The Meridians

by Michaelbrent Collings

  Surprisingly, however, not a one of them so much as blinked. Instead, one of the ladies - Gil's wife, a woman named Brenda who was equal in size and heart to her husband - looked her straight in the eye and said without hesitation, "Autism or Asperger's?"

  Lynette was shocked, and Brenda laughed, a great, deep belly laugh that started at her toes and climbed up her legs and through her body until when it finally emerged it was so loud and joyous that it sounded like she was laughing at the funniest joke ever heard. It was such a loud laugh that Lynette would have worried that she was being made fun of if she couldn't see that the woman clearly had nothing but good feelings in her heart.

  "Girl, you're in Mormon country now. We raise lots of kids and if we're not related to someone with a developmental disability, we've probably watched someone with one in one of our congregations. We have a young boy with Asperger's in our ward - that's what we call the congregations, we call them wards - and a little girl with autism. I know, I know," she continued without so much as pausing for breath, "girls with autism are rare, but we have one, the most darling little girl named Emma Kathleen Johnson, you'll meet her sooner or later I'm sure, she and her family just live about five houses down, you'll be right at home here, don't you worry..." and Brenda prattled on and on and on and spoke so fast and in such a friendly manner that Lynette barely noticed it when the woman moved her vast girth into Kevin's room, knocked quietly on the door and went in.

  Lynette started to tell her not to bother, but before she could Brenda was kneeling in front of Kevin, not looking directly at him - a sure sign that she had, in fact, had experience dealing with autistic children - but rather talking to the side of him, as though his invisible twin stood right next to him. "Kevin, honey," she said, "I'm Auntie Brenda, and I know you probably don't much want to chat with me, but I'm your friend, and anything you need I'll be sure to help you with, okay?" And then, instead of engulfing Kevin in a huge, grandmotherly hug the way Lynette expected the woman to do, she had merely stood and left, again seeming to know intuitively that Kevin would not take well to the tactile sensation of a Brenda-sized embrace.

  It was one of the best interactions that Lynette had ever experienced between her son and a stranger. It was so effective in fact, that Kevin actually came out of his room not five minutes later, sat down with his computer, and began typing as though the Welcoming Committee were not present at all.

  Lynette was a bit worried when she heard the word "Mormon," thinking that perhaps these women had all come over in some kind of effort to convert her on her first day in Meridian, but aside from Brenda's first mention of it - and the fact that four of the six members of the Welcoming Committee nodded in assent when Brenda said that they were in Mormon country - no one else mentioned anything church related or tried to entice her to be baptized. No, that wasn't quite true. They did ask what Lynette's religion was, but when she told them they didn't pronounce hellfire and brimstone as her fate, but instead just told her where the nearest churches were of that denomination, and that was the last of it.

  Gil and Brenda quickly became nearly constant figures around her house...along with their eight children. At first she thought that would overwhelm Kevin, but he seemed to enjoy the sense of rambunctious fun that the kids - who ranged in age from fourteen to three - brought with them whenever they came to visit. Lynette took to keeping a store of Oreos in stock for when "the horde," as Brenda jokingly called her brood, descended on her house.

  "What about the man who called your husbands?" asked Lynette shyly during one of the rare breaks in Brenda's machine-gun quick conversational pattern.

  "What, Brad?" asked one of the women, Jonelle, who was cut of the same cloth as Brenda and was clearly Brad's wife. "He farts too much and he cusses when he thinks I'm not listening, but other than that he's okay."

  "No, you silly nit," said Brenda with a roll of her eyes. "She's talking about...Scott."

  There was a pause in the conversation then, as though everyone was gathering their thoughts to tell her something important.

  "He's quite something," Jonelle finally managed. "Quite something."

  "Does he live on this street?" asked Lynette.

  "No, dearie," said Brenda, patting her hand as though delivering bad news. "He lives a good three or four miles away."

  "Then what was he doing driving around at one a.m. last night?" asked Lynette, feeling once again the familiar cold grip of fear in her belly. She had no need to escape from a supernatural fiend into the clutches of a natural one who was no less dangerous, and the fact that Scott was wandering around in the middle of the night did not speak well for his normalcy.

  The women of the group again fell silent before Brenda, clearly their de facto leader, spoke again. "Probably just out wandering, poor dear."

  "Wandering?" said Lynette.

  "No one knows -" began Jonelle, speaking almost in a ghost-around-the-campfire voice.

  "Oh, hush," Brenda said, cutting off her sister-in-law. "We know full well about him. Just not the details, that's all." She focused her gaze back on Lynette, and said, "He lost his family some years back. No one quite knows how, but -"

  "We do too know how," said another one of the women. "They were killed. Katie looked it up on the internet."

  "Hush, Sarah," said Brenda, shushing the woman just as she had done to Jonelle. "Point is that he hasn't seen fit to tell anyone himself, so what the internet says about him is gossip and untrue as far as I'm concerned, until such time as he decides to talk about it to our faces."

  "The internet said he was a hero," said the woman, Sarah, a bit petulantly as though she didn't like the rebuke but accepted the justice of it.

