Things that make you cry

Can you remember your first friend? I can. It’s been almost fifty years since we met, and forty-seven years since we last saw each other. His name was Doug. We lived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Our parents were students at the University, and our mothers would meet at the park so we could play.

You will meet Doug yourself, on page 7 of Look Me in the Eye.

I can still remember the playground; the blocks, the sticks and the dirt. That’s what we played with back then – our parents were starving grad students, and we didn’t have any fancy toys.

Doug moved away and I started nursery school. In one of those terrible twists of fate, Doug drowned. I never saw him again.

But I still remembered him, in the fragmentary way I remember anything or anyone from that long ago. I described our friendship in the first pages of my book. I was a bit hesitant, including him in my story. What if my memories were “wrong?” What if his parents read my book, and they were horrified? What if I imagined the whole thing?

I decided to proceed, because my memories are what they are, right or wrong, and my book is basically a sweet tale; one devoid of monsters and villains. Doug was my first friend, and that’s what I had to say. I had no idea who or where his parents were, and there was no one else to ask. With several hundred million people in the country, I had no idea how to find them or even where to look.

A bit over two years have passed since I wrote those pages. In that time, hundreds of thousands of Look Me in the Eyes have been printed and distributed, and word spread.

Today, I heard from Doug’s mother. She said:

I have just finished reading “Look Me in the Eye,” and thoroughly enjoyed it. It had a profound effect on me because I am Doug’s mother. Margaret and I used to arrange to be at the park in Philadelphia at the same time so that our boys could play with each other. Obviously the friendship between Doug and John Elder is something John remembers after all these years. It is by pure happenstance that I became aware of the book. Isn’t life interesting?

When I looked at her note, I felt my eyes fill with tears. Somehow, the voice from so long ago made me cry. I guess I was sad because her note made it all real again, and the knowledge that my first best friend died so long ago still hurts. And I was relieved, because she didn’t think I was a monster for telling the story. I wish Doug were here today. I wonder what he'd say.

Once again, I am reminded that we Aspergians do indeed have deep emotions, whatever we may or may not show. Even now, an hour later, the feeling is still sharp and poignant.

Woof.