He inspires awe.

 

The slam of his hands against his own thighs,

against the couch,

The chairs,

The floor.

The distance in his eyes when you call his name.

Michael.

Michael.

Michael Aaron look at me.

 

The doctors call it Autism and

All I know is that next year,

My brother will be ten,

And I will be in college,

And I will stay up at night wondering if when I return

I will have to become his sister again.

 

His mouth forms words that are not his,

From TV,

And movies,

And books.

From the mouths of his friends.

He is different in the way he watches the world,

And I love him.

I am struck by him,

I am amazed.

 

He has the most perfect memory in the universe,

Better than a computer because he won't break,

But the world claims he is already broken.

 

He sees from the corner of his eyes,

They whisper,

They frown,

They know nothing.

They no nothing of the way that he

Hugs or

Kisses or

loves.

 

I am in awe of him because he knows.

He knows that there are those that would lock him away,

Those that would have him in shelters worse than dogs.

Those that would dispose of him as burdens.

He knows all of this the way a nine year old should not,

and he bears it.

 

I am in awe of him because he is nine and will be ten,

And I know now that when I go to college,

I will come back,

And he will call me by my name.

 

Because he has the most perfect memory in the universe,

And he is not broken.

He is awesome.