Ella learned a lot about Holden during their conversations. Mrs. Harris explained that Holden didn’t want to be touched. “It’s common for kids at his place on the autistic spectrum.” As far as anyone could tell, touch provided too much stimulus for people with significant autism, so that even a brush against his skin could send him into a panic, make him fall to the floor for a quick series of push-ups.
“I try now and then, but I haven’t held his hand or hugged him since he was three,” Mrs. Harris told Ella last Friday. She blinked back the tears filling her eyes.
“Never?” Ella couldn’t imagine such a thing. Even her family still hugged each other once in a while.
“Well… never in the daytime. He’s a light sleeper, but sometimes, if I’m quiet, I can slip into his room and sit in a chair by his bed just to be near him. Once in a while I’ll touch his face or his hair. But not very often.”
For Ella, this was the saddest fact of all—that Holden never let anyone touch him. She’d learned in sociology that touch was incredibly beneficial. She’d read about studies where babies in orphanages thrived or failed in direct relation to the amount of physical attention they received. After that conversation with Mrs. Harris, Ella was convinced that part of the key to reaching Holden would eventually come in the form of touch.
As the days passed, Ella felt herself more drawn to Holden. The whispered words became occasional moments of humming —right on key. Rather than staring out the window, once in a while he’d make eye contact with Mr. Hawkins. He didn’t rock as much or fiddle with his PECS cards as often. Changes were happening for Holden, no matter how small, and Ella was committed to helping him. He had been well once; he could be well again. Nothing could convince her otherwise. Still, she decided to wait until Holden improved a little more before asking Mr. Hawkins if Holden could be in the play.
Over the next week Ella was careful to sing a little clearer and deliver her lines with more emphasis. If she wanted to help Holden, she had to start by delivering her best performance for Mr. Hawkins. The approach was better than fighting with him. As he grew happier with her rehearsals, he was bound to see for himself the changes in Holden.
Ella didn’t have to wait long. The biggest breakthrough for Holden came that Thursday—the third Thursday in October—almost two weeks after her meeting with the drama instructor.
The class was singing the final song in the show, the reprise of Beauty and the Beast’s theme, when Ella heard a new voice behind her. It wasn’t as clear as the others, and it was a little too loud. But somehow the voice was familiar. She turned, expecting to see some new kid in one of the rows behind her. Instead she saw what a few other kids were noticing at the same time.
Holden Harris was singing.
He wasn’t looking at any of them, not even her. His eyes were cast somewhere near the top of the room where the walls and ceiling connected. But there was no denying the obvious. Holden was singing right along with them. Ella wanted to stop the rehearsal and celebrate, but she didn’t want Holden to stop. Ella kept singing, but she made a little waving motion at Mr. Hawkins.
When she finally caught his attention, she pointed discretely toward Holden. Mr. Hawkins must’ve heard him singing, too, because their teacher immediately turned his attention to the back of the room and kept it there. His eyes registered his shock, and the rhythm of the song fell off slightly. But he didn’t look away even as he continued playing.
Ella wanted to laugh out loud in celebration or run around the room shouting the victory. But she didn’t want anything to shut the window that was opening in Holden’s mind. So she kept singing and waited until class was over. Then, while she was putting her script in her backpack, she secretly watched while half a dozen kids approached him.
“Hey, man.” This from the guy playing Gaston. “Nice to hear you singing.” He tried to give Holden a fist pound, but Holden only stared at the floor and nodded. The difference this time was that Holden didn’t rock or flap his arms.
Ella narrowed her eyes, studying him. Was she imagining his response? She watched closer, but each time one of the cast members walked up and told him “Good job” or “You sounded nice” or some other compliment, Holden did the same thing. A slight head nod at the appropriate time.
When the rest of the cast was gone, Ella walked up to him. They had a routine by now. Every day she walked him to his bus —except Fridays, when his mother met them here. Today Holden needed to catch the bus, so Ella didn’t have long. She walked up and stood a foot from where he was still sitting. “That was nice, Holden. Hearing you sing.”
He nodded, but this time he didn’t keep his eyes on the ground. He lifted his face to hers and he smiled. Then he did something that took Ella’s breath away. He opened his mouth and began to sing, “Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Beauty and the Beast.”
The sound that came from Ella was more laugh than cry, and her hand flew to her mouth. Don’t overreact, she told herself. Don’t scare him away. She stifled her excitement. “That’s perfect. Just like that.” She took a step toward the door. “Come on. You have to get to your bus.”
Holden stood and the two of them walked out of the class. Before they left, something caught her eye and she turned back to see something that made her smile almost as much as Holden
singing.
From his spot as his desk, Mr. Hawkins had seen the whole thing.
THERE WAS NOTHING UNUSUAL ABOUT WATCHING HOLDEN CLIMB off the bus that afternoon, no signs that this would be a day Tracy would remember all her life. She agreed with Ella, of course. Holden was changing. Slowly, gradually, he seemed more connected. The hard part for Tracy was that all Holden’s connecting was with Ella. So far there wasn’t a single difference in the way the two of them spent their afternoons and evenings.
