Short Story
Although William’s autism meant he was virtually non-verbal his family and friends knew if he was happy…or not. Nah-nah-nah, in a crying tone, meant he was not happy, and Ah-ah-ah -almost laughing – meant he was. Of course, an accompanying frown or smile helped. At 12 years of age it was already plain to see the man William would become. He was tall and slim with light brown hair and blue eyes. His fine features had progressed from cute to handsome in the space of a year. Myrtle Lodge was a large, red brick, Victorian semi on the busy Portsmouth Road on the east of Southampton. It had recently been converted as a respite home for children with disabilities and blended easily with the numerous guest houses in the area. “Nah-nah-nah!” “Oh, please don’t grizzle, William.” Susan had just pulled into the driveway of Myrtle. She unclipped her seatbelt and took a deep breath. Having tucked a few strands of her shoulder length auburn hair behind her ears, she strained to get out of the car and made another mental note to diet as she turned and squatted to face her son in the rear seat. “William, William! William listening. Listen to Mummy.” Rather than listen, William chose to clasp the buckle of his seatbelt with one hand and grip the strap with the other, “Nah-nah-nah!” He’d worked out that if the seatbelt stayed fastened, he stayed in the car. “William, remember we spoke about this. Mummy and Daddy are going up to Westcliff to see Granny and Grandad, because Grandad’s not well and the nurses are looking after him. Remember? You can come next time.” “Ah-ah-ah!” William smiled broadly. “Good listening, William. Well done!” Jacqui, a blond medium framed woman, who was William’s favourite worker, and her colleague, Maggie, came out to the car. William undid his seatbelt but made no move to get out of the Volvo. “Oh, can you get his Bud Lightyear, Maggie.” “Sure thing.” Maggie was shorter than Jacqui and her brown eyes lightened in the afternoon sun as she reappeared at the door. She was only half-way back to the car when William snatched Bud away from her and ran into the home, chuckling. “He’ll be fine now Susan. Are you picking him up Sunday night?”, asked Jacqui. “Yeah, fingers crossed for the Friday night Heathrow traffic now. Oh my God, can I smell bacon?” “We had butties for lunch.” “Lucky devils. Bye” As it happened William had arrived at the home just on the shift handover, so he spent the time in the ball-pit ignoring an agency worker while the meeting went on. It was Nick Cooper’s first day as a newly- trained support worker and, although usually the gregarious and confident front- man of a local middle-of-the-road cover band, he felt like it was his first day at big-school. He’d put his hair in a ponytail, overdone the aftershave, and trimmed his beard for the occasion. “Say hello to Nick, everyone,”, said Maggie, who had just been appointed shift-leader for the day. “How’re you feeling, Nick, confident?” “No.” “It’s O. K. we were all there once. Jacqui, can you work with William this afternoon.” Maggie thought for a moment. “Nick can shadow you, eh? In at the deep end.” Nick shifted nervously, “That sounds a bit ominous.” “Nah, he’s a sweetheart. Just takes his time to get to know you.” “William, this is Nick. Say hello nicely.”, said Jacqui. “Nah-nah-nah!” William, tightly clutching Bud Lightyear in his left arm, stepped toward Nick and delivered an almighty slap which caught the shocked worker on his shoulder. “William! NO!” Maggie, who’d been passing them in the corridor slipped an arm between William’s side and his upper- arm and clasped her hand around his wrist. She supported him into the ball-pit room, released her hold and left the room closing the door behind her. She called through the door, “Five minutes!” “Are you OK, Nick.”, asked Jacqui. “Had worse. So, is that part of his care-plan, then” “Yes. Five minutes isolation in the ball-pit room and then we’ll see how he is.” There were no challenging behaviours for the rest of the shift, but William spent the rest of it behaving as it Nick wasn’t there. Jacqui and Nick sat on either side of William during dinner and when Nick asked him if he wanted a glass of water, or picked up his knife from the floor, he simply stared ahead. It was the same at bath time – when Nick applied shampoo and helped him to dry – William ignored him. When he got into his car to go home – although he didn’t dare to look – Nick had the sense William was watching him from his bedroom window, which was on the ground floor. As he drove off, an acoustic guitar slipped off the back seat onto the floor – Nick recognised the sound of an open chord, ‘damn.’ he thought, ‘I meant to bring that in.’ It was nearly two weeks before Nick turned up at Myrtle for a weekend shift. In the meantime, he had begun to get to know some of the other residents. He was more relaxed, and his confidence was building. He’d remembered to take the guitar in “This is an old banged up thing of mine. I thought I’d donate it to Myrtle – sort of just chuck it in with the toys, see if anyone takes an interest.” When he rang the doorbell, he realised he had a knot in his belly. When he got inside, he knew why. It was Saturday morning and William had arrived for his respite weekend on the Friday afternoon. He stood in the hallway as Nick came through the front door. “Hallo, William, how are you?”. Nick reached out a hand. “Nah-nah-nah! Nah-nah-nah!” , William turned and ran along the corridor, out through the fire door and into the garden. He sat on a swing with Bud Lightyear, tightly gripped, dangling by one arm. “Shall I go and see if he’ll come around?”, asked Nick “Nah, we’ll go with the least restrictive intervention. Ignore him.” “Don’t use the ‘I’ word, Maggie”, said Jacqui mockingly, “we’re withdrawing attention. Did you learn that in training, Nick? “Oh, yes, the first response.” “So, I suggest you take your guitar into the garden and just keep an eye on him. Maggie, you go as well – keep an eye on Nick.” “Sure thing.” Nick got his guitar from the office and sauntered into the garden. He sat on the bench under the apple tree on the other side of the gravel path from the swing. Two very thick ropes supported the seat of the swing about fifteen feet off the ground , suspended from the limb of an oak tree. He spent a few moments tuning up then played the opening riff from Sweet Home Alabama. William leaned forward on the swing and watched Nick play through the song. When it was finished, he jumped from the swing, jumped over the path and reached out and placed his hand for a couple of seconds beside the sound hole of Nick’s guitar. Nick played the guitar a few more times over the weekend, while William watched from a distance nodding in time, silently. “I think he’s interested.”, Jacqui called to Nick as he got into his car to go home. It was another three weeks before Nick’s weekend shift coincided with Williams respite visit. Maggie greeted Nick at the door. “Eh, there’s been a slight accident.”. She held up the guitar by its neck with its body dangling on the last attached string. Nick was relieved to hear that William wasn’t the culprit. In fact, he’d tried to save it from complete annihilation when another resident had flared up in anger at Williams efforts to play. “Don’t know if there’s much I can do with this.” Nick had unstrung the remains of the guitar and was holding the neck against the body to see if there might be a way to glue and clamp it. “We’ll do what we can.” “Ah-ah-ah.” Nick hadn’t noticed William watching him from the door of the lounge. They shared a fairly quiet and solemn weekend at Myrtle, and it was the better part of a month before Nick Visited again on one of Williams weekends. William was sitting alone on the sofa in the lounge. He was examining a wooden Thomas the Tank Engine, turning the face away and frowning, then turning it to face him and smiling back at the smiling Thomas. This had occupied him for around twenty minutes when he heard a sound coming from the general direction of the hall. He put Thomas down on the sofa and listened. It was louder this time, much louder – it was the opening riff from Sweet Home Alabama played on an electric guitar. “Ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah! Ah-ah-ah! Abama!
By Neil
Creative Mental Health Guide's mission is to break the stigma of mental health. Through the power of line, word and connection, we are committed to amplifying the voices of those touched by mental ill health.Creativity is a medium for change. Why through creativity? Creativity is expression Expression is presence Presence ensures a voice Voice ensures that we are no longer silent nor invisible
