Gentleman Nine

Yup. I was Tiberius and Amber was Gidget.***The next evening after work, I came home to a rude awakening.

Upon entering, the sight of a man sitting in the living room took me by surprise. My heart sank because my first thought was that I’d interrupted some kind of hook-up.

He didn’t see me come in, didn’t even flinch when I opened the door. His eyes were fixated on the television instead.

Kitty was weaving in and out of my legs as I stood frozen, observing this man who was making himself at home in the living room.

Was I about to interrupt something?

Amber brought a man back here?

My stomach churned, thinking that maybe she was freshening up, readying herself for something sordid with this guy.

Since he hadn’t noticed me yet, I continued to stand there, sizing him up. He looked about mid-twenties, pretty good-looking, although he couldn’t dress for shit. He was wearing a vintage Fat Albert t-shirt. What the fuck? Where the hell did she find this dude? And where was Amber?

Swallowing my pride, I took a few steps forward before I threw my keys down on the table. “Where’s Amber?”

Turning his attention away from the television, he finally looked at me. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t answer me.

What kind of game was this guy trying to play?

I spoke louder, “Excuse me. Who are you?”

Nothing. Not a fucking word. Cracking my knuckles, I prepared to knock him out if necessary.

“Dude. Is there a reason you’re not answering my question?”

The asshole not only continued to give me the silent treatment, but he then turned his attention away from me again and back to the television.

My mouth hung open. And what was he watching? The Wiggles