In spite of all evidence to the contrary, mankind may very well be advancing all around us at the moment – there are in fact many signs whereby we can reasonably suppose that it is advancing. But, if it is doing so, it must be – as is the way with very big things – doing so almost imperceptibly.
– The Phenomenon of Man, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Chicago, IL
The young reporter gazed serenely at the infinite sapphire sky…
No, Michelle thought, the intrepid reporter. No. The hard-working… industrious? Scrappy. Ambitious. Ughh.Infinite sapphire sky? Jonah would laugh at that. You’re not writing poetry, Princess!
The car swerved sharply, spilling hot coffee and disrupting her internal monologue.
“Tink, what was that?” Michelle asked. The gyrations of the autopilot only briefly irritated her, insufficient to counter the effect of the cool breeze through the open window and the momentary calm of her sometimes volatile brother in the seat next to her, gently kneading his jiggle bag. She licked the coffee off her hand, stealing a glance at Adam. The accomplished reporter and her difficult, high maintenance brother.
“Unexpected course correction,” her AI agent responded. “The autopilot is searching for alternate routes.” Michelle smiled and whispered, duh.
A few more turns through the morning traffic of Chicago’s Near North and they would arrive at the refuge of Adam’s school. Stay in the moment, enjoy even the little things, her therapist’s advice reminded. Savor these moments, however fleeting. After that, for a few hours, she’d be free to live her life at work, a treasured respite provided by the school’s excellent care of her often difficult brother. Michelle Shank, award winning reporter…orphan, and sole guardian of her autistic brother…I would like to thank the Pulitzer Committee for recognizing…
She glanced at Adam next to her in his blessedly meditative repose, the soft clicking of the colored tiles inside the little gray bag he held soothing them both, then lifted her face back to the sky. A lone civil defense drone drifted over the buildings, its unhurried pace reassuring the skies remained unthreatening.
Adam’s momentary calm allowed the enjoyment of simple pleasures like a sunny sky and coffee, each swallow unhindered by her usual anxious constrictions. She let out a contented sigh, her serenity feeding Adam’s tranquility in the usual feedback loop of their complex sibling relationship. Despite the decade between them, their identical brown hair and dark eyes from their mother declared the bond of blood and shared tribulations. She reached over and rubbed his arm, the affection unreciprocated or acknowledged.
The autopilot chimed softly, and Michelle looked up ahead at the line of red brake lights stretching for blocks. She muttered an expletive that neither her brother nor the car responded to, the spell broken. She tapped the screen on the dash and saw all the routes to the school illuminated with the same red lines, gridlocked. On cue, the walnut-sized lump constricted her throat. She swallowed several times to push it down. It never worked.
Michelle stole another glance at Adam to see how this deviation from routine might affect him, and the reflex took over: cover up, don’t let Adam know, don’t make it worse. Keep him calm, maintain the routine, ensure nothing is out of sorts. Old habits endured, even this long after the deaths of their parents. When they were alive, the only thing worse than the disruptions of placating Adam was her parents’ excessive attention to her after a long period of dealing with him.
No, I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. Except for the lump.
The autopilot eased the car to a gentle stop.
“Traffic obstruction ahead. No imminent hazards. Checking road status,” the car announced. Michelle assessed Adam again. So far, so good. He stared out the window at the trees. Her brother was often unreachable in the labyrinth of his cloistered mind. Michelle stared ahead at the brake lights.
Sounds like more poetry, Princess, Jonah critiqued.
Michelle abandoned any attempt to discern how her brother’s autism affected how he saw things, gladly trading understanding for peace. The why of it all, that had been her mother’s job. Her father spent more of his energy just trying to connect, to help Adam be happy. Now all this was her life and responsibility, Adam’s chauffer, Adam’s bodyguard, worrying about her job, and the bills, and her health, and…now an unexpected traffic jam. Balancing work and family responsibilities has always been a challenge, but it’s all about juggling and setting priorities…
“Tink, what’s going on?” she asked her assistant.
“One moment,” the agent responded in a deep baritone. “Public disturbance in front of the Jane Addams School. Police on site. Non-violent. All roads obstructed. The autopilot continues attempting route optimization.”
Oh great. The cops. Just what I need.
