Ray pauses at my question, refolding the washcloth a few times on the table before knocking his fist on the wood lightly. When he looks up at me, his lips are tight—serious. “Max is an amazing kid,” Ray starts, his smile full of conflict—pride and sorrow. “Avery…she lives her life for that boy. He’s her center, her sun and moon all rolled into one.”
“Yeah, I get that. It’s plain to see,” I say, trying to show my respect. I’ve only witnessed a little, but Avery has my vote for mother of the year the way she defends Max. My jaw hurts just from memory.
Ray finishes wiping down the table, chewing at his top lip and nodding, like he’s working out what to say in his head before he fills me in. He pulls out a chair finally and leans back, folding his arms across his body, not really looking at me, but more looking beyond me, before finally coming back to meet my eyes.
“Mason, Max has autism,” he says. I nod like I understand, and I try my best to match the face he’s making, but I have no idea what the f**k autism really means. I know the word, sure. And I’ve heard about it. But I don’t know if it’s something in your brain or if it’s something that happens over time. Isn’t it, like, mental retardation?
“Oh, okay. I…I didn’t know. I’m sorry. How…how do you fix that?” I ask, raising a brow, wishing like hell I understood more than I do.
“You don’t, Mason. You don’t,” Ray says, and I can tell by the crack in his voice that this—Avery’s life with Max, Max himself—is what real-life problems look like. Ray stands to turn away, and I let him. He walks back to the sink to rinse out his cloth and to regain his strength. I sit down now myself, and try to understand what Ray is saying.
“So…how?” I start to ask, but I realize immediately that I don’t even know what to ask. I bury my face in my hands and rub my eyes, just trying not to sound like an insensitive ass more than I already do. “Was Max…born with it? What…I mean…I’m sorry Ray, I don’t think I really know what autism is.”
Ray’s slow to respond. He finishes cleaning up the kitchen, and then paces over to the stairway to make sure Avery and Max are still in their room. He leans against the banister before beginning, just to keep an eye out for them—probably to stop our conversation before Avery overhears.
“Max was one when we found out. Autism…well, it’s sort of like a really big linebacker in Max’s brain. It works against him, not letting certain things in and not letting certain things out. He didn’t talk for the longest time, and even now, his speech is…strange. It’s like he knows the words and when to use them, but the meaning isn’t quite right. He sort of doesn’t understand emotion,” Ray sighs, looking down and kicking at the bottom step.
“But what about the music? Those notes he just charted? How can he do that?” I ask, knowing that it would have taken me hours to figure out how to put all of that on paper.
Ray smirks, curling one side of his mouth up a little and tilting his head to me with a squint in his eyes. “Pretty cool, huh?” he starts. “He does stuff like that sometimes. Max memorizes things. You should see him put together a Rubik’s Cube.”
I don’t understand. I don’t get how Max can’t make eye contact or have a conversation, but can hear me play something for five minutes and then memorize every single nuance. “How?” is all I can ask Ray, and he chuckles at my response, probably because he’s thought the same thing himself.
“Damned if I know,” he says. “Avery says his autism makes it hard to do some things but easy to do others. She’s that kid’s champion, you know? She’s all he’s got. Me? I’m just the old man who lives here with him, who he lets talk to him…sometimes. Ha! But Avery—she’s the one that goes to battle. And Lord help anyone or anything that gets in her way.”
I let Ray’s words soak in. I have so many more questions, but I can hear Max and Avery making their way down the stairs, and I get the feeling by the way Ray was acting that having this conversation with me wasn’t something Avery wants to happen.
“Okay, Dad. We’re heading out. I’m off tonight—Claire’s got my shift. Too much homework,” Avery says, leaning over to kiss her dad on the cheek. I don’t move from my seat, careful not to startle her or draw her attention. I feel like I shouldn’t know the things I know, and I feel like knowing about Max has made me look at things differently. And for some reason, it’s all making me want to be around Avery even more.