Susan Senator

“He looks just like you,” the woman said to me as we stood on line at the Dunkin’ Donuts. I was having that lumpy, bleak, empty feeling I get when I’m taking Nat back to his House, which was why I was delaying that moment at the Dunkin’ Donuts. The cloying coffee smell did not make me feel any better.

“Yeah, a blond Me,” I mumbled.

“How you doin’?” she asked Nat.

I prompted him to answer. “Nat, she asked you how you were doing.”

“I’m good,” Nat replied. I patted his arm, waiting for that awkward moment when she or her daughter to would notice Something Else about Nat.

She turned to me and said, in a lowered voice, “Is he autistic? My mom worked with autistic people, so I’ve been around them all my life. They’re human like everyone else, you know.”

I bristled a little when she said that but then I could see her eyes tearing up, and her tone was loving and warm, so I realized she only meant this kindly and reassuringly.

“I know,” I murmured, smiling at her and at her teenage daughter, who had been staring at Nat. I could see that I did not have to worry about what her stares might turn into once she took a gander at Nat bouncing around and flapping his hand, whispering to himself. I adore him the most when he’s doing that, because then I know he is happy and comfortable; but others often don’t see it that way.

This woman did. We talked for awhile (the line was long). I really liked her. She told me that her Blue Cross Blue Shield, where she worked, had hired several autistic people when they had graduated from Nat’s school (nearby). I never thought I’d say this but, “Hooray for an insurance company!!” This gave me alot of hope that Nat, too, would be able to hang onto his job once he left his school in three years. They already love him there, because he is so thorough and complete in his work.

She got her coffee and left, shaking my hand and saying it was so nice talking with me. When it was our turn, the woman behind the counter shouted, “Next!” I spoke up, ordering Nat’s blueberry muffin for him, as I always have done his whole life.

The guy at the cash register must not have realized we’d already been helped, though. “What can I get you?” he asked Nat.

“Blueberry muffin,” Nat answered before I could.

“Great job!” said two voices at once: mine and the woman behind the counter.

I smiled at her, realizing that she probably knew him because this was likely the Dunkin’ Donuts-reward mecca for his entire school. Or maybe she knew Something Else about Nat, and she, too, had a clue.

“How you doin,’ Buddy?” she asked Nat.

“Good,” he answered.

“Great. You take care,” she said to him as we walked out.

I left with a full heart and a tight throat because I could see that Nat really does take care of himself, and just as wonderful, many unknown others take care of him, too. That Nat. He really is something else.