The ability to create and use explanatory knowledge gives people a power to transform nature which is ultimately not limited by parochial factors, as all other adaptations are, but only by universal laws. This is the cosmic significance of explanatory knowledge – and hence of people, whom I shall henceforward define as entities that can create explanatory knowledge.
― David Deutsch, The Beginning of Infinity: Explanations That Transform the World
Michelle looked in the bathroom mirror at the motel and cursed her puffy eyes and the sleep lines on her cheeks. It had been a restless night, tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed, road noises waking her when a weird dream didn’t, finally dozing off around 5 a.m., only to sleep through the alarm. Her worry about Adam’s first night tormented her along with her guilt and insecurity about not making the right decisions for her brother.
She debated taking a quick shower, and opted instead to splash water on her face, brush out her hair quickly, and get over to the school in time for breakfast.
The car carried her unerringly to the school while she applied make up in the mirror and tried to make herself reasonably presentable, then checked in with work, read messages, and skimmed the news.
At the McJames Institute she was greeted at the front desk by the smiling receptionist and led back to the cafeteria. Rows of kids of various ages quietly ate breakfast. Some engaged in limited conversation, others ate in silence, but just as Connie had said, no moaning, shouts, motor overflow of hand flapping or biting. She scanned the tables and found Adam flanked by two other students about his age. It took a moment to adjust to his transformation with the haircut. He was shoveling Cheerios with gusto. His posture changed as she approached, a subtle straightening showing Michelle that he saw her. She immediately sensed his contentment, along with, what? Excitement? Energy? A flood of relief warmed her.
“Hey, bud, how was your sleep over? Did you have a good time?” She reached over and stroked his hair and neck while he ate, and he accepted the touch, another good sign. Michelle fought back tears while he finished off the cereal.
A teaching aide named Ashley approached.
“Time to put your dishes away, Adam. Show your sister how well you do your chores.” Adam dutifully loaded his tray and took it over to the conveyor at the side of the room, then came back to the table and stood next to Michelle. The aide beamed as Michelle watched open mouthed.
“He’s really doing quite well. He’s adjusting nicely,” Ashley assured Michelle. Michelle nodded dumbly. In Chicago, getting Adam to cooperate with any classroom routines had always been a challenge. This was significant progress, and so quickly! Again, the investigator inside her wondered how.
“Let me get Adam settled in his first activity. Then I can show you around,” Ashley said. Michelle nodded and waited in the cafeteria until she returned.
They walked down a long corridor flanked by doorways into rooms, some filled with students, others empty, while Ashley narrated, gesturing at doorways.
“These are the activity rooms. This one is for music.”
They stood in the doorway of a large room, empty at the moment, clusters of chairs arranged around the room, musical instruments on shelves around the perimeter, a grand piano in one corner. At the opposite end, a small stage built from raw lumber was surrounded by more folding chairs arranged in a concentric semicircles.
“Some of the students come to us with musical talents. Others develop new interests and skills while they’re here. We use music as an opportunity to teach discipline, team work, and social connection. Some are true prodigies performing solo, but getting them to cooperate with others playing a more complex piece can be a challenge. It’s one of the many ways we draw some of the kids outside themselves, help them connect to the outside world and other people.”
Michelle nodded, remembering Connie’s stories about the beautiful concert she attended on her visit. Unfortunately, that wasn’t Adam. He’d never expressed any interest in or talent for music. In fact, Michelle’s music in her teen years was an occasional trigger for Adam’s violent outbursts and conflict with her parents. She smiled at the memory of the ludicrous scenes of her barricaded in her room, shouting through the door while her music blared, her parents shouting on the other side. One time in particular, her parents turned their anger on each other.
“This is your fault!” her mother screamed at her father before storming out. Michelle turned the music down and stuck her head out of the room. Her father looked at her and sadly shook his head.
They continued down the hall and looked through the double doors opening onto a modest gymnasium with lacquered wood floor, basketball hoops, and a variety of exercise equipment. A child bounced on a trampoline in one corner, surrounded by protective netting. While Michelle watched, he executed a perfect front flip, body fully extended and arms out. Then she noticed the pattern: three bounces, flip; three bounces, flip.
