DAMN IT!

DAMN IT!

While you are picking tomatoes from the grocery store of a big supermarket I run past you.

"Easy, kid, you got me!" You say.

And you and I both know that I only slightly shook the bag you were carrying on your shoulder.

I continue to run through the corridors in my attempt to articulate words buried alive by society's rejection that insist on remaining buried alive.

I walk past you again and this time I don't even touch you.

I know.

You know it.

And you say: "Damn it!"

With great indignation.

Now that it's all over and I'm sitting in my grandmother's wicker, rickety chair, rocking back and forth and thinking what you would say if I were blind and my cane was touching you as I passed you.

Would you still say I crushed you?

Would you still say "damn him"?

(My heart is beating like crazy as I write this and I hope you are reading and remembering me!

And I hope you change!)

I'm thinking that I too could say "Hmarton" about the behavior at your trial.

For trying to shut me up.

For trying to take my space that belongs to me in...that manicure hallway.

On that short journey that calls us companions and is called life.

But clearly, I'm not going to say "ormarton" because I know you're human.

And so am I.

And human means sensitive.

So sensitive that one minute he can be indignant and the next he can do wonders...

I'm waiting for your next transaction where you do miracles.

I'm sure you will. And if you don't do them in the next one, you'll do them in the next one or the one after that.

And never not make them as long as I took some of your time and you read me..

And I don't mean the transaction with the grocer.

Not at all.

I mean dealing with the fellow man.

I want you to know that I'm not blind.

I'm George, and my name is Autistic, non-verbal!

And now...

Nice to meet you.

Have a good week!

Evangelos Bochatziar