Her support group friends always tried to disabuse her of the urge to self-pity, but she still couldn’t avoid feeling cheated. Except for a few other siblings, the others were parents. She didn’t choose this. It was dumped on her, or so she angrily told herself time and again.
She looked at Adam again. Just the two of them. Who else would do it? The constriction in her throat worsened. At least the bruises and scratches were receding into the past. That was some measure of progress.
The line of cars inched forward. The car made the last turn to their destination, the Jane Addams School one more block away. Adam’s fidgeting subtly increased, the clicking of the tiles in the jiggle bag noticeably louder. A crowd filled both sidewalks and spilled into the road ahead, and it appeared to be focused on the entrance of the school. Parents tried to drop their children off, then got caught in the lines of media vehicles and the protestors. The queue of vehicles came to a halt in the surging mob.
What the fuck…godammit! Michelle clamped down on her anger.
The graphics on the map display showed congestion for blocks, and a small security warning from Tink cautioned about the possibility of danger, small bullet points listing the unhelpful probabilities: drone attack or car bomb weren’t likely these days thanks to the reinforced Prairie Guard; riot or aggressive police action were distinct possibilities. For most people, the autopilot’s traffic AI helped avoid these situations, but for the members of Michelle’s profession, they were catnip, more reasons to head toward a crowd, not away.
Not today…c’mon, give me a freaking break…
She stole a glance at Adam, alerted by the subtle change in his posture. His hands fluttered, fingers drummed, and he gently rocked, betraying the first hints of his agitation. He dropped the jiggle bag into the space between his seat and the center console. Michelle cursed again, then pushed the release for the steering column, folding it down from the dash.
Spirit driving time.
“Manual override,” she commanded the autopilot. She put her mug in the holder, and thumbed the button on the steering handle, lighting up the red indicator on the console.
“Manual operation. Please be careful,” the car intoned.
Michelle searched ahead for police, then looked to the right at an alley entrance leading between two buildings. She turned the wheel and eased the car forward, then braked to avoid hitting an oblivious woman stepping in front of the vehicle with a sign, “Genetic Cleansing = Genocide”. The autopilot bleated a belated warning. Coffee sloshed out of the mug onto the console and provoked low moans from Adam. The protestor hurried on, unaware of the near miss. Michelle held her temper so as not to further upset Adam. Her throat tightened further.
She advanced slowly, then turned left onto the sidewalk, eliciting more beeping from the autopilot.
“Unsafe operation. Vehicle leaving the roadway. Pedestrian hazard. Pedestrian hazard. Unsafe operation. Municipal infraction imminent. Please correct. Please correct.”
Michelle eased the vehicle forward. When she reached the back of the crowd, she nudged the people aside and made good progress, incurring a stream of admonitions from the autopilot. With a backward look, the people in the crowd stepped to the side and resumed their chanting and sign waving.
Neurodiversity Now!
My brain, your problem
Don’t Poison my child
Vaccines Kill
Testing NO! Treatment YES!
The car cleared the last line of protesters, and Michelle parked at the base of the broad stone staircase leading up to the old Georgian mansion housing the school. She put on the emergency flashers and suppressed a reflexive scowl at the sight of a small group of unconcerned Chicago police separating the two groups. Three CPD drones circled slowly overhead. She jumped out and scrambled around to Adam’s door to help him out. She reached across him and retrieved the jiggle bag, then held his hand and leveraged him up with only a little resistance, the first minor victory of the day.
The groups faced across the sidewalk, chanting and waving their crudely printed placards. Someone wearing a hideous monster mask pushed to the front waving a sign saying “No Genetic Tech”, and Michelle knew Adam would be frightened by it. The other side chanted “Testing means treatment, testing means treatment.” The police showed no interest in either the protesters or her unorthodox parking space.
Two school staff rushed down the steps. A gray-haired woman offered a pair of earmuffs with a knowing look. Michelle glanced at Adam rocking and holding a fist over his right ear and accepted them gratefully. She pressed the jiggle bag into his hand then placed the earmuffs on his head. The moment they covered Adam’s ears, he relaxed.
The two women held up pieces of cardboard to create a screen so he wouldn’t see the monster mask, and they all climbed the steps to the door. As they entered the school, the gray-haired woman caught Michelle’s eye.
“I guess that interview wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
Michelle blushed, swallowing against her constriction. She took a deep breath to push it down as they entered the school and were greeted by the Assistant Director, Sandy Fox.
