Show Us Who You Are by Elle McNicoll

Author:Elle McNicoll [McNicoll, Elle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2022-10-25T00:00:00+00:00

“I don’t think of myself as different.”

I say it confidently but keeping eye contact is hard. Dr. Gold looks a little disappointed, but she leans forward, smiling empathetically. “But you’re autistic?”

“Yes. But lots of people are.”

“Of course,” she says quickly. “Yes.”

“It’s natural.” I shrug, scratching a patch of eczema on my wrist.

“It is,” Dr. Gold agrees carefully, and I can tell that she’s thinking hard about what to say. Dr. Connelly glances at the mirror and then back to Dr. Gold.

“Have you ever met another autistic person?”

“Well, no,” I say truthfully. “But some people don’t know they are. And my best friend has ADHD. They’re under the same umbrella.”

Her face softens. “Do you mean Adrien?”

“Yes. He has ADHD.”

Dr. Connelly writes something down on his tablet. I wish I were closer so I could read it.

“How would you describe having autism?” Dr. Connelly asks his first question, not looking at me.

“Well, I wouldn’t describe it like that.”

Grief is so strange. Second time around, I’m far less polite. The filter just isn’t as strong anymore. I don’t care what people think of me.

Well, I care about Dr. Gold. But she actually sees me.

More than most people.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m autistic.”

“Oh.” Dr. Connelly makes a strange sympathetic noise. “No, you have autism. You should put yourself first. Person with autism.”

“Um.”

“We say person with cancer, not cancerous person. Do you see? You should put yourself before your condition.”

“I don’t have cancer.”

“Let’s try another question,” Dr. Gold says sharply, cutting Dr. Connelly a look of disdain. “What does it feel like to be you, Cora?”

That’s a much better question. And one people never ask me.

“Right now?” I ask.

I think of planes in the sky. Of Cerby’s wet nose. Hot pasta dinners. The roses in Hyde Park. Lloyd blasting the radio and rolling down the windows. Fierce laughter that is sometimes so overpowering, you don’t even make a sound. You’re just doubled over, eyes shut tight and gasping for air.

I think of dancing in a conga line around the school hall.

“Please be honest,” Dr. Gold adds gingerly.

Two pinkies locked together. Together against the ordinary world.

“Right now, I feel empty.”

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