HELP, NOT CURE
Dreamed 1996/12/26 by Chris Wayan
There's a gifted autistic woman I admire. I want to do her a favor.
So I go back in time--easy for me--to her babyhood. I summon two angels to help me. They're a gay couple, very swishy and a bit silly, but kindhearted. They break into the fabulous mansion where the autistic baby is... through the carved marble grillework gates, between the matched white statues of two strange beings, generally humanoid but tall, gaunt, and literally ass-backwards: asses in front, toes to back, knees like chickens. The angels get a giggle out of them as they pass. But the statues' eyes open. They start to follow us in! Guardians of the autistic baby. They want to fight the angels! "But you're the last of your kind, we can't fight you." say the angels. "Besides, we've come to HELP the baby."
Help, not cure--for I instructed them not to cure her. She has savant abilities she doesn't want to give up, they're part of her core, her character. The angels are to see that she gets extra love, extra attention, and the specialized care she needs. She surmounted her disabilities as an adult, but it would have been easier with more love--and autistic babies aren't easy to love.
But take away her autism? She doesn't want that.
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