“Are you guys okay? I am so sorry about this. The police won’t kick them off the property until they have more help. The kids are just going wild. I’m calling in extra staff. Is Adam okay?”
Her brother stared serenely while he rocked and flapped his hands, shaking the jiggle bag.
“I think he’ll be okay once we get inside.”
They hurried to the classroom and settled Adam. He walked directly to his favorite station at the sandbox and dropped the jiggle bag, then ran his hands through the coarse grains, squeezing, cupping, and spilling, again and again. Michelle removed the earmuffs, and immediately saw him relax with his hands in the sand. She picked up the jiggle bag and put it in his pocket. Outside, the commotion diminished to a murmur of voices back and forth.
She pulled his head close and whispered in his ear.
“You be a good boy today, okay? No bad stuff, okay? Be nice.” She nuzzled his neck, singing softly. “…red and green and brown and blue. They’re the really useful crew…”
He relaxed more, squeezing handfuls of sand then sifting it through his fingers. Singing made her feel better, too, and the knot inside her eased a little.
Out in the hall, Sandy waited. Michelle spread her arms and shook her head.
“I am so sorry about this mess.”
Sandy waved her hands away dismissively as she looked up and down the hall for the next problem.
“We had to do the interview. You were right. We needed the publicity for the campaign, but who knew it would be like this?” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Dr. Korn didn’t help by bringing up the testing, though.”
“How could he have known they’d ambush him like that?”
“I guess. I don’t know. Shouldn’t he be ready for that, anyway? It didn’t take very long for the crazies to mobilize, though. They blew up social, and I started getting messages warning about something happening this morning. They sure are convinced about how right they are.”
“They’re not wrong about the privacy stuff,” Michelle responded, reflexively taking the evenhanded approach her journalist training required.
Sandy scowled. “That doesn’t have anything to do with us! It’s about the kids, figuring out the best treatments. They twist everything and take it out of context. Why can’t they just let us do our work?” Michelle opened her mouth to defend Dr. Korn, but Sandy cut her off. “Listen, that lady from the McJames Institute is here again today. She said she really wants to talk to you. About Adam,” Sandy concluded with raised eyebrows and an expectant pause.
“Oh, god, are you kidding me? Not today. I’m not ready for that.”
Sandy reached out and took Michelle’s hand. “I know, I know, but face it, you’re barely holding it together. We’re all doing our best, but it’s not enough. You should really talk to them. They’ve been spending quite a bit of time with him doing all their testing.”
Michelle bit her lip and frowned. He did seem to enjoy the puzzles and games they gave him.
A memory intruded, from the last time her parents attempted a major change in his routine, trying to mainstream him at the public schools near their home in Oak Park. The bullying led to a disastrous altercation that sent one of tormentors to the ER for stitches all over his face. The staff here knew him and had kept that under control, mostly. Would the old routines, with the same people, the same rhythms, the same obligations, continue to suffice?
“You guys are so good with him, though.”
“Thank you, but you know it’s not perfect. He’s outgrowing us, in more ways than one. You can see that.”
Michelle remembered seeing Adam with the examiner from McJames, sitting with clasped forearms or calmly playing at home with the puzzles they gave him, complex three-dimensional toys with hundreds of parts that he disassembled and rebuilt often for hours, deeply absorbed in the intricacies of how the pieces fit together. Though none of it made sense to her, it was obvious that it engaged Adam.
In most ways, though, Adam remained her regular brother – mute, inscrutable, and volatile. A tantrum would inevitably disrupt their routine, and they’d be right back where they’d been for the last several years, fighting like two feral children, Michelle failing once again to be the adult, the surrogate parent, the responsible one. Would a change be good for Adam?
God, it would be good for me.
“But Idaho, Sandy? Really? That’s just terrifying. We’ve barely been outside Chicago. I can’t even imagine trying to make that decision.”
“I don’t think they’re going to let you put it off too much longer.”
“What would I do, move out there? I mean, is it even safe?”
“What do you mean?”
“The political stuff, the secessionists, the Compact State stuff…”
Sandy waved her hand dismissively. “They seem comfortable out there. It’s not all crazy, and I don’t think anything has happened recently. Just talk to them.” Sandy watched the conflicting emotions warring across Michelle’s face. “It could be good for both of you.”
