but me and Linda—and that they asked a counselor at the Center what the rules were on human experimentation. He says Cameron made it sound like we had heard about this treatment and we wanted to try it. The counselor is supposed to find out more about the laws involved. I go to bed early.
ON MONDAY AND TUESDAY, WE HEAR NOTHING MORE FROM Mr. Crenshaw or the company. Maybe the people who would do the treatment are not ready to try it on humans. Maybe Mr. Crenshaw has to argue them into it. I wish we knew more. I feel the way I felt standing in the ring before that first match. Not-knowing definitely seems faster than knowing.
I look again at the abstract of the journal article on-line, but I still do not understand most of the words.
Even when I look them up, I still do not understand what the treatment actually does and how it does it. I am not supposed to understand it. It is not my field.
But it is my brain and my life. I want to understand it. When I first began to fence, I did not understand that, either. I did not know why I had to hold the foil a certain way or why my feet had to be pointed out from each other at an angle. I did not know any of the terms or any of the moves. I did not expect to be good at fencing; I thought my autism would get in the way, and at first it did. Now I have been in a tournament with normal people. I didn’t win, but I did better than other first-timers.
Maybe I can learn more about the brain than I know now. I do not know if there will be time, but I can try.
On Wednesday, I take the costume clothes back to Tom and Lucia’s. They are dry now and do not smell so bad, but I can still smell the sourness of my sweat. Lucia takes the clothes, and I go through the house to the equipment room. Tom is already in the backyard; I pick up my equipment and go out. It is chilly but still, no breeze. He is stretching, and I start stretching, too. I was stiff on Sunday and Monday, but now I am not stiff and only one bruise is still sore.
Marjory comes out into the yard.
“I was telling Marjory how well you did at the tournament,” Lucia says, from behind her. Marjory is grinning at me.
“I didn’t win,” I say. “I made mistakes.”
“You won two matches,” Lucia says, “and the novice medal. You didn’t make that many mistakes.”
I do not know how many mistakes “that many” would be. If she means “too many,” why does she say
“that many”?
Here, in this backyard, I’m remembering Don and how angry he was at what Tom said about him rather than the light feeling I had when I won those two matches. Will he come tonight? Will he be angry with me? I think I should mention him, and then I think I shouldn’t.
“Simon was impressed,” Tom says. He is sitting up now, rubbing his blade with sandpaper to smooth out the nicks. I feel my blade and do not find any new nicks. “The referee, I mean; we’ve known each other for years. He really liked the way you handled yourself when that fellow didn’t call hits.”
“You said that was what to do,” I say.
“Yeah, well, not everybody follows my advice,” Tom says. “Tell me now—several days later—was it more fun or more bother?”
I had not thought of the tournament as fun, but I had not thought of it as bother, either.
“Or something else entirely?” Marjory says.
“Something else entirely,” I say. “I did not think it was bother; you told me what to do to prepare, Tom, and I did that. I did not think of it as fun, but a test, a challenge.”
“Did you enjoy it at all?” Tom asked.
“Yes. Parts of it very much.” I do not know how to describe the mixture of feelings. “I enjoy doing new things sometimes,” I say.
Someone is opening the gate. Don. I feel a sudden tension in the yard.
“Hi,” he says. His voice is tight.
I smile at him, but he does not smile back.
“Hi, Don,” Tom says.
Lucia says nothing. Marjory nods to him.
“I’ll just get my stuff,” he says, and goes into the house.
Lucia looks at Tom; he shrugs. Marjory comes up to me.