am not as stiff on Sunday as I was on Friday. On Monday I have another extra lesson. I am glad Tom and Lucia’s special day is Tuesday because this means I do not have to change the day I do grocery shopping. Marjory is not at the store. Don is not at the store. On Wednesday, I go fencing as usual. Marjory is not there; Lucia says she is out of town. Lucia gives me special clothes for the tournament. Tom tells me not to come on Thursday, that I am ready enough.
Friday morning at 8:53 Mr. Crenshaw calls us together and says he has an announcement to make. My stomach knots.
“You are all very lucky,” he says. “In today’s tough economic climate I am, frankly, very surprised that this is even remotely possible, but in fact… you have the chance to receive a brand-new treatment at no cost to yourselves.” His mouth is stretched in a big false grin; his face is shiny with the effort he is making.
He must think we are really stupid. I glance at Cameron, then Dale, then Chuy, the only ones I can see without turning my head. Their eyes are moving, too.
Cameron says, in a flat voice, “You mean the experimental treatment developed in Cambridge and reported in Nature Neuroscience a few weeks ago?”
Crenshaw pales and swallows. “Who told you about that?”
“It was on the Internet,” Chuy says.
“It—it—” Crenshaw stops, and glares at all of us. Then he twists his mouth into a smile again. “Be that as it may, there is a new treatment, which you have the opportunity to receive at no cost to you.”
“I don’t want it,” Linda says. “I do not need a treatment; I am fine the way I am.” I turn and look at her.
Crenshaw turns red. “You are not fine,” he says, his voice getting louder and harsher. “And you are not normal. You are autistics, you are disabled,you were hired under a special provision—”
“‘Normal’is a dryer setting,” Chuy and Linda say together. They grin briefly.
“You have to adapt,” Crenshaw says. “You can’t expect to get special privileges forever, not when there’s a treatment that will make you normal. That gym, and private offices, and all that music, and those ridiculous decorations—you can be normal and there’s no need for that. It’s uneconomic. It’s ridiculous.”
He turns as if to leave and then whirls back. “It has to stop,” he says. Then he does leave.
We all look at one another. Nobody says anything for several minutes. Then Chuy says, “Well, it’s happened.”
“I won’t do it,” Linda says. “They can’t make me.”
“Maybe they can,” Chuy says. “We don’t know for sure.”
In the afternoon, we each get a letter by interoffice mail, a letter on paper. The letter says that due to economic pressure and the need to diversify and remain competitive, each department must reduce staff.
Individuals actively taking part in research protocols are exempt from consideration for termination, the letter says. Others will be offered attractive separation allowances for voluntary separation. The letter does not specifically say that we must agree to treatment or lose our jobs, but I think that is what it means.
Mr. Aldrin comes by our building in late afternoon and calls us into the hall.
“I couldn’t stop them,” he says. “I tried.” I think again of my mother’s saying: “Trying isn’t doing.” Trying isn’t enough. Only doing counts. I look at Mr. Aldrin, who is a nice man, and it is clear that he is not as strong as Mr. Crenshaw, who is not a nice man. Mr. Aldrin looks sad. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “but maybe it’s for the best,” and then he leaves. That is a silly thing to say. How can it be for the best?
“We should talk,” Cameron says. “Whatever I want or you want, we should talk about it. And talk to someone else—a lawyer, maybe.”
“The letter says no discussion outside the office,” Bailey says.
“The letter is to frighten us,” I say.
“We should talk,” Cameron says again. “Tonight after work.”
“I do my laundry on Friday night,” I say.
“Tomorrow, at the Center…”
“I am going somewhere tomorrow,” I say. They are all looking at me; I look away. “It is a fencing tournament,” I say. I am a little surprised when no one asks me about it.
“We will talk and we may ask at the Center,” Cameron says. “We will bounce you about it later.”
“I do not want to talk,” Linda says. “I want to be left alone.” She