There was a teenager I worked with, at a camp, who was nonverbal, autistic, and his whole life they had been trying to teach him to write. We would try to reach him to write his name in the sand.
Him and I were sitting down on a log after a really bad moment with the other employees. They needed a break. We weren't talking a lot. We were drawing in the sand.
I broke the silence eventually, and said to him, "You understand everything we say, don't you? You understand every word we say, but you can't make us understand you. That must be so frustrating."
He winced as he went to strike the ground again.
He looked at me. Not in the eye, but decisively.
He doesn't usually do that.
His stance relaxed. Then he took my hand, with my stick in it.
Then directing my hand, he drew out each letter of his own name in the sand, in order, correctly, saying each letter as he went.
We celebrated. I celebrated with him, him with me.
I told the others, and we all celebrated together.
~~
I remember him, and I will remember him always. How much he loves dinosaurs, how he liked the dinosaur print-outs we could make over and over again so that when things happened to him, maybe when he was for feeling well, he could just have the same dinosaur again tomorrow.
I hope someday we cross paths again. And I can tell him that I have always remembered him, that he is a good friend and I have missed him. And I would really love to see what he likes to do these days if he would like to show me, too.
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