Distant+Whispers

“Autistic,” Mikell said.
Toni gasped softly. “You know!”
“Toni. I am a teacher, remember. An art teacher.”
Toni chuckled, shaking her head. “Of course.” She looked past Mikell at her son. “Lately he’s
been non-communicative. That’s something new—this silent phase he’s going through. It’s been
driving me crazy. Knowing that he can talk—but doesn’t.” Toni stared at her son and sighed. “He
looks so normal, doesn’t he? I know he’s in there…somewhere. It’s like a game of hide and seek. It’s
just that, right now, he’s found a good hiding place. He’s going to look through his book for a while.
It’s from his school and is very good. Later, I’ll need to sit with him and read it with him. Okay?”
Mikell nodded. “Okay.”
Okay! Just like that, Toni thought. Okay! No rolling of the eyes, no strange stares like someone
watching a freak show. Just ‘okay’. She searched his eyes to try to find out his game. Didn’t all men
have a game? His eyes were direct and attentive. They made her feel guilty.
“I have to see about the food,” she said softly.
Mikell’s eyes lit up. “May I watch? I’ve never seen anyone prepare soul food.”
“Okay, but one warning,” she waved a finger at him. “I may be college educated but I’m a true
G.R.I.T.S.”
“True what?”
“G.R.I.T.S.! Girl Raised In The South,” she smiled. The kitchen belongs to me. Stay out of my
way.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mikell saluted. He folded his arms and leaned against the kitchen doorway as Toni
removed bowls from the oven, turned the fire low on some pots and higher on others. Each time she
raised a lid on a pot Mikell nearly swooned.
“Ich bin hungrig. Wenn vir gehend essen sind?” he said, rubbing his stomach.
Toni waved a big wooden spoon at Mikell.
“Uh, uhhh! This is America, buddy. We speak English here. What did you just say?”
Mikell laughed. “I said, I am hungry. When are we going to eat?”
“Soon. Everything’s almost done. How’s Jordan doing?” She peeped around Mikell and her eyes
widened. She pulled on his arms and whispered. “Look!”
Jordan had placed his book on the seat beside him, and was standing over the coffee table
inspecting Mikell’s sketches. He went from one to the other with his hands clasped behind his back
like a rich art patron preparing to make his next purchase.
* * *
They all sat in the small dining area with bay windows that looked out upon Toni’s palmetto trees
and bushy vines of muscadine grapes. Mikell waited for Jordan to take a seat so that he didn’t
interfere with his pattern. Toni sat facing Mikell with Jordan facing the both of them. She smiled as
Mikell grunted and moaned between every spoonful of rice and beans and collard greens and yams
and macaroni and fried fish.
“What’s wrong?” he managed to say between mouthfuls.
She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just that, sometimes it’s hard to believe that you are from