Kate had gone to a friend’s house to play, so it was just the two of them today. Drizzle spat at them as they walked home to their apartment that afternoon, but the weather didn’t change Holden’s pace. He walked a few steps and then turned in a circle, walked a few more and another circle. This was something new, something that had come about since Holden had reconnected with Ella. Tracy tried to analyze why the circles, but all she could figure was that maybe he was looking for Ella. As if every few steps it occurred to him that she should be here, and she wasn’t.
Whatever caused the circles, Holden seemed happy. His expression had always been pleasant, but lately he walked around with what looked like a permanent smile. Wide innocent blue eyes and a constant happy face. He seemed a lot less handicapped than some of the angry customers at Walmart.
They reached the apartment, and like every afternoon they sat at the kitchen table in silence while Holden ate his snack. Most days Tracy didn’t ask questions. His lack of response was too hard on her. Instead she issued statements she assumed were true. “Math was good today, Holden. You’re very good at math.”
He didn’t look at her, didn’t respond.
“Ella says you’re doing well in theater. She wants you to be in the play. I think you know that, Holden.”
What Holden did next was so out of the norm, Tracy had to remind herself she wasn’t dreaming. In response to her statement about theater, Holden nodded his head. He didn’t make eye contact or change his expression. His eyes were still intent on the line of raisins he’d made in a circle around the edge of his plate. But that didn’t change the fact. She had talked to him, and he’d nodded in response.
Ella had told her all the ways Holden had improved lately. How often he looked at her, and how he was moving his mouth like he was singing along. Since Tracy still hadn’t seen that for herself, sometimes it was a little hard to believe. But now … now Holden was doing exactly what Ella said he could do. He was demonstrating an appropriate response. He was interacting!
Dear God … it’s a miracle. Whatever You’re doing, please … please let it continue. Tears fell onto Tracy’s cheeks like the streams in the desert she’d prayed about so many t
imes. She wanted to rush to her son and take him in her arms, but instead she pressed her feet against the floor and refused to move. The one rule Holden’s therapists had emphasized over the years was this: if he starts showing progress, don’t smother him. Finding a way out of autism even in small degrees had to happen slowly.
She wiped her tears, careful not to make any sound that would tip Holden off to her emotions. Holden had a sensitive auditory system, so a moment like this required no strange or new noises. She waited until her throat wasn’t so tight. “I think you’d make a very good cast member. You love music so much.”
She watched, desperate for the same response and then … before she had time to pray, Holden did it again. He nodded. Then he turned his head in the general direction of the living room.
“Time for your movie, is that right?”
Another nod, his eyes wide and full of light. That new sweet smile lifting his lips. He stood and walked to the living room and she followed close behind. The movie was already cued up, like always, so Tracy sat down on the sofa, took hold of the remote, and hit the Start button.
This was usually when Holden sat on the floor a few feet from the screen and got lost in the movie. But instead he did something completely out of character —… something that made her heart skip a beat.
He sat on the couch beside her.
Not right beside her, but close enough that Tracy couldn’t move or draw a breath or do anything but realize the obvious. The move was absolutely intentional. On his own, Holden had broken his routine of so many years, and he’d chosen to sit beside her. As if this time he wanted to watch the movie with her. Fresh tears flooded Tracy’s eyes and again she needed all her strength to keep from shouting out loud. She’d spent the last fifteen years an arm’s distance from Holden’s physical body, and a million miles from his heart. Fifteen years of praying for Holden and asking God to give her some sign that her sweet Holden was still somewhere inside. Fifteen years without a hint of an answer.
Until today.
She couldn’t stop the tears sliding down her cheeks, but she somehow managed to stay silent. She wouldn’t have done anything to ruin this moment and she had to remind herself it was really happening. Holden was sitting beside her. He hadn’t done this for fifteen years. Tracy folded her arms tight across her waist so she wouldn’t reach out and hug him.
Then—when she couldn’t breathe without trying—she made the only move she dared make. She put her hand on the sofa beside her, in the space between them. A minute passed, and the tears continued streaming down her cheeks. And then, at the point in the movie where Ella and Holden stood side by side and sang “Jesus Loves Me,” it happened.
Without looking at her, without giving any sign that anything unusual was about to take place, Holden moved his arm closer to hers and very lightly he took hold of her fingers. Tracy could feel herself trembling, but she prayed with everything in her that Holden couldn’t feel it. She closed her eyes and let the tears come —hot, cleansing tears that had built up in her heart season after season while she waited for this single moment.
The chance to hold hands with her son again.
Nineteen
HOLDEN WAS OPENING A WHOLE NEW WORLD TO ELLA. AS THEY headed into November, she started getting to school early enough to meet Holden where the bus dropped him off. Then she’d walk with him across campus to the wing where the special-needs kids had classes. After her fifth-period math class, she’d catch up with him again and they’d walk to rehearsal together.
It was the first Tuesday in November, and Ella reached the bus stop earlier than usual. From her spot, she watched Jake and his new girlfriend pull up in his Mustang and walk into school together.
