A Language All Our Own

Three days each week, I see another autistic kid at lunch. He's one year older than me, and very smart with languages. He and I have never sat at the same table or had a conversation anyone else could hear, but we are good friends.

We hum.

It took me a couple of weeks to understand his hums, at first. I assumed they were just a stim, as were my occasional hums. But then I got to thinking: I don't say thank you or you're welcome. I hum them. Thank you is a proper doorbell-ringing third, and you're welcome starts on the lower of the two notes.

My friend has a far more complex language than I had ever dreamed was possible.

He uses only a handful of pitches, with slurs and pulls to form terms and phrases. I studied his ways for a good two weeks before attempting to introduce myself.

I was met with very good reception.

"Hi, I'm Ari," was my first sentence. He froze, glancing at my face as I watched him in my peripheral vision.

We haven't stopped talking since.

The first day was a very good day. We got to know one another. He was lonely, and I explained that my friends weren't really "friends," as they had the habit of turning on me and becoming horrible bullies. I suggested that we be friends, proper ones at that. He froze again, a habit I've found is his way of acknowledging a thought while processing it. Finally, he agreed.

Last Friday gave us a very crowded lunch with few available seats, a situation not previously encountered, as it was the first Friday of the quarter. His normal table wasn't available for him to sit at. His low-pitched humming signified trouble. The teachers offered to have him sit somewhere else, but he held up a single index finger. As he walked towards me, I tapped the otherwise empty table I was at. Again, the finger was presented. He had seen what appeared to be an empty table in the middle of the room, and after ensuring that no one's bags were underneath, he sat there. I knew to trust him.

Each day, I eat quickly before going to the bathroom. If I'm already done eating when he arrives, he'll call for me using my hum name. I'll respond with a quick greeting, followed by "One moment!" in our humming language.

Today had two significant events. Another autistic boy was walking through the cafeteria, and my good friend's back was turned, so he didn't know who was behind him. But I hummed to both of them, and my friend rocked quietly in greeting after realizing who it was from my sounds. Secondly, there was a bee. I like bees, but my friend doesn't. He saw my curious glances upwards as it flew overhead, and told the assistant principal, who opened a window. (The bee was not harmed in the process.)

My friend and I can read one another like books...or maybe audiobooks.

I have a world that's all my own.

I have a genius mind.

I have no way of showing such,

Except for my own kind.