The chanting outside reached a new crescendo, and Michelle turned toward the entrance.
“Should I move my car? It’s on the sidewalk.”
Sandy smiled. “It’ll keep. Come talk to Dr. Elspeth first.”
Michelle followed Sandy down the hall to a quiet, interior office with a large table. The woman waiting there wasn’t the one who had tested Adam, and Michelle made note of the difference. Her bland features and expressionless face were oddly dissonant with her rich brown skin.
“Michelle, this is Dr. Elspeth, from the McJames Institute.”
The woman stood with her hands at her side, and Michelle tentatively extended her hand in greeting. After a brief pause, the woman reciprocated with a mechanical grip and a grimace of a smile.
“How are you. I’d like to talk to you about your brother Adam.”
Slightly put off by her monotone delivery, Michelle nodded slowly. “Sure. I’m very interested to hear how he did on the tests.” The visitor turned to sit at the table and Sandy and Michelle followed suit, exchanging side-eye.
Without preamble, the woman spoke. “Adam did well. He has…skills. He is a good candidate for our program. We think he could excel. He is older, though, and there are…risks.” She paused, staring at a point to the left of Michelle’s face. “He can do more, and we can help him.”
Her face remained impassive. When Michelle looked at Sandy, she got the impression the other woman stole a glance, but she could never catch her when she looked back. Michelle pulled on her lip and tried again to make eye contact.
“What are these risks? What kind of risks?”
Dr. Elspeth stared, and Michelle wasn’t sure she had heard the question.
“The therapy is intense. Some students cannot adapt. Some students…change…in unexpected ways. Most succeed. Adam is a good candidate.”
“What about the fees? I don’t have…”
“The tuition is expensive,” Dr. Elspeth interrupted, “but we can provide assistance. If you are willing to enroll him, the money should not be an obstacle. This is a very good opportunity for your brother. We think he has sufficient potential, and we don’t have very many openings.”
They sat in awkward silence. The pressure to decide was uncomfortable.
“When do you need to know?” Michelle asked.
“As soon as possible. There are other candidates.”
Michelle frowned, twisting her lower lip between thumb and forefinger. Sandy reached out and took Michelle’s other hand.
“It’s an excellent program, Mish. We would hate to lose you, but it would be so good for Adam, especially with what’s been going on lately. We can only do so much for him here, and you have to do what’s best.”
“But you guys are like family to us….” They clutched each other’s hands, tears welling.
The lump swelled and she had difficulty swallowing past it. Will Jonah give me time off? How long? What about the money? Jesus Christ, Idaho?
Michelle wiped her eyes and turned to Dr. Elspeth.
“Can I think it over tonight and let you know tomorrow?” The other woman made no reply. Sandy looked from Michelle to the doctor and back again. Finally, the woman nodded.
“As soon as possible.”
Another awkward silence ensued, interrupted by a frantic knock at the door.
One of the teacher’s aides stuck her head in.
“Michelle, could you come back to the classroom? It’s Adam.”
Michelle jumped up. Sandy and Dr. Elspeth followed at a short distance.
In the classroom, Adam was off to the side, sitting in a chair, rocking and biting his hands. One of the teachers knelt behind him and struggled to restrain him. Another stood off to the side, dabbing her forearm with bloodied gauze.
Michelle’s face crumpled and it all came crashing in, the responsibility, her growing impotence in the face of Adam’s outbursts, and the limits of their current situation. Outside, the blaring of police sirens was interrupted by loud bullhorns. The crowd noises agitated the entire classroom.
“What happened?” she asked, kneeling next to him. The jiggle bag lay on the floor next to the chair.
“When the police sirens started up, he got upset, and Stacy tried to calm him and he got her arm.” Michelle held Adam’s hands firmly between hers and began singing to him as he rocked.
He calmed a little. Michelle noticed Dr. Elspeth approach and stand beside Adam, staring intently at him, and though there was no eye contact or other connection between them, she felt his hands relax in hers and his movements settle. Something inside Michelle clicked, and she decided.
“Can we go somewhere quieter?” she asked, looking up at the teachers. They nodded and she pulled Adam to standing. As they left the room, Michelle turned to Dr. Elspeth.
“We’ll do it. Sign us up. We’ll go to Idaho.” The woman stared back, then nodded once.
Robert Wack 