“We try to redirect the tendency toward repetitive self-stimulating behaviors into more complex activities that develop better body awareness, control, integration. Sometimes it’s a tricky balance.” Ashley nodded to a balance beam where an instructor was helping a trembling girl take faltering steps on the balance beam while holding her hand. Her spastic limbs shook, barely under control. Further down on the beam, but still precariously close, another little girl executed perfect cartwheels and walkovers, oblivious. The instructor appeared unconcerned and occasionally gave an instruction to the little girl. She’d execute a different maneuver, always narrowly averting collision. Michelle raised her eyebrows at Ashley, who responded with a smile.
“We meet each student where they are and develop their strengths and weaknesses at their own pace. Eventually, we’ll get the little one to help her classmates. Building collaboration, trust and control are always part of the lesson.”
They continued down the hall and stopped in front of another large room. Inside were easels, worktables, the walls lined with shelving holding paper, books, paints, all manner of craft supplies. Every square inch of free wall space was covered with pictures, painting, drawings, some of them dramatically detailed renderings of objects, brightly colored abstract shapes, and striking portraits. Several dozen students worked quietly on projects, singly and in small groups, teachers moving around the room giving guidance, redirecting, instructing.
Ashley motioned Michelle through the door, and they stepped in. Immediately, she was drawn to a series of pictures on the wall with two common elements, yellow eyes in various forms, and a big yellow moon. Some of the eyes were on creatures, some with pointy ears, some with fangs, some walking on two legs, others on four. Two of the pictures had words printed. “Salinas” in neat block letters, and the other “Suleena domo” in ragged, barely legible print.
“What’s that about?” Michelle asked, pointing.
Ashley shrugged.
“They get on their little kicks. Look at these guys,” Ashley gestured, steering Michelle to another part of the room. Michelle noted the active redirection, glancing back at the pictues, but let it pass.
A boy in a motorized wheelchair sat at a low table, angled in front of him as a work surface, with a paint brush and a pot of black paint, standard 8 ½ by 11 rectangles of paper arrayed on the surface. He dipped the brush with jerking movements into the paint, then flapped the paint brush down onto the paper, making apparently random splashes of paint with abrupt motions, strokes and marks at varying angles, some clustered, others by themselves. The little girl with brown hair, the same one from the cafeteria the night before, stood next to him, right hand resting on his left forearm, fingers flickering and caressing. In front of them, an older boy stood waiting next to a group of similar papers taped to the wall in an emerging checkerboard.
Michelle watched as the boy in the wheelchair finished a paper, the little girl picked it up, put a piece of tape on it, and carried it to the bigger boy. She handed it to him. He studied the paper, then the wall. After a moment, he carefully affixed it to the wall. The two then clasped forearms, like she had seen the testers do with Adam back in Chicago, hands resting on the undersides of the forearm, wrists turned to allow for the interlocking. She saw as they both flicked their fingers rapidly, a movement so subtle and brief that if she hadn’t been watching closely she would have missed it. The little girl walked back to the boy in the wheelchair, positioned another piece of paper in front of him, and they repeated the process.
Beyond the impressive cooperative nature of the activity, the purpose or meaning of their efforts remained unclear. Yet, she had a powerful sense that something deeper, much larger, was going on. Michelle turned to Ashley, mouth open with a half-formed question, but the aide was already walking out to a different room. Again, Michelle noted the unspoken message of “look, but don’t ask”. Not yet, at least.
After visiting several more rooms, they returned to the lobby.
“Are you coming back for dinner?” Ashley asked.
Michelle nodded.
“If that’s okay?”
“Absolutely. I think Adam will enjoy seeing you. What’s the rest of the day like for you?”
Michelle shrugged. “I guess I’ll go see some more sights. I saw something about those dunes up by St. Anthony. Is that worth a trip?”
“They are wonderful, and there won’t be many ATVs or dirt bikers today because it’s mid-week, so you’ll have at least some peace. On the weekends, they kind of take it over and it can get a little loud. But when it’s quiet, off-season? Just beautiful.”
Michelle’s day was far more relaxing than she had hoped. She had a late breakfast of waffles at the diner, and they were as good as the receptionist at the school had said. She went back to the motel, took a shower, then headed north to the St. Anthony Dunes.
The young man collecting admission at the park was a cute, scruffy outdoor type, blue eyes and a careless grin. He made no effort to conceal his interest in Michelle as she walked up to the window.
“Hey there, going out on the Dunes?”
Michelle brushed a strand of hair from her face and gave her flirty shy smile, head dipped and slightly turned. Behind him, another young man with a mass of light brown curls sat hunched over a screen, intent.
“I guess so. What do you recommend?”
He grinned. “You want to take out a dune buggy?”