  "Well, that much I'd believe," said Brenda. Turning back to Lynette, she continued, "He's a good man, that much is sure. And if you're worried about what he was doing in your neck of the woods in the middle of the night, don't be. Scott Cowley is just that: meek as a choir boy. And a good man. We helped him move into his house about seven or eight years ago, and you could just tell within a few seconds."

  Lynette felt a cool wash of relief flow through her. Thank goodness, she thought.

  But out loud she said, "You said he was wandering?"

  "He does that," said Brenda. "He can't sleep, I don't think. Nightmares or some such. So he spends a lot of time at night, just driving around. I asked him about it once and he said it relaxes him. So the fact that he was near when you pulled up was just coincidence, pure and simple. And the fact that he went and got Gil and the others rounded up to help you move in was just what others did to him when he arrived, so I'm sure he was just paying it forward, so to speak."

  And that was the end of that. Almost. Because Lynette got the feeling that, given the chance, half the women in the group would have left their own husbands to be with Scott Cowley, and the other half would have at the very least asked him to date their daughters. She filed the information away in her mind. Hard to believe that someone so scarred of visage could be so tender of thought and heart.

  But then, she thought, look at Kevin. Most people would dismiss him as being of less value than other human beings. There were even - and she shuddered at the thought - people who advocated for genetic testing, and abortions of any and all people who showed genetic markers of any kind of mental defect. Such people had no idea what they were missing. Kevin was trouble sometimes, he was hard to raise, he took a lot of patience, it was true. But he was also special, sweet, and had a heart that - when you managed to find a way through to it - was as pure as any "normal" person's, and more.

  As though he could hear her thoughts, that first morning Kevin had come over and held out his laptop. A single word, "Breakfast," told her that it was time to bid goodbye to Brenda and Jonelle and Sarah and the other women, but as they left they all assured her that they would be back soon to make sure that she had settled in all right.

  Lynette thanked them, and was truly glad that she had already made some friends on her very first day in
the new place. But she also said goodbye with a bit of a sense of misgiving. Because while all the women she had met were wonderful -with the possible exception of Sarah, who had seemed to be a bit of a busy-body - none of them was really the person she wanted to have over that morning.

  In spite of herself, Lynette found herself thinking of a scarred face, and light blue eyes. Of a man so broken hearted that he could not sleep for loss of his family, but so good hearted that he could not pass by a moving van without helping, even in the middle of the night.

  She and Kevin said their prayers, and she said one thing that she had never before said, one thing that she never thought she would have said in the aftermath of Robbie's loss.

  "Dear God," she said. "Thank you for this day. Thank you for our provender. And thank you for the nice man named Scott, and please bless us that he will again come to visit us."

  She finished the prayer.

  Kevin held out his keyboard.

  He had typed, "Amen."

  ***

  25.

  ***

  It was several months before Lynette once again saw Scott, and when it happened it was under circumstances that neither of them could have foreseen.

  Though perhaps Kevin could have.

  She was out getting food. With Kevin, that could sometimes be a very involved, very difficult experience. Because he did not like changes in his routine, even something as basic as a trip to the market could be met with resistance, as though such trips were not necessary inconveniences, but rather unnecessary frivolities that were taken at his expense. And even if she managed to convince him to come to the market, it was anyone's guess how he would react once he got there. Supermarkets were, she realized once, much like Vegas casinos: all glitz and glamor, and no clocks around so that one could quickly lose track of time and wander about the market all day long if allowed. That kind of environment was almost always overstimulating for Kevin, who would invariably retreat more and more into himself as the trip progressed, and sometimes would not come out of himself until hours or even days later.

  But on this day, Kevin acted almost like any other child would have. He got his shoes and socks on without fuss, and even stood at the door as though anxious for the trip to begin. It was, in fact, one of those rare days when he acted so normal that it gave Lynette an overwhelming sense of optimism and hope. Perhaps things would be all right. Maybe their little family would make it after all.

  That was until they went to the store. They arrived in the parking lot of the Albertson's and Lynette found a good spot right next to the door. That was also helpful, since she never knew quite whether Kevin would be happy to leave and dart right for the vehicle, or would be in tears over the idea of going home again. Either way, having the vehicle close was helpful since it allowed her to manage his mood more easily and get him home with less fuss.

  She parked the car, and went around the back to open Kevin's door.

  And that was when everything changed. The second she opened the door, Kevin did something he had never done before, not once in his entire life. Without waiting for her to help him out, without needing any kind of coaxing or asking him to please leave his laptop so that they could get out of the car, the boy jumped out, dodged under her arm...and ran.

  Lynette stared after him for what seemed like an eternity before her legs finally started to work, before she finally started moving after her son who was now almost invisible between the many parked cars at the market.

  "Kevin!" she screamed, and her voice was loud enough and so full of audible panic that several people looked over. They saw instantly what was going on - at least, they saw that there was a mother running after her son - and several of them gave chase as well, trying to corral Kevin toward her like a pack of dogs after a fox. Like a cunning fox, though, Kevin was able to outrun them, to switchback and change directions with almost preternatural fleetness so that no matter how many people were involved in the chase, he was always just a step ahead.

