is polite. I start with something else. “The tires on my car were slashed last week.”
“Oh, no!”Lucia says. “How awful!” Her face changes shape; I think she means to express sympathy.
“It was in the parking lot at the apartment,” I say. “In the same place as usual. All four tires.”
Tom whistles. “That’s expensive,” he says. “Has there been a lot of vandalism in the area? Did you report it to the police?”
I cannot answer one of those questions at all. “I did report it,” I say. “There is a policeman who lives in our apartment building. He told me how to report it.”
“That’s good,” Tom says. I am not sure if he means it is good that a policeman lives in our building or that I reported it, but I do not think it is important to know which.
“Mr. Crenshaw was angry that I was late to work,” I say.
“Didn’t you tell me he’s new?” Tom asks.
“Yes. He does not like our section. He does not like autistic people.”
“Oh, he’s probably…” Lucia begins, but Tom looks at her and she stops.
“I don’t know why you think he doesn’t like autistic people,” Tom says.
I relax. It is so much easier to talk to Tom when he says things this way. The question is less threatening.
I wish I knew why.
“He says we should not need the supportive environment,” I say. “He says it is too expensive and we should not have the gym and… and the other things.” I have never actually talked about the special things that make our workplace so much better. Maybe Tom and Lucia will think the same way as Mr. Crenshaw when they find out about them.
“That’s…” Lucia pauses, looks at Tom, and then goes on. “That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t matter what he thinks; the law says they have to provide a supportive work environment.”
“As long as we’re as productive as other employees,” I say. It is hard to talk about this; it is too scary. I can feel my throat tightening and hear my own voice sounding strained and mechanical. “As long as we fit the diagnostic categories under the law…”
“Which autism clearly does,” Lucia says. “And I’m sure you’re productive, or they wouldn’t have kept you this long.”
“Lou, is Mr. Crenshaw threatening to fire you?” Tom asks.
“No… not exactly. I told you about that experimental treatment. They didn’t say anything more about it for a while, but now they—Mr. Crenshaw, the company—they want us to take that experimental treatment. They sent a letter. It said people who were part of a research protocol were protected from cutbacks. Mr. Aldrin talked to our group; we are having a special meeting on Saturday. I thought they could not make us take it, but Mr. Aldrin says that Mr. Crenshaw says they can shut down our section and refuse to rehire us for something else because we are not trained in something else. He says if we do not take the treatment they will do this and it is not firing because companies can change with the times.”
Tom and Lucia both look angry, their faces knotted with tight muscle and the shiny look coming out on their skin. I should not have said this now; this was the wrong time, if anything was the right time.
“Those bastards,” Lucia says. She looks at me and her face changes from the tight knots of anger, smoothing out around the eyes. “Lou— Lou, listen: I am not angry with you. I am angry with people who hurt you or do not treat you well… not with you.”
“I should not have said this to you,” I say, still uncertain.
“Yes, you should,” Lucia says. “We are your friends; we should know if something goes wrong in your life, so that we can help.”
“Lucia’s right,” Tom says. “Friends help friends—just as you’ve helped us, like when you built the mask rack.”
“That is something we both use,” I say. “My work is just about me.”
“Yes and no,” Tom says. “Yes in that we are not working with you and cannot help you directly. But no when it is a big problem that has general application, like this one. This isn’t just about you. It could affect every disabled person who’s employed anywhere. What if they decided that a person in a wheelchair didn’t need ramps? You definitely need a lawyer, all of you. Didn’t you say that the Center could find one for you?”
“Before the others get here, Lou,” Lucia says, “why don’t you tell