don’t usually talk. Didn’t I mention that? No? Well, you know now.
“Thank you for everything.” I’m already cringing and pulling away from the emotion I see on her face, blegh. She can tell I can’t deal anymore and simply nods, quickly walking away and closing the door behind her. Yeah, I don’t deal so well with emotions. I get them, intellectually, but they are messy and usually unpredictable and always irritating.
I’m itching to get back to work. I’m a computer programmer and I’m working on a code right now for a sandbox PC video game. I love my work. I’m exceedingly good at it and it’s made me exceedingly rich. Now if only I could keep the help. I click open yet another email. This one from a Morgan McKendrick.
Hello Haden,
I imagine mine is probably one among hundreds of replies you’ve received, but thanks for taking the time to read it anyway .
I’ve spent my life in foster care so I’m well versed in any type of housekeeping you might need and I actually love to cook. I’ve never had the opportunity to fully indulge my creativity but I can make the simple things and make them well.
I do write a bit. I’d enjoy having the time to do it some more.
I don’t mind the seclusion, I prefer the quiet actually.
I don’t mean to step on your toes, but I know there’s more you’re not saying because it takes someone pretty desperate to get on cl and post an ad for a random stranger to come live with them. So, I just want you to know I’m open minded and easy going, so long as it’s not hurting anyone or against the law, I’m happy to adjust to whatever the situation.
I’m also available to go whenever so give me a call if you think we might be a good fit. Numbers at the bottom.
Wish you luck.
Morgan
She’s perfect. I need to get mom up here so she can do the interview. I don’t talk, remember? She sent the email last night so hopefully she’s still interested. I scramble downstairs and find my mom sitting at the table with the kid coloring. She sees me and I wave her back upstairs with me. I usher her into my chair and show her the open email on my desktop.
“You want me to call her? Now?” I nod enthusiastically. She gets up to go sit in the other chair by the phone and I resume my seat. I pull up a word document so I can type questions or comments I want her to make during the call. She dials and puts it on speaker.
“Hello?” Oh. It’s a guy. I thought it would be a chick. Huh. Does that matter? Nope. My mom seems startled as well so I wave at her to continue.
She stumbles through a halting explanation, “oh, um, hello. I’m Sarah and I’m calling about the email you send to Haden, is this Morgan?”
“Um, hi, yeah, that’s me. Uh, thanks… thanks for calling.” He sounded young. Even younger than me. My mom starts with the standard description.
“Of course. Haden is my son and is autistic.”
Silence. You can tell a lot about people when you just spring it on them before they have time to mask or manipulate their true reactions.
“Yes, ma’am.” Um. Okay. My mom gives me a raised eyebrow and I lift my shoulders. I don’t know what to make of his response either. No judgement, no questions. Just simple… acceptance? HA! Laughable concept. My mom starts talking again.
“He has preferences for how he prefers things done and if they are not followed to the letter the result is generally volatile.”
Silence. Again. Then, “Yes, ma’am.” Who WAS this guy? He should be freaking out and asking a bunch of questions. Without knowing what else to do my mom continues.
“In addition to being autistic, Haden suffers from agoraphobia, anxiety attacks and PTSD.”
Something different this time, “I’m sorry ma’am, that’s an awful lot for one guy to shoulder.” Huh. My mom and I stare at each other. This guy is unbelievably too good to be true. Doesn’t
“Thank you for everything.” I’m already cringing and pulling away from the emotion I see on her face, blegh. She can tell I can’t deal anymore and simply nods, quickly walking away and closing the door behind her. Yeah, I don’t deal so well with emotions. I get them, intellectually, but they are messy and usually unpredictable and always irritating.
I’m itching to get back to work. I’m a computer programmer and I’m working on a code right now for a sandbox PC video game. I love my work. I’m exceedingly good at it and it’s made me exceedingly rich. Now if only I could keep the help. I click open yet another email. This one from a Morgan McKendrick.
Hello Haden,
I imagine mine is probably one among hundreds of replies you’ve received, but thanks for taking the time to read it anyway .
I’ve spent my life in foster care so I’m well versed in any type of housekeeping you might need and I actually love to cook. I’ve never had the opportunity to fully indulge my creativity but I can make the simple things and make them well.
I do write a bit. I’d enjoy having the time to do it some more.
I don’t mind the seclusion, I prefer the quiet actually.
I don’t mean to step on your toes, but I know there’s more you’re not saying because it takes someone pretty desperate to get on cl and post an ad for a random stranger to come live with them. So, I just want you to know I’m open minded and easy going, so long as it’s not hurting anyone or against the law, I’m happy to adjust to whatever the situation.
I’m also available to go whenever so give me a call if you think we might be a good fit. Numbers at the bottom.
Wish you luck.
Morgan
She’s perfect. I need to get mom up here so she can do the interview. I don’t talk, remember? She sent the email last night so hopefully she’s still interested. I scramble downstairs and find my mom sitting at the table with the kid coloring. She sees me and I wave her back upstairs with me. I usher her into my chair and show her the open email on my desktop.
“You want me to call her? Now?” I nod enthusiastically. She gets up to go sit in the other chair by the phone and I resume my seat. I pull up a word document so I can type questions or comments I want her to make during the call. She dials and puts it on speaker.
“Hello?” Oh. It’s a guy. I thought it would be a chick. Huh. Does that matter? Nope. My mom seems startled as well so I wave at her to continue.
She stumbles through a halting explanation, “oh, um, hello. I’m Sarah and I’m calling about the email you send to Haden, is this Morgan?”
“Um, hi, yeah, that’s me. Uh, thanks… thanks for calling.” He sounded young. Even younger than me. My mom starts with the standard description.
“Of course. Haden is my son and is autistic.”
Silence. You can tell a lot about people when you just spring it on them before they have time to mask or manipulate their true reactions.
“Yes, ma’am.” Um. Okay. My mom gives me a raised eyebrow and I lift my shoulders. I don’t know what to make of his response either. No judgement, no questions. Just simple… acceptance? HA! Laughable concept. My mom starts talking again.
“He has preferences for how he prefers things done and if they are not followed to the letter the result is generally volatile.”
Silence. Again. Then, “Yes, ma’am.” Who WAS this guy? He should be freaking out and asking a bunch of questions. Without knowing what else to do my mom continues.
“In addition to being autistic, Haden suffers from agoraphobia, anxiety attacks and PTSD.”
Something different this time, “I’m sorry ma’am, that’s an awful lot for one guy to shoulder.” Huh. My mom and I stare at each other. This guy is unbelievably too good to be true. Doesn’t
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