That’s What Friends Are For

Charlie has certainly been enjoying his time at the beach, surfing and running his feet through the sand, swimming and going out and straight into the waves (sometimes straight under) again. again, and again. But ever since we got here a week ago, he has occasionally been saying, “Boy here!” in reference to the 15-year old autistic boy who visited the previous week with his parents. More than expecting visitors—-”friends,” as I call them for him—-Charlie has been wanting visitors; looking forward to having company. He is visibly, and audibly, different when visitors to the beach house come: Lots of bouncing on the furniture, lots of big grins, lots of saying the names of the various people in question over and over, as if the mere thought of “friends!” is over-stimulating.

Talk about the “myth of the person alone,” indeed (Douglas Biklen has writen about this myth here). Charlie’s social skills may not be of the sort recommended by Emily Post—he ran around the house saying “Hal here” excitedly, and then walked pass Hal in the street without noticing, much less greeting, him. And then, when Hal and another guest were sitting on the couch. Charlie leaned his head on their shoulders, all smiles, hugged them, and gathered his blanket and iPod and headphones around him, and his friend. Watching him, I thought that Charlie certainly enjoys the society of others—the human companionship, other voices and presences in the room.

More friends arrived Saturday afternoon; one of their children has autism and, while he and Charlie did their own thing on the beach—Charlie running into the waves with his boogie board, the other boy filling his bucket with sand and water and splashing at the wave’s edge—-Charlie had his eye on the other boy and especially enjoyed hanging around the front of the beach house as we talked (Charlie also found that the other boy, who is some years younger than him, is using the booster seat that is just the same as the one Charlie used to). Charlie kept trying to get into their car and looked winsomely after it when they drove off. “Boy here!” he said again, expectantly.

“We’ll find more friends to meet,” I said. And then I listed the names of our friends (all adults) who are still here.

Charlie repeated each name somberly, and a smile crossed his face as he went to sit with the group.