“1182015 … 1182015 … ”
He repeated the number, over and over in a monotone voice. She looked curiously over at her son, who was constructing an elaborate tower of Legos.
“1182015 … ”
“Honey, what are you doing?” she asked him, walking over to his spot on the living room floor. She knelt down beside him and bent to look at his face, hoping for eye contact.
“1182015 … ” he repeated, ignoring her.
She sighed and waited. Sometimes she had to wait a while.
“1182015 … ” He hesitated before placing the red block on top of the yellow, then stopped to consider his tower.
She watched him, content in his own world, movies and television shows swirling around in his brain, often coming out in streams of dialogue. Sometimes she could remember where they came from, and she would be rewarded with eye contact and a sudden grin, but it was always so fleeting. In the next moment, he would be back in his own head.
She thought about the time he kept talking about the missing engine.
“The engine is missing,” he had said, “We have to find her.” He had then paused and stared off into space with a concerned look painted on his face before repeating the whole process like one of those memes her nephew had shown her or a recording on a loop, over and over.
“Is something missing?” she had asked him, trying desperately to connect. “Maybe we could make posters.”
He had turned to her with a moment of lucidity. “Make posters,” he had said, brightening. “Yes! Make posters!”
He had then gone on a jag of drawing wild west wanted posters with the face of an engine from the kids’ show Thomas the Tank Engine. They still hung all over the house. She thought there might be a few in his special needs classroom at school as well. For all she knew, in his mind the engine had been found. The poster making sessions had dwindled, then ceased.
“1182015 … ”
Then there were times like now where he would just repeat random numbers. At those times she was at a complete loss.
“What do the numbers mean?” she asked him, patiently. She didn’t expect an answer.
“1182015 … 1182015 … ” He stared at his tower.
She absentmindedly picked up Legos and began to connect them. “1182015,” she said quietly.
He looked at her hands, then back at his tower. He reached for her Legos. She opened her hand as he took the stack, removed the white one from the top and replaced it with yellow, then added it to his tower. For a moment their eyes met, then he turned back to the Legos.
“We’ve got to save the princess from the tower,” he started in his singsong voice.
She smiled, relishing the small moment of connection.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Your Days are Numbered.” What’s the date today? Write it down, remove all dashes and slashes, and write a post that mentions that number.
Well written… and what a cherished moment. Enjoyed the read very much!
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Thank you 🙂
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Wow, what a profound piece!
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Thank you! 🙂
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😊
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Touching…I love the wide variety of answers to this prompt…including yours! http://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/11/08/locked-secrets/
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I liked the way you narrated the story. Yes, I felt sad but that’s how it was meant to be, right? Good post!
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Sad, but also hopeful. Big challenges come with their own small rewards. Thanks for reading. 🙂
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Are you the parent of an autistic child? I was just curious if this was purely fiction or if you based it on personal experience.
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No, I’m not. I hope it’s easier for them than I portrayed. Parents know their kids best. I based it in working with some special needs kids at school. In that case, this has been my experience to varying degrees, depending on the child.
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Really lost of words for this post, but well written.. I can only imagine kids with special needs and how one has to be there for them. Very very nice post here.. Thank you..
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One of the parents of one of these kids I work with is always so positive and proactive with her child. She’s inspiring. Thanks for reading.
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