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Description
Many would say that there are no obvious physical features that define an autistic child. You only need to look at such a child to see the error of this though. Locked in their own mind, yet often staggeringly intelligent, their features seem to possess an ethereal quality that us ‘mere mortals’ lack.

~*~*~*~*~

A shadow behind a curtain, a cry in the night – Anna has lived in the same street with the same neighbours for her whole 16 years, but in all that time she has never caught more than a glimpse of the boy-next-door. The one who is talked about in whispers, behind closed doors. “His poor mother . . . looking after him all by herself, no help at all . . .”
The father is rarely seen (“away on business”, apparently), and the mother even less. She was beautiful once, they say, with a face and a body envied by all who saw her. Even now she could be mistaken, at a distance, for the beauty she once was. Once you get closer, though, you can see that time and stress have not been kind to her – frown lines crease her forehead, sharp eyes have lost their spark, and there is never a smile to be seen on her lips.
One day, she arrives on Anna’s doorstep, and manages to explain, through tears, that her mother is in hospital and she needs to see her but she can’t take her son, James, with her. Before Anna knows what is happening, she is walking into her neighbour’s house with a three-page list of what is to be done and when, “so as not to upset him”.
The house is eerily silent, and the quiet ‘click’ of the front door when she pulls it shut seems very loud in the empty hallway.
Shaking slightly, she consults the list in her hand.
Go to the kitchen and put on the apron that is hanging over the chair. It’s something familiar to James, and will probably help.
The moment Anna sees the apron, she cringes with disgust. Electric green and orange on a deep purple background? Something that hideous must date back to the 70’s!
Donning the apron, Anna leaves the kitchen in search of James.
He will probably stay out the back in the Studio. Lunch in at 12:30; half a glass of milk and a cheese sandwich (white bread, no crusts and cut into triangles).
The ‘Studio’ is indeed where James is. The room is littered with canvasses in various states of completion, most showing no more than swirling colours. Paintbrush in hand he turns towards her, grey-blue eyes in an almost surreal and perfectly-formed face appearing to look through her. He considers her in this way for a second, then returns to his painting. Anna sits watching him paint, the movement of the brush and the ease with which he uses it both fascinating and hypnotic. Anna doesn’t recall moving from her place, but the cups and plates scattered around the room that were not there when she arrived are evidence to the contrary. His mother returns late in the evening, and hustles Anna out the door with a distracted “Thank you!”

Little more than a week later, a removal truck comes and in the space of 24 hours, the house-next-door is empty. No goodbyes, just gone.
The next day, there is a parcel on the front porch labelled “Anna”. Inside is a painting and a note.
Anna,
We have moved closer to the hospital so I can be near my mother. This is the only painting that James ever finished, and I thought you would like it.
~Louise
The painting is of her, the face a mirror image of her own with the swirling colours of the apron behind.

Description
Many would say that there are no obvious physical features that define an autistic child. You only need to look at such a child to see the error of this though. Locked in their own mind, yet often staggeringly intelligent, their features seem to possess an ethereal quality that us ‘mere mortals’ lack.

~*~*~*~*~

A shadow behind a curtain, a cry in the night – Anna has lived in the same street with the same neighbours for her whole 16 years, but in all that time she has never caught more than a glimpse of the boy-next-door. The one who is talked about in whispers, behind closed doors. “His poor mother . . . looking after him all by herself, no help at all . . .”
The father is rarely seen (“away on business”, apparently), and the mother even less. She was beautiful once, they say, with a face and a body envied by all who saw her. Even now she could be mistaken, at a distance, for the beauty she once was. Once you get closer, though, you can see that time and stress have not been kind to her – frown lines crease her forehead, sharp eyes have lost their spark, and there is never a smile to be seen on her lips.
One day, she arrives on Anna’s doorstep, and manages to explain, through tears, that her mother is in hospital and she needs to see her but she can’t take her son, James, with her. Before Anna knows what is happening, she is walking into her neighbour’s house with a three-page list of what is to be done and when, “so as not to upset him”.
The house is eerily silent, and the quiet ‘click’ of the front door when she pulls it shut seems very loud in the empty hallway.
Shaking slightly, she consults the list in her hand.
Go to the kitchen and put on the apron that is hanging over the chair. It’s something familiar to James, and will probably help.
The moment Anna sees the apron, she cringes with disgust. Electric green and orange on a deep purple background? Something that hideous must date back to the 70’s!
Donning the apron, Anna leaves the kitchen in search of James.
He will probably stay out the back in the Studio. Lunch in at 12:30; half a glass of milk and a cheese sandwich (white bread, no crusts and cut into triangles).
The ‘Studio’ is indeed where James is. The room is littered with canvasses in various states of completion, most showing no more than swirling colours. Paintbrush in hand he turns towards her, grey-blue eyes in an almost surreal and perfectly-formed face appearing to look through her. He considers her in this way for a second, then returns to his painting. Anna sits watching him paint, the movement of the brush and the ease with which he uses it both fascinating and hypnotic. Anna doesn’t recall moving from her place, but the cups and plates scattered around the room that were not there when she arrived are evidence to the contrary. His mother returns late in the evening, and hustles Anna out the door with a distracted “Thank you!”

Little more than a week later, a removal truck comes and in the space of 24 hours, the house-next-door is empty. No goodbyes, just gone.
The next day, there is a parcel on the front porch labelled “Anna”. Inside is a painting and a note.
Anna,
We have moved closer to the hospital so I can be near my mother. This is the only painting that James ever finished, and I thought you would like it.
~Louise
The painting is of her, the face a mirror image of her own with the swirling colours of the apron behind.