There was always something. Something a bit odd about their youngest child. From the moment he had opinions, the moment he could talk, the moment he recognized himself as the reflection in the mirror, there had been something different about him.
It started out small.
At his second birthday party he was given a Barbie doll. Blaine opened it, looked at the girl inside of the pink box, her legs long and hair flowing, and just put it back down again without a smile—totally disinterested. His parents, watching through the camera they were using to videotape the celebration, watched as he walked over to the train set that had been passed down to him by his older brother Cooper. He still had presents to open, but he was more interested in playing with the trains.
"Alice," his mother said. "Do you want to open up your other presents?"
Blaine was too absorbed in the trains, indifferent to the toys lying unopened on the floor.
"No," he replied calmly, zooming his trains fast along the tracks and then up his t-shirt and over his face, avoiding the soft curls that fell to his chin. He had refused to wear a dress that morning, crying loudly when his mother tried to put him in one. After a half an hour battle which included Blaine actually ripping the dress off himself and shoving it into the trash, his mother finally conceited, putting him in a plain red t-shirt that he normally used as a smock when painting.
His mother looked helplessly at the camera, waiting for her husband to do something. She'd never heard of a child not wanting to open presents.
"Come on, Princess. We have more toys for you!" His father threw on a cheery voice, handing the camera to his wife and going to pick Blaine up from the floor.
"Prince," Blaine said, still playing with the trains. When his father stood in front of him, hands out and ready to pick Blaine up, Blaine clarified, "I'm a Prince."
His voice was calm, his eyes innocent, as he was cradled in the arms of his father, looking up at his face so sincerely. His father just ignored the statement and walked back to where the presents were.
"Move over, Cooper," he said. Cooper was eyeing the presents, picking up a few of them and shaking them, wondering what could be inside. He moved over a bit so his father and Blaine could sit down. Blaine, perched on their father's lap, was then handed a present by his brother. His smile quickly returned as he ripped the paper off, giggling at the silly sound it made.
When he saw that it was a Princess coloring book he looked at it quizzically, then looked up to his mother, still holding the camera, with the saddest eyes in the world.
"Cool!" Cooper said, trying to provoke some enthusiasm into the quiet and stagnant room.
Blaine just handed him the coloring book with a small, "Here," before getting up off their father's lap and walking back to the train set. The camera stayed focused on his father, who looked confused and disoriented. His jaw was open and slack, his hand running through his hair. Cooper stared between the camera, his father, and Blaine, who was back to playing intently with the old and battered toy set.
Blaine didn't open any more of his presents that year. His parents tried to get him to. So did Cooper. But Blaine wasn't interested at all. That night during cake, vanilla icing with the words Happy Brithday, Alice! printed on top, the rest of his family opened the presents for him, trying, but failing, to get him to help. Blaine sat in his high chair, more interested in the cake.
There was one more present left after they finished eating cake. His parents washed his hands and face off as Cooper handed him a small gift terribly wrapped in newspaper with lots of tape.
"Here, A-Man," Cooper said quietly. Their parents hated that nickname but couldn't deny how quickly Blaine responded to it over Alice. "I got this for you."
Blaine looked between Cooper and the gift, smiled wildly, and grabbed it.
He ripped the paper off and screamed, "Ah! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Look! Look what Cooper gived-ed me!" He was smiling and bouncing up and down in his hair chair, face bright and open like it so rarely was.
In his hand was a Hot Wheels Car. Cooper had saved his allowance to buy it for Blaine, not telling his parents what he was doing, afraid they wouldn't let him.
His parents sat on the opposite side of the table, watching as Blaine laughed and cheered and started playing with the car. They watched as Cooper, smiling and chuckling, lifted his sister out of her high chair. They watched as the two of them ran out of the kitchen and into the play room to play some more. They turned to each other, heartbreak in their eyes, as they realized that something was not right with their youngest child.
Blaine's parents can't look at that video anymore. They feel guilty for missing something so big, so obvious.