Michelle paused, then shook her head. “No, I just want to do a little hiking.”
“That’s cool. This is a good time to get out there, before it gets too hot.”
She paid the admission, aware of his staring. He handed back her card and gave her a brochure with her day pass.
“You from out of town?”
“Yep.”
“Where from?”
“Chicago. Just visiting. The McJames school in Rexburg.”
His eyes widened. “Really? The place with all the retard kids? What’s it like?”
Michelle stared back at him, too shocked to reply. She noticed the other young man looking up at them.
“What…what did you say?” she stammered.
The clerk leaned back, hands raised defensively. “No offense, but it’s a weird place. I just heard stories, that’s all.”
Michelle picked up the brochure and stuffed it in her purse with her card as she turned away, biting back a cutting remark.
“Later,” the clerk called out as she walked away.
Michelle visualized zapping the smirk off his face with Sparky.
“Hey, I’m sorry about that.”
Michelle turned to see the other young man had stepped out of the office. He was tall and angular, walking with a bouncy gait, bouncing his curls with each step. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, wearing an earnest frown that was immediately disarming. Michelle stopped.
“He’s just a bit of a clown. He didn’t mean anything.”
Michelle made no reply, staring back with pursed lips, letting the silence stretch out. The young man held her gaze, undeterred.
“I don’t want him to give you the wrong impression. I’m really sorry.” His persistent sincerity was charming, and Michelle reciprocated with a small smile.
“Okay, thanks.”
“Have a nice time in the park.” The young man turned away and walked back to the office, with same loose long-limbed gait, tall and angular.
She quickly forgot the clerk, lost in the austere beauty of the rolling dunes. As promised, it was quiet, and she hiked out into the sandy wilderness, scaling one dune after another, until she stood atop one of the tallest, looking out over the waves of sand, a tawny ocean surrounded by the green and gray of the rock and scrub. Except for the interaction with the clerk at the park, it was a great morning.
After several hours, she headed back to the parking lot, completely refreshed and energized. As she passed the office, the tall guy stuck his head out the drive-up window.
“Hey! Hold up.” Michelle stopped and waited.
He sauntered over, hands still in his pockets, grinning.
“Terry told me you are visiting from Chicago. I’m in grad school at Loyola,” he volunteered. Michelle put her hands on her hips and smirked back.
“Really? What are the odds?”
“As it works out, astronomical,” he replied, reciprocating her tone.
“You worked those out, did you?”
“To twelve decimals. Very high reliability.”
“Really. What’s your name, numbers guy? I’m Michelle.” She stuck out her hand confidently. He shook it with a soft grip.
“Arlo. Got any lunch plans?”
He recommended a nearby Mexican place and he followed her there in his car. She was immediately charmed by his choice of burrito and request for a bottle of Cholula for the table. They then began the game of ‘do you know?’, comparing their Chicago social circles.
“Oh my god, we go there all the time!” Michelle exclaimed in response to his disclosure of spending time at Mother McGee’s on State.
“That’s funny. I bet we’ve been there at the same time.”
“That place is a riot. I mean literally. One time, after the Cubs won the Series and…”
“Against the Orioles? I was there!”
“You’re kidding! Did you see when the woman was dancing on the bar, and someone jumped over and started spraying her with the soda gun? That was my friend Tiffany.”
“Spraying, or dancing?”
“Dancing. She didn’t mind, but these boys we were with started fighting, and all hell broke loose.”
“Oh, I remember that. We got pushed out, but I saw it start. That is so funny. You guys are dancers?”
Michelle smiled coyly. “We’ve been known to do some dancing.” She considered sharing her nickname, but saved it for later. Who knows, maybe there was some place to dance here in Rexburg.
They then dove into talking about schools, circles of friends, where they grew up. He was unlike the circles of boys her friends generally hung with, other young men with names that usually ended with i’s or o’s, either very fit and carefully groomed, or doughy with big beer bellies and all the nicknames: Skee, Chim, Tiny, Woz, or Rooster. And all the Murphs– Big Murph, Little Murph, Fat Murph, Weed Murph, and Rich Murph.
They finally finished their leisurely meal, then Arlo had to rush back to the park. They parted with the exchange of contacts and a plan to meet again while she was in town.
She headed back to the motel to relax before heading back to the school to have dinner with Adam. Maybe a nap. She couldn’t wait to share this story with Connie.
For the first time, this was starting to feel a little bit like a vacation.
Robert Wack 