I still didn't know who to cast as the lead. It was really difficult, in that every cast member so far was non-compliant or non-verbal. Naturally the verbal ones were the least malleable, which is an understatement. The verbal ones were non-compliant on principle. Two of the verbal cast members refused the acknowledge that they had legs: they would only roll into rooms and looked at a person with poison eyes if it was suggested they could stand if they wanted to.
"Clearly you're not noticing that my legs have been amputated just below the hip joint. That is very rude" said Caleb. He was a handsome lad of about 16 whom I had thought might make a good Jake the Wonderful in Spectrum! But perhaps not. There was still time to decide. If there's one thing that dealing with Spectrum youths taught you, it was that there was always time- it just wasn't yours.
I sighed. Two others- Kit and Malinda- also sighed, then watched for what I would do next so that they could imitate it. Malinda was the one who came with the mimicing trait but Kit was catching her up, to the point that Kit could now anticipate what Malinda would mimic next and mimic it herself just a half-second earlier. It made Melinda furious, and she'd run around the room disrupting things like scripts and extra-thick pencils and the Play-Doh station, causing the remaining cast members to divide themselves into their usual camps: Join-the-Chaos or Run-Away. It was roughly halfsies in this family-to-be, which was good. Part of my brain was convinced that we could run two rehearsals, one for the real musical and one for the fake one, by simply having the Run-Aways produce their own shadow show at the same time as the real one, only in the basement space of the old St. Emmanuel's School for Unresponsive Boy-Children (not it's real name.) I imagine I can have them perform it without actually having anyone see it, which is the real sticking point for the Run-Aways. They would express that very point whenever I mentioned certain things, like "audience" or "show night" or "performance" or "people" or "thinking"or "cast" or "curtain time" or "musical" or "dance". "Jazz hands" were an acceptable thing to say, as long as you didn't mind the entire group flipping their hands around like epileptic dolphins for up to a half-hour. They all looked ridiculous when a strong round of Jazz Hands was collecting their normally scattered focus, but then again they didn't look half as ridiculous as a stage full of professional performers doing the bona fide Jazz Hands.
"Ok, lets work on the opening one more time. That's a good place to start, right? The beginning." I said this in my best Jody the Tour Guide voice, as I've found it's the least offensive tone to the largest amount of cast members (two.) Sometimes when I use that voice with them, no one interrup-
"Technically the beginning can be anywhere along the storyline. It doesn't matter where one starts but how well the story is told and how well the narrative circle can be joined. For instance, if you look at episode twelve of season 4 of Doctor Who, modern, it starts at almost exactly two-thirds of the way through what becomes the full narrative of that episode." says Jolene. I nod, of course, because I want to do the opening one more time, but Jolene's best friend/worst enemy (depending on how much they talk about their favorite television show) has something to say.
"Bullshit! Bullshit shut shit bullshit Jo!" Apu yells. The non-verbals pull their heads back in under their tables, which is a shame- it was the first time they'd put any body part outside the protective shade of the craft table in over an hour. But Apu is a yeller- he, like many with ASD, is loud even though he doesn't hear it that way. His personal volume calibrating mechanism just doesn't work like...it doesn't work, is all. I've gotten so used to it that when the group goes outside our protective doors to procure more snacks or for the obligatory fresh air (my idea, their obligation) I end up yelling right along with Apu. I've wondered if it's really that it's my volume control that's wonky rather than his- a common reflection about all kinds of Spectrum traits, if you stick around. You can't help it. For example, I never used to list chapter and verse of any specific puzzle. I was the talker, keeping it terse and cordial and not feeling the need to remind the listener that a "terse and cordial" was a non-alcoholic drink from the early 20th century that was made of seltzer, liquified hay, blueberry gin, and two scant teaspoons of earth from anywhere in New England. The best part (or the worst, really) was that I don't know how I know that. All I know is that now anytime anyone says anything banal, I roll my eyes and think "How banal."
Banal conversation didn't used to bother me before I started my group- it was just a given of any regular, day-to-day day.
Kit and Malinda were waiting for my next utterance- Caleb was rolling back and forth with a faint smile on his handsome-lad face- Jo and Apu were in one of their daily arguments about story structure and how it related to television scripts versus blog posts- the non-verbals were under the table, a few eyes peeping out to look at me, waiting for me to ask something of them so that they could pull further back into the shade. It was clearly time for me to take charge, to make them all understand that I was the one who had authority in the room, and that there would be some sort of consquen-
"Just because I don't have legs doesn't mean I can't play Jake the Wonderful. But I think he should be named Jake the Legless, for obvious reasons" said Caleb. He was not rolling, looking at me with very serious eyes (everyone in the room, even the under-table peepers, could make Very Serious eyes at me like they'd studied at the London Academy of Dramatic Arts before joining my group. I didn't know, but I suspected that there was some secret conspiracy to that effect, where those who'd been diagnosed as being on the Spectrum were sent away for a weeks-long intensive from Sir Ian MacEllan on how to throw Very Serious eyes. I suspected Sir Ian was a big softie for the ASD folk.)
"Thanks, Caleb. Jake the Legless is a better name. So if everyone could move to their places-" I said, being careful to make sure that the peepers didn't know I was watching them, I moved back into position behind my keyboard. "Then we'll start at the top. Everybody ready?" There was a cacophany of noises to let me know that they were, as far as anyone could say, ready. "And one, and two-"
"PRIME, PLEASE" yelled Jolene and Apu simultaneously.
"Start at the fouth integer" said a voice from the under-table dimness. I didn't know which one said it so I was impressed with all of them.
"Sorry!" I said. "And five and seven and eleven and thirteen-" and started playing.
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