If you're unfamiliar with what Asperger's is, here's a brief explanation from the all-knowing Wikipedia: "a spectrum disorder that is characterized by significant difficulties in social interaction, alongside restricted and repetitive patterns of behavior and interests." It's also been known as a high functioning form of Autism. If you've ever met anyone with Asperger's, there really is only one operative word that best describes their personality: awkward. I sincerely hope this doesn't come off as insulting or critical in any way, but merely for descriptive purposes that pertain to the upcoming story. Most people who know someone with this condition, including people who have it, will tell you that awkward is an apt description.
Aside from socially awkward interactions with people, those diagnosed with Asperger's also have obsessive-like (if not actually obsessive) interests, similar to those with regular Autism. The only people that I've known with Asperger's (or I've mentally diagnosed) have only had nerdish interests, meaning, their hobbies and activities included things of the "fan-boy" or "geekdom" variety. Think anime, comic books, video games, comic book movies, or an interesting combination of the aforementioned subjects, like say...a video game based on an anime. Again, no judgment, I've been to a comic-con or two (it was two).
In college, I became close with a young man whose passion laid in Nintendo DS based Pokémon tournaments, which he took extremely serious. Prior to this becoming his sole preoccupation, he was deeply involved with the anime club on campus, and I was somewhat taken aback and a little amused by their veneration for anime. Far be it for me to knock it just because I didn't get it. I have my share of odd interests - mostly televised. I attended a couple of anime club meetings with him after our beloved Film Music class. I don't even mean that in a sarcastic way, it was truly beloved by both of us. We knew every composer and every score. I really thought it would be the next of his obsessive things, as it almost became mine. We'd spend the class time quietly mocking those who didn't know John Carpenter's famous Halloween score, or laughing at the girl who asked how you spelled Hans Zimmer. What a fool - it's Hans Zimmer!
I found the anime club meetings mostly uneventful; the members however were...an eclectic and colorful bunch. I'd mostly spend my time watching them while they watched anime. I wondered to myself, what happened in their lives for them to choose to lead this life of cartoon watching (shamefully yes, that question was tinged with judgment)? I soon found out from an anime club insider that there was a coo forming against the club president and I quickly became much more interested in the club politics than any Naruto presentation they had to offer. Apparently there was some sort of disagreement over which anime artist was superior and I was enthralled by the drama it caused. I wish I were into anything as much as they loved anime...I mean, I love Top Model but I'm not about to start a club over it.
We graduated together and have kept in touch, mostly to catch the most recent Marvel movie release. We even saw Elektra staring Jennifer Garner. I realize I'm really exposing myself to judgment over this, but I suppose it's deserved as I am in turn exposing some very nice people to judgment - and also, it was Elektra. About six years later, I returned to college, although not the same one, due to some unfinished general education requirements to finally get that Bachelor's degree that had been eluding me for all that time. So at the ripe old age of 29, I returned to finalize my educational goals at community college. I have to say, I felt a little like Joel McHale on NBC's Community, returning after all these years. There I was, in a class full of baby-faced 18 year olds right out of high school. It was a little surreal. I felt almost like the last decade of my life hadn't happened, as if I'd never taken those graduate level literature courses or worked as hard as I did on all my post-collegiate endeavors. But again, there I was, in Philosophy 6 with Michael, or as I soon referred to him as, "the cat-pee guy" (I'm getting to that).
Michael I'd say was one of the guys I self diagnosed with Asperger's. Curiously enough, another young college student I met that same semester "came out" to me as having Asperger's. When he asked if I'd noticed, I said, "no, not at all." I lied. It made sense though; at least I could now explain why he would always say the most rude and random shit to me. I would sometimes be offended, but now that I knew, all was forgiven. Perhaps the next time someone is angry with you, tell him or her that you have Asperger's...or Tourette's. Anyway, don't worry about him, he's not our "cat-pee guy," so without further adieu, back to the tale of the feline urine.
I would always hate having to get into groups or be partnered up in class, mostly because I found everybody else to be rather insipid. I'd been friendly with the two students I sat next to, a young girl and guy about the same age as each other, but when they suddenly fell in love with each other after a week of meeting, they were only interested in pairing up with each other, so I had to look elsewhere to be partnered. It's the worst isn't it? Looking around the room as everyone chooses each other and you're left sitting alone like a loser, looking around in desperation, and then...aha! Another pathetic lonely face! You do that back and forth pointing thing from across the room, silently pleading with your eyes, and sometimes mouthing the words, "want to partner up?" What a depressing admission, and that in college you should still be subjected to such humiliation. Yet another humbling experience, but I had a partner. This is how I met Michael.
