This is a short piece showing a social experience from an autistic child’s point of view.
The first thing my eyes settle on in the parking lot is the red sign. My lips nudge out the words ‘No swimming when there is no Lifeguard on Duty’. ‘Wow! Tobias you can read at three!’ says a voice behind me. I don’t follow the voice with my eyes but I know it is Sophie Aunty. This does not look like a beach. There are grass fields next to the car park and some funny buildings. It looks like Anya has drawn this picture and forgotten to put in the important bits. Sometimes she forgets to finish her pictures. She is two. I look away into the green and this time I can see balls bouncing off shiny, buttery bodies and diving onto the tickly grass. The bodies upset me. I tug on my long sleeves making sure no sun can tiptoe onto my skin.
I stand silently as the other children shout around me. Their voices are familiar and slide easily into my ears. ‘But where is the water Mommy?’ yells Ali. ‘Yes where is the sand?’ says Sara clanging her bucket and spade together. The Grownups start laughing. Uncle Adam bends down till he looks like a rectangle with a side missing ‘It s behind that bush’ he said. ‘Lets go to the Bush’, said Ali. ‘It looks like a monster. The Bush Monster!’ yells Sara. ‘Let’s go!’ and all the children run away like gas hissing out of balloons with the Grownups behind them.
I turn and see the line of green stretching next to the parking lot. The hair on my arms starts to stand in the dark of my sleeves. I see the Bush Monster, get up. First, it is on its knees. Then it lifts itself up till its shadow swallows the whole parking lot. The Fear inside me starts to rise to attention too. It spreads its fingers and starts to tickle my insides. I open my mouth to scream but there is no sound. I start counting, ‘1,2,3…’. My mother turns around and knows. She puts her arm beside me and starts counting ‘4,5,6,7’….A dog comes near and barks. The sound gatecrashes and jumps around my head. I dive down to the ground and clench the grass. This time when I open my mouth the screams tumble out, one chasing another. No one seems to hear the dog but they can hear my screams. My mom starts rubbing my back, ‘8, 9,10’ she continues. A voice interrupts her. The voice is loud. It starts dancing with the barking in my head. ‘You know you should discipline them before they are too old’. My mom ignores her. ‘This is the age. How old is she, 4, 5?’ The voice turns to me, touches my shoulder and says ‘You need to stop screaming young man’. The touch feels like someone breaking eggs and sliding the yolk down my back. I scream louder and louder. ‘What are you doing?’ my mom says, her voice. ‘He is autistic. DON’T SCREAM AT HIM.’ My mummy only calls me that when she is scared. I stop screaming. The voice retreats.
‘Come on’ she says, her voice and touch determined, ‘we are going to sing the Thomas song’ and when we finish we will be at the beach. She holds my hand, and we start humming. I sing louder and louder as we step faster and faster. When we are a breath away, the Bush stretches sideways and grabs me. I scream but the 
sound dissolves as soon as I see the sand and lots of water. It’s the Beach. My mummy’s hands untangle themselves from around my waist and the sand tickles my toes. The others are all there throwing stones in the sea. I like throwing stones. I run to them. Some of the waves try and reach out and catch me. A tiny one curls around and comes really close and kisses my toenails. It looks exactly like my lips twisting into a smile. It is only half a smile. Not like my mummy’s. The smile on her face is big and whole.
Zainab Kizilbash is a parent, writer, economist and Our Small Wonders founder
