listen to a dusty, old teacher that was prattling on about history. The dusty, old teacher’s name was Ms. Washington, and she was tall and built like a column, her feminine curves long since diminished by time.
Ms. Washington was reading from a textbook. She was teaching the class about the Roman Empire. Jacob Grist was seated five rows back, nestled almost in the back of the classroom. He had a slight build and thick, dark, curly hair. His eyes were so dark that it was sometimes difficult to locate his pupils.
The other students at least pretended they were listening to dusty, old Ms. Washington prattle on about Rome, but Jacob wasn’t even looking in the teacher’s direction. Instead, Jacob stared down at a sketchpad open atop his desk. If someone had been walking past Jacob at that moment, he or she might see that the page of the sketchpad Jacob was looking at was blank. But it was not blank to Jacob. He could already see a drawing on that page. And he was about to bring that drawing into being.
Jacob exhibited a habit when looking at blank pages in his sketchpad. He would spin his pencil through his fingers, the pencil dipping and dancing between each finger before twirling around his pinky and up through his digits again, faster and faster until, without breaking pace, Jacob would put the pencil’s point to paper and bring a picture into existence.
While Jacob drew his picture, Ms. Washington continued her lesson about the Roman Empire, relating stories from a textbook sanitized of any unpleasantness, telling the students about how the Roman Empire was tolerant of other religions.
The students that were sitting in the desks close to Jacob were beginning to crane their necks to see what it was that Jacob was drawing in his sketchpad. Some of the students had expressions on their faces that looked nervous. Other students had looks that were amused. A small current of giggles came from the amused group. Gasps came from the nervous group.
The students’ sudden activity brought a halt to Ms. Washington’s lesson. She strode over to Jacob Grist’s desk and looked down at the drawing in his sketchpad. Ms. Washington now gasped, and it was this gasp that broke Jacob from his trance-like state.
Jacob looked around the room, noticing the students gathered around him. And then he looked at Ms. Washington standing over him, her hand covering her mouth. He looked down at the drawing on the desk before him.
The drawing on Jacob’s desk was of a giant gorilla with thick, coarse hair, bulging muscles, insane eyes, and maniacal teeth that protruded from a frothing, rabid mouth. In one of the gorilla’s giant hands was one of Jacob’s classmates. The classmate was a wiry, compact kid with freckles and gelled hair. His name was Tommy Rogers.
Actually, it might be wrong to say that the gorilla held Tommy in its giant hand. It held Tommy’s torsoin that hand. Tommy’s head was in the gorilla’s other hand, as if the gorilla had popped Tommy’s head off like a child popping off the head of a dandelion. Blood poured from Tommy’s neck, and the expression on Tommy’s decapitated head was one of wide-eyed, cartoonish confusion.
To Be Continued…
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