LaShante kept her up to date on the kids in her former group. Apparently Jake’s new girl had a bad reputation. No surprise there. Jake liked girls who couldn’t say no. Apparently he’d told the guys on the football team that he’d broken up with Ella because she was boring. Whatever. She didn’t care what he told people, as long as she was rid of him.
A group of cheerleaders headed inside from the far parking lot, their laughter carrying across the campus. Ella squinted in their direction. She remembered what that felt like, being part of that group. Walking around school like they owned the place, certain beyond any doubt that every guy on campus thought they were hot, and every girl wanted to be them.
LaShante was pulling away from them now too. She’d come by the drama room a couple times and she’d even heard Holden sing once. “He’s so cute,” she said. “I wonder if he’ll ever be really, you know … normal. Like us.”
Ella wasn’t bothered by her friend’s question. “Maybe there’s no such thing as normal.”
It was true. Not just where the kids at Fulton were concerned but with her own family. Her dad was staying away even more than usual. Her brothers practically lived at the house across the street, and her mother was a blur of activity—tanning and training and trips to the salon. Like everything was normal and they were a perfectly happy family.
Yeah, the longer she hung out with Holden the more normal he seemed.
She turned toward the sound of the bus and watched as it came to a stop and the door opened. Holden was always the first one off, and then he’d stand almost at attention while the other kids made their way down the steps. As soon as the first kid passed by him, he folded his hands near his chin and began flapping his arms.
The action didn’t bother Ella the way it used to, but she wanted to know what he was thinking, why he did it. She had her theories. Maybe he was trying to hide his face a little from the other kids. Or maybe it was his way of saying hi. She wasn’t sure, but she had decided this much: the action was intentional. It had to be, because Holden always flapped at the same times.
When he got off the bus, and when they walked across campus—if they passed a group of kids. Something about the other students at Fulton made Holden act like that, and one day … one day Ella would figure out why. She had continued her research on autism enough to know that sometimes the therapy and dietary changes and mainstreaming resulted in a change. Sometimes something unlocked them. Yes, they would still have differences —sometimes in their mannerisms or in the way they handled social situations. But for those who emerged from the prison of autism, the change was miraculous.
The change she hoped for Holden.
He looked up and saw her—clearly saw her. Again, he would never have done that before. As he walked up she had to remind herself that he had autism. He wore jeans and a blue shirt, and his eyes connected with hers. What if he hadn’t become autistic? Ella had thought about the possibility a lot. Their families would still be friends, and maybe they would still go to church. Her parents might have the most amazing marriage and she and Holden… Who could say? She and Holden might have found a love as special as the friendship they shared when they were kids.
All if Holden hadn’t become autistic.
Their eyes held all the way until he reached her, but then he looked away, up at the puffy white clouds marking the early winter sky. “Hi, Holden.” She always said that, even though he never answered. He would sing to her pretty easily now, sometimes even when they were walking together. The progress in Holden was remarkable by anyone’s understanding.
But he still hadn’t talked to her.
They were halfway to Holden’s special wing when they walked past the outdoor cafeteria. Ella heard shouting and saw a few kids run toward the sound. Someone was in trouble. “Come on.” She took a turn they didn’t usually take so she could see—at least from a distance—what was happening. Once the building wasn’t in the way, she stopped and beside her, Holden did the same thing.
“Jesus loves me, this I know.” Holden sang softly as his smile faded. “For the Bible tells me so …”
She wanted to tell him to keep his voice down. This wasn’t the time to sing. But she could hardly do that when she was the one who had broken his regular order of things. And people with aut
ism needed their routines. She shaded her eyes and stared at a group of kids clustered near one of the lunch tables. A voice yelled above the others, and Ella recognized the sound.
It was Jake.
Suddenly she had the worst feeling that maybe Jake was picking on someone again. Maybe Michael Schwartz. She hadn’t seen the guy in several weeks. Her fascination with Holden had made her almost forget any other kids at school. She wanted to move closer, but Holden wouldn’t want to go anywhere near the confrontation.
She decided on the safe route. “Let’s go.” She turned back and again Holden stayed at her side. “Time to get to class.”
“Tale as old as time …” He sang the words, and then he began to hum the tune, clearly more relaxed than he’d been a minute ago. He stopped and pulled his cards from his backpack. He didn’t fiddle with them the way he used to, but he still relied on them. Maybe they even made him feel like he was talking. Ella wasn’t sure, but she enjoyed waiting for him to pull out just the right card.
He didn’t hold onto them anymore, either. He found the card he was looking for and handed it to her. The card showed two unhappy people. Below the drawings were written the words “Is there a problem?”
His perception was perfect. “Yes.” She kept her tone calm, so he wouldn’t worry. “That was back there. We won’t worry about it, though, okay?”
“Okay.” Holden looked at her and then back at his deck of cards.
“What?” Ella laughed. She still hadn’t touched Holden, but now she touched his shoulder without thinking. Her touch was light, but she hesitated in case he reacted. He didn’t, so she kept her hand there. “You talked to me, Holden. Do you know that?