Ok, I'm really sorry this chapter is so short. But I had to make a transition chapter to really start to move the actual storyline along. So if you don't like this latest chapter, don't give up on me - the next one is going to be super packed with all the plot stuff. I promise. I hope you like it so far! please let me know of your thoughts if you'd like :)
Jack Merridew sat with his friend Roger on the sofa, closely watching little Jonah play on the sitting room floor. The boy crawled over to the toybox, whacked it over to watch everything spill out, and then stacked all the blocks up while simultaneously organizing all of the other toys in a perfectly straight line. Roger's eyes were dark-circled and tired. "He does this a lot?" Jack asked, not really sure why he was keeping his voice low—Jonah wasn't paying any attention anyway. Roger nodded. "Every minute of every day. He doesn't make games, no playing with dolls, no toy cars, nothing. Just lines. Lines and towers. And then what does he do? Knocks everything around just to set it up into lines again. It's almost hard to watch." he explained. Jack nodded slowly. Jonah picked up a yellow rubber ducky and studied it for a moment, then he let out a screech and threw it against his tower of blocks. He gave a clap at the sight of the crumbled structure. "Are you going to get him help?" Jack asked casually, not trying to sound pretentious or cocky. Roger took a sip of tea. "There's a doctor at the hospital that's conducting research on him, and he says the next thing he'd like us to do is bring Jonah to a group of other autistic children. The parents have a guided counseling session while the young ones interact. It's supposed to be good for him. That starts next week." The way Roger's voice sounded—it struck Jack in a way that he didn't consider before. The young man sounded exhausted. As if he had no options. As if he were alone. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to be a new single parent with a disabled child. He reached over and put a hand on his friend's shoulder comfortingly. "He doesn't even call me 'Dada'…" Roger said in a broken whisper. He let a few tears fall before drawing in a deep breath. "It's alright," Jack murmured. "The group sessions are going to help. He'll see other kids—maybe some will be past the stage of not speaking and he'll imitate them. It's going to work, Roger. You'll definitely get something out of it."
"It's just hard doing this by myself…"
Jack didn't know what the right thing to say was. He honestly felt so bad for his friend—the man's life had absolutely never been easy. Why couldn't he just catch a break for once? "I know it is." he whispered. "I'm not even much help to my wife, so she says. And look—I've got two children! You're doing better than I am right now. A six-year-old daughter and a two-year-old son makes things rough. By the way, did I tell you Ginny wants another one? She keeps reminding me that we should have one now before Michael gets too old. That way they can play together. See how well you're doing? You don't have to worry about all that."
"At least your children speak to you…"
"He will, Roge. I promise he will."
Jonah crawled away from his lines and wandered back over to Roger, hands outstretched towards him. He made some childish babbling sounds and patted his father's lap. "Want to sit with me?" Roger asked. He pulled the little one up so that he was resting on his lap. Immediately, Jonah started crying. Roger sighed in frustration. "Just tell me what you want!" he hissed. Jack gently placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. He watched as Jonah wriggled and cried and wrung his hands as if he had all the answers in his head and physically had no way of getting them out. Roger readjusted his position so that Jonah was reclining against his arm. The boy quieted a bit, the redness in his face dissolving slowly into its usual pale. He leaned back. Roger watched as he stuck his little thumb in his mouth, using his other free little hand to wave as if wanting more. Without a word, his father began rocking him slowly. His favorite sensation. Jack remained silent as the little one fell into a deep sleep, clearly appeased by the presence of the swaying and the soft humming Roger produced as a lullaby.
Several minutes later, Roger carried Jonah into the nursery to lay him in the crib. Jack just quietly observed how gentle and patient this man was, when he really knew he was at his wit's end. Roger sighed heavily as he closed the nursery room door after exiting. "And that," he said sadly. "is my entire day, twenty-four seven." Jack just once again patted his shoulder. He refrained from saying too much—he felt like it would be good for his friend to just unload all of his complaints and burdens upon him. Maybe it would release some tension. "I had to leave my job…" Roger choked out, overwhelmed by fresh tears. "I had to leave my job to be a mother…because my own wife couldn't handle it." Jack led him back into the sitting room, easing him onto a chair and gently wrapping his arms around the shaking frame. "It's alright, Roge. It's alright." he whispered. "Sometimes you've got to get to your lowest point to start climbing again. Just like a ball—it falls down, but springs right back up the moment it hits its bottom point. That's what you've got to do. The bounce back up is on its way." Roger really appreciated his childhood friend's advice and counseling. He needed to hear things like that. But the events in his life proved to him that that time of being at the lowest point was not an immediate leap back up to the top—sometimes one had to linger there.
And that was what scared him most.