Huang Mengxi

   Continued from Chapter VIII

    “What is it?” he asked, eventually.

    “Hair,” I said.

    “Kid,” he sighed, “you have a real grasp of color. Jesus, this is brilliant!” He looked at me with sparkling eyes and patted me on the shoulders. I sat there frostily and played with the edge of my shirt. He fished out a box from his pocket.

    “Milk dud?”

    I took one, put it into my mouth and began chewing noiselessly. “Atta boy.” Mr. Kingsley took one himself and chewed loudly. He looked at me as he put the box back into his pocket. I turned away.

    “Say, kid,” he said, “what about you stay with me here every Monday after school so I can teach you how to paint? You have a rare talent, and it would be a waste not to nurture it.”

    I didn’t reply.

    “Don’t play cool with me.”

    “Alright,” I finally said.

    That afternoon was a blast. I was very nervous at first since I didn’t know anything about art before that day. I had never done anything I enjoyed so much before. It turned out that Mr. Kingsley could be a very patient teacher. He taught me how to use abstract color patches to represent complicated and subtle color patterns, how to control the shape when it’s necessary and how to let it loose when imagination took the lead. I was so lost in this new work that I had just discovered that I didn’t want to leave it. I wanted to sing; everything was so wonderful and felt so perfect. Then I saw Ms. Davis standing in front of the school gate, and something about her face told me that it most certainly was not.

    Chapter IX

    “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Ms. Davis was seething. She took my arm abruptly, and her crimson fingernails dug into my flesh.

    “I don’t know.” I looked down to avoid her burning scowl. I shook my arm forcibly, trying to get free, but she didn’t loosen her grip.

    “Don’t you dare look at me like that, mister! You are a whimsical little fool, you know that?”

    “Let go of me!” I demanded, a little furious. Finally, she let go of my arm.

    “Why are you so resentful? I’m only upset because I was worried sick.” She waved her forefinger in front of me, which annoyed me because I was six inches taller than her.

    “Now, Andrew, please tell me. Where have you been?”

    I never really understood my stubborn insistence on keeping secrets. But at that moment, I looked sideways from Ms. Davis’s anxiously inquiring eyes and remained positively silent. Something else was on my mind. Something very precious to me — although I didn’t quite realize it consciously at the moment — was lost, along with a piece of my own egotism. Ms. Davis never possessed the most reliable and discreet of personalities. At that moment, I began to feel a fortress building between my world and hers.

    We walked toward the parking lot. Ms. Davis walked in front of me, and then I saw Harriet. I didn’t recall her name immediately, but I recognized her jolly auburn hair. She walked on the left side of the sidewalk beside a very tall man in grayish coat. I stood there and stared at them for a while before she saw me. She cried out, “Hey! Eh… sorry what’s your name again?”

    “What are you doing here?” I asked.

    Harriet glanced at the man beside her. He turned to us, and I saw his face. I suddenly remembered who he was, the big square glasses over the aquiline nose. That’s not something you could easily forget. The man saw me too and grinned, “Hello Andrew. How do you do?”

    “Oh right, Andrew!” Harriet paused, and then, “How do you two know each other?”

    “I’m friends with his mother,” said Dr. Brown.

    “Oh, so you have met my dad,” Harriet said. “That’s nice.”

    Before they left, Dr. Brown tipped his head at me and said, “Give your mother my best, will you?”

    As we parted, I stood there for a little while longer, watching them walk away. Harriet’s auburn hair dimmed under the advancing twilight shadows. Ms. Davis called at me, so I turned the other direction.

Huang Mengxi (黄梦曦) is a senior student at Shenzhen Middle School. She is fond of literature, especially English literature. She became interested in psychology a few years ago and started interacting with children with autism and other mental illnesses.

This serial story is based on the experience she had while volunteering at a local psychological hospital and participating in other charity activities. It tells the story of a teenager with Asperger syndrome who observes the adult world from a special perspective and struggles with the ideals of love and affection.