months,” she says. “You’re spending time with your normal friends.” She makes normal into a curse word by her tone.
I have not come to the special events because they do not interest me. A lecture on parenting skills? I have no children. A dance? The music they were going to have is not the kind I like. A pottery demo and class? I do not want to make things out of clay. Thinking about it, I realize that very little in the Center now interests me. It is an easy way to run into other autistics, but they are not all like me and I can find more people who share my interests on-line or at the office. Cameron, Bailey, Eric, Linda… we all go to the Center to meet one another before going somewhere else, but it is just a habit. We do not really need the Center, except maybe to talk to the counselors now and then.
“If you’re going to look for girlfriends, you should start with your own kind,” Emmy says.
I look at her face, with the physical signs of anger all over it—the flushed skin, the bright eyes between tense lids, the square-shaped mouth,the teeth almost together. I do not know why she is angry with me this time. I do not know why it matters to her how much time I spend at the Center. I do not think she is my kind anyway. Emmy is not autistic. I do not know her diagnosis; I do not care about her diagnosis.
“I am not looking for girlfriends,” I say.
“So, she came looking for you?”
“I said I do not want to talk about this to you,” I say. I look around. I do not see anyone else I know. I thought Bailey might be in this morning, but maybe he has figured out what I just realized. Maybe he isn’t coming because he knows he does not need the Center. I do not want to stand here and wait for Maxine to be free.
I turn to go, aware of Emmy behind me, radiating dark feelings faster than I can get away. Linda and Eric come in. Before I can say anything, Emmy blurts out, “Lou’s been seeing that girl again, that researcher.”
Linda looks down and away; she does not want to hear. She does not like to get involved in arguments anyway. Eric’s gaze brushes across my face and finds the pattern on the floor tiles. He is listening but not asking.
“I told him she was a researcher, just out to use him, but he won’t listen,” Emmy says. “I saw her myself and she’s not even pretty.”
I feel my neck getting hot. It is not fair of Emmy to say that about Marjory. She does not even know Marjory. I think Marjory is prettier than Emmy, but pretty is not the reason I like her.
“Is she trying to get you to take the treatment, Lou?” Eric asks.
“No,” I say. “We do not talk about that.”
“I do not know her,” Eric says, and turns away. Linda is already out of sight.
“You don’t want to know her,” Emmy says.
Eric turns back. “If she is Lou’s friend, you should not say bad things about her,” he says. Then he walks on, after Linda.
I think about following them, but I do not want to stay here. Emmy might follow me. She might talk more. She would talk more. It would upset Linda and Eric.
I turn to leave, and Emmy does say more. “Where are you going?” she asks. “You just got here. Don’t think you can run away from your problems, Lou!”
I can run away from her, I think. I cannot run away from work or Dr. Fornum, but I can run from Emmy. I smile, thinking that, and she turns even redder.
“What are you smiling about?”
“I am thinking about music,” I say. That is always safe. I do not want to look at her; her face is red and shiny and angry. She circles me, trying to make me face her. I look at the floor instead. “I think about music when people are angry with me,” I say. That is sometimes true.
“Oh, you’re impossible!” she says, and storms off down the hall. I wonder if she has any friends at all. I never see her with other people. That is sad, but it is not something I can fix.
Outside it feels much quieter, even though the Center is on a busy street. I do not have plans now.