The Meridians by Michaelbrent Collings

thunderhead wherever they went. There were autistics who loved Sesame Street, and those who would pitch a fit if they didn't get to watch their favorite crime drama each week. There were even those who - like Kevin - were young enough that they had not yet developed completely, so whose futures were a nearly closed book, with only the barest hints of plot and characterization visible from the cover of the children's present actions.
    Christian, Doris' son, was one of the best kids that Lynette had ever met. Like all autistic people, he suffered from an inability to interact socially on the same level as most people his age. But unlike other twelve year olds, who could be self-absorbed and egocentric to the point of being nauseating, Christian seemed to exist only to help others. He might not look at you while he was doing it, but whenever a job needed doing, there would be Christian, quietly helping to clean a room with his mother, or setting out the table settings at a picnic bench, or simply being near the smaller children and calling whenever one of them wandered too close to a street or other source of possible danger.
    Doris' daughter, Ashton, was equally beautiful, though she did not suffer from the restrictions - or receive the blessings - of autism. She was a precocious four, a friend to all. Often at the park days hosted by the local FOAC - or Families of Autistic Children - Ashton would see a stranger walking by a block away and would call repeatedly to the person, saying "Hi, Mister," or "Hi, Miss," until the person either wandered out of eyesight or finally turned and returned the greeting. When the latter occurred, Ashton invariably turned to whatever adults were near and reported with large eyes, "That's my new best friend." Then she would laugh and scurry off to play with someone on the monkey bars and within seconds would make a new new best friend, and would do the same thing over and over.
    Nor was the little girl acting out or being silly: she truly seemed to believe that everyone was a great person who was not only capable of being a friend, but worth being her best friend.
    They were both beautiful children, and their mother was no less wonderful. Often, on days where Kevin would not look at her, would not do anything but stubbornly insist on playing with his cars, or lining up blocks in perfect parallels that stretched all the way across the living room and kitchen, Lynette would call Doris, and the older woman would always be there to commiserate with and comfort her.
    "Magic, magic, magic!" shouted the magician. Like many magicians, the man wore a tuxedo. Unlike most, however, his tux was bright yellow, with a cherry cummerbund and a forest green bow tie. He was like a walking Kodak commercial. "Magic, magic, magic time! Come and be amazed! Or at least," he said to the appreciative laughter of the parents, "come and sit down and give Mommy and Daddy a chance to snitch a piece of pizza!"
    The children were herded like water droplets until they were all finally sitting in something that approximated a cohesive group. Lynette brought Kevin nearby, though as always he was carrying a few of his toy cars and was much more interested in them than he was in the people around him. At least he had let her and Robbie come to the event, though. Some days he was so determined to be alone that taking him anywhere was an impossibility. On those days of stultifying routine, it would be one long series of stacking, lining, shifting, and ordering, putting everything in the house into appropriate categories until her home resembled some strangely un-valuable room at the Smithsonian. Then when everything had found the place that was perfect, Kevin Angel would go through and start to reorder everything once more, only stopping to go to the bathroom and to eat and sleep.
    Today, however, he let them pack him into the car with minimal fuss, and he had been wonderful through the course of the party, playing quietly and