  Lynette felt like her heart might burst out of her chest. Not only was she not used to having to chase someone all over a parking lot, but Kevin was constantly darting out from between the cars and into onrushing traffic, apparently not noticing or not caring about the times that he came frighteningly close to being crushed in the path of one of the gigantic SUVs that were the only thing that half the population of Idaho would drive.

  "Kevin!" she screamed again, and reached out a hand. If it had been winter, if he had been wearing a coat with a hood, she would have caught him then, because she was so close, so close to catching him and stopping his sudden insane race. But it was still late summer, and Kevin was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts and so there was nothing for her to grab onto, nothing for her to hold and stop his movement. He danced away again, not like a fox now but like a zephyr, like a summer wind that came and went so fast you didn't know if it was real or a dream.

  He was going to die, she knew. She could feel it in her bones. After all the strangeness of his life. After her embolism, after the many complications he had suffered as an infant.

  After the gray man.

  After all that, he was going to die here, now, in something as tragic and mundane as a collision in the parking lot of a supermarket.

  It was too much to bear, and she redoubled her speed.

  She caught him at last, pinning him to the side of a red Toyota so hard that the car rocked slightly on its hinges. Kevin screamed, but not in pain as she might have expected. Rather, he acted as though she had just taken away his laptop and forbidden him to use it ever again. It was as though he was having a tantrum, only one that was far worse than any she had ever previously experienced with him.

  Then he kicked her. Just as he had on the day he had saved her from the knife of the gray man, her son aimed a perfectly formed front kick. This one, however, did not knock away a threatening blade, but instead hit her right in the nerve cluster below her left knee. Lynette's mouth turned into a round "o" of shock and pain, and her grip loosened just enough that Kevin was able to shrug entirely out of his shirt, leaving the empty clothing in her grasp, and ran through the parking lot again, this time bare-chested and screaming.

  Not far, though. Before he had run too long he found what he had apparently been looking for. Lynette hobbled after him as fast as she could, limping slightly as her deadened leg stolidly refused to function properly, and caught up to him at the front of the Albertson's.

  Where he was terrorizing a baby.

  Lynette almost couldn't believe it, but there was no denying what he was doing, what her eyes were plainly seeing. A young mother had just left the supermarket, her cart full of groceries and with a small baby in the seat of the cart. Kevin was standing in front of the cart, screaming wordlessly and striking himself repeatedly on the head with his fist.

  The mother tried to back up, to back away, and young Kevin followed her, moving as one with her cart, staying exactly the same distance from it at all times. The baby started crying, and Kevin redoubled his efforts, screaming even louder as though he was engaged in some kind of bizarre contest to see who could shriek the loudest.

  Lynette finally caught up to Kevin, and tried to stifle his screams and self-flagellating attacks with a bearlike embrace. But her son sidestepped her outstretched arms, remaining focused on the baby as he continued to wail and rant.

  They were drawing a crowd, adding embarrassment to the long list of unpleasant feelings that Lynette had experienced on this day. One of the store managers appeared, saying, "What's going on here?"

  The young mother pointed at Kevin and used the word, the one word that Lynette hated most when used in conjunction with her son, her treasure. "This little freak is trying to attack me and my baby!" she wailed.

  Lynette bristled, even as she continued trying to get her shrieking son under control. "He's not a freak," she half-screamed. Kevin was kicking and hitting at her with hands and arms, though thankfully no longer with the superlative aim he had earlier ex
hibited. Now instead of a fighting expert he merely looked like someone having the worst temper tantrum of all time. "He's got autism."

  "I don't care if he has..." the young woman searched for an appropriate word, "...leprosy. He shouldn't be allowed out to hurt other children. He should be locked up."

  And now Lynette was in two fights, one with her son, one with the woman standing protectively over her screaming infant. "Screw you, lady," said Lynette, and she felt years of repressed anger at the sideways glances and the nasty looks from those who were too fearful or weak to deal with someone like Kevin boiling to the surface. "At least my kid only attacks bigoted bitches."

  That drew a gasp from the crowd. "Now, then," said the manager, clearly trying to assert some level of control over the gathering group and just as clearly not succeeding. "There's no need for name calling."

  "This is the last time I ever come to this market!" screamed the young mother, now directing her attention at the manager, who was wringing his hands in a gesture of futile anxiety.

  "Good!" Lynette screamed back, managing to get a hold of one of Kevin's hands and pinning it to her chest. "Then I know I can always come here!"

  Kevin lashed out with the other fist, then, and did another first: he struck Lynette. Though he had occasionally hit himself before, he had never once raised his hand against her. Lynette almost let go of her son, she was so surprised at the move, and immediately felt her eye begin to throb as blood rushed to what would surely be a bright purple bruise in a few more hours.

  But she didn't let go, even when he balled his other little hand into a fist and raised it to strike her again, and Lynette was so aghast that there was nothing she could do about it.