He seemed nice enough. He had a friendly pudgy face with glasses, curly hair, and a nervous smile. He liked his striped oversized tees and solid colored hoodies. I never really noticed him before, which was surprising with some of the things he started saying soon after.
It started off perfectly fine. He was pleasantly easy to work with, mostly because he always believed my answers were correct and went along with them. We'd buddied up time and time again for various assignments. One particular day he asked me for a very simple favor in a way I’d never forget by commencing conversation with:
"So the other day my cat totally pissed all over my backpack."
"Really?" I asked wondering where this was going.
"Yeah, she pissed all over my backpack, all over my note books, all over my text books, and all over my notes..."
"That's disgusting," I said as I sat there aghast, starring at the backpack in question. It was right next to me, practically touching my backpack. It was just sitting there atop his desk. I was amazed and grateful I couldn't smell anything.
"Why doesn't it smell?" I asked.
"My mom washed it...So, can I borrow your notes?"
"Sure."
How could I say no after such a compelling story. That and I was too busy silently wondering why he didn't just throw away the backpack. I lent him my notes of course, which I assumed he photocopied. He was very grateful, telling me thank-you every time he saw me. I would have appreciated his appreciation a lot more if he had just said thank-you for the notes without the continual reminder of why he needed them.
"Thanks again for the notes, because, you know, that time my cat pissed on my backpack," he'd say...every. Single. Time.
"I know Michael, I remember," I'd say.
It was too weird not to tell friends about such a character and soon started referring to him as the cat-pee guy. I soon felt bad about giving him such a nickname, albeit private only amongst a single friend or two, but soon realized why I felt bad. He started to say the most random and odd things in class - this guy had absolutely no filter. He wasn't rude, mean, and certainly didn't say anything offensive or crude, but the things that came out of his mouth never seemed appropriate for the time or place. I would get nervous and embarrassed for him every time I would see his hand go up in class. What was he going to say this time? Once he'd asked the teacher if he had cats. It really was the teacher's fault; he did ask if anyone had any questions. The teacher said no, he didn't in fact have cats, to which Michael replied, "I love my cats."
Further in the semester, we were required to get into a larger group so we recruited another young man I'd partnered up with before named Jason. Jason was black and Michael didn't waste any time in telling him he looked exactly like his favorite black character on his favorite show North Shore. Jason laughed due to the jarring nature and randomness of the arbitrary comment. While in the group, Jason and I came up with all the answers from the book exercise we were forced to work on. Michael had missed the previous lecture so he admitted he'd be of no assistance, but we were fine. For extra credit, our teacher asked the entire class a surprise multiple-choice question. Jason and I debated for a good minute on which one it might be, but settled on B, final answer. Suddenly, Michael chimes in, he thinks its D. In order not appear as if we weren't team players, we asked why he thought it was D. He had a challenging time answering, fumbling with words and eventually gave up. Even as he explained his reasoning (ironically, it was a class on logic and reason) he second guessed himself and said he'd probably be wrong, so never mind. Obviously, we go with our answer. It's wrong. To add insult, a good 80% of the class got it right. To add guilt, Michael was right. Yet, not once did he say, I told you so, you should have gone with D, nor does he try to re-explain his logic - nothing. I spent the entirety of the following weekend with a remorseful conscience. I'd meant to text him an apology but procrastinated on something that could have alleviated my guilt.
I ran into him that following Monday. I was sitting on the hallway floor outside the classroom waiting for the previous class to get out (I know it sounds dirty, but it's very collegey, all the other kids were doing it). Michael sat next to me, looking as friendly as ever with no clue that I'd soon be dropping an apology on him.
"Hey, I just wanted to say I'm sorry, I feel really really bad about last week," I said.
"For what?" he asked smiling, with no clue.
"For not believing your answer was right."
"Oh! That's okay," he replied.
"It's just that you seemed so unsure so we went with ours, had we known you were confident about your answer we would have totally gone with it," I rationalized.
"Oh that's okay. I sort of usually just give up. Even I didn't believe I was right. I went with your answer because I thought I was wrong because I have low self-esteem."
I don't know why, but his unexpected admission suddenly broke my heart. Maybe it was because it came from a place of innocent and unfiltered sincerity. A sincerity I had not ever experienced outside a therapist's office, or a sincerity that was so effortlessly shared with me. It was the nonchalant manner in which he shared this information. He could have just as easily told me he liked Diet Coke in the same fashion. Or maybe it was the admission itself. Here he was, sitting next to me in a crowded hallway at 10 in the morning, telling me he was a faulty person. It was a strange and almost refreshing change, coming from a world where everyone is always selling how awesome they are. I don't remember what I said afterward, but I'm certain I was silent for a good minute, stunned as he looked at me, oblivious that he had just said one of the saddest things I'd heard in months.
In the next month or two, we continued to pair up for class projects. He never again revealed anything quite as affecting and personal. However, he managed to continue to say some of the oddest things I'd ever heard.
Every time he'd say something weird, every one would laugh and I'd feel awful for him. He definitely wouldn't learn his lesson from the last time he was laughed at and was always quick to comment or ask questions in class. To his credit, he would sometimes make valid points or answer questions correctly, but those instances were rare. It's hard to explain why I would get upset at the classroom laughter. Could it be that I felt protective of him? They didn't know him like I did; he was a sweet, well-meaning, mild-mannered, and gentle individual. Yet he didn't seem to mind the laughter. I suppose it was one of those situations where you can be critical or mock someone close to you, but you'd rip the head off a person who'd dare make fun of them in your presence.
So I guess I had developed a protective response and the only thing I really did was set him aside to privately ask him to please, for the love of god, tell me what you're going to say before you say it out loud in a room full of people with ears (I'm paraphrasing, I was a lot more tactful). He sort of laughed it off and quickly forgot my request. I guess I was trying to protect him from himself, but there was really only so much I could do. But who's to say he needed protecting? Maybe I should take my own advice, did I not just write nice guys don't need protecting or defending, that they "don't think the world is as cruel as you?"
I would hope he would quickly find out that the world could be cruel on his own by being a part of the world for long enough. Would it be possible that he would remain oblivious to the fact he was just a little bit different? That the things he said weren't greeted with normal reactions, or as one of the girls in our group said ever so eloquently,
"I've heard you from across the room and you say some pretty fucked up shit."
We completed our final presentation in front of the class and it mostly went off without a hitch. Michael got nervous during his speaking portion and didn't hesitate in sharing that very fact when he began stumbling on his words.
"I'm sorry, I'm just kind of nervous," he said, embarrassed. At least he was honest. The funny thing is, nobody laughed. The class just smiled politely and let him continue. Maybe that's the trick; people don't want to laugh at you if you're already embarrassed, or if you're already beating yourself up about something. I guess the job is done, no need for an outside party to make you feel shamed when you already do. Just a theory.
I didn't keep in touch with Michael, I mean, how could I? No facebook, no twitter - impossible. I like to think that he gave the class a little going away gem during the comment/question period during another group's presentation. On their presentation board, they had illustrations in reference to the subject they were discussing. I believe it was on animal rights and they had drawings of wild animals, like tigers and lions. His hand shot up in the air.
"I really think it was a mistake to include those drawings," he said. He went on to explain that they were distracting and really took him out of their presentation. Everyone laughed of course, but so did he. Then the girl who'd much earlier claimed he said "some fucked up shit" said, "Only Michael!" but in an inexplicably kind way. I guess I wasn't the only one who had grown fond of him.
He really reminded me of my anime enthusiast friend from my first and long-ago college experience who would also say an odd thing here and there. I often had to jump in and explain or defend his mouth and some times his unusual behavior. I also felt that strange protective feeling over him. So what if he brought hard-boiled eggs to a movie night? It's the thought that counts, right? That really does remind me, I should call him before we can't buy midnight show tickets for The Dark Knight Rises premiere. They're probably sold out - he'll be disappointed.
I'd previously posed the question about how I wasn't sure what that said about me; spending time with people that were perceived as awkward, gawky, filter less, or different. These are qualities I feel are natural to me and they'd be even more prevalent if I didn't make such a concerted effort to make them less apparent. Maybe I felt so protective of them because I saw myself in them. Perhaps the only difference is that I'm more self-aware and have the sense not to say what I'm always thinking, and shamefully, care what other people think of me, whereas they lacked that self-awareness. Just another theory.
Well, thanks for reading, I know it was a long one. See you all at comic-con. Damn, that's probably sold out too!
