Not Exactly Alone in the Big City

The man in the burgundy and gray sweatshirt on the platform at the Newark train station was shouting about something but not to anyone in particular, into the air or an empty space on the cement. A train pulled in and Charlie and I found ourselves boarding behind the man in the sweatshirt; he walked further on while Charlie and I snatched a seat. Charlie was careful to sit with his knees under him as he drank a soda and looked out the window as we road through the Meadowlands and into New York City. I could hear the man talking more several seats away; Charlie was talking, or talking/humming, the same phrase over and over, but no one could hear but me: The other man was much louder and I wondered what his story was.

While going to Manhattan with Charlie requires one to be alert in more ways than usual—-amid the crowds and constant traffic—-there is something to be said for being in a big city, with so many noises and voices, so many people. Charlie has a certain—a lot more—freedom in the city.

Today his eagle eye was on the watch for elevators in big office buildings (not that he’s ever ridden one). He put his hand on many a fancy glass door and, turning to us, said “yes?”, and then continued to walk when we said “no.” When we’re in the city, his eyes are constantly darting all around or he is looking out the corners of his eyes: Charlie is taking it all in, every detail. He doesn’t draw like this artist (or rather, Charlie does not draw at all), but I think his sense of the details of buildings and streets is as precise.

An autistic young man once noted to me that he liked very much to be in the city because it was a place he could be among people, and yet be alone. Charlie is always with us when in NYC, and, when there, he is also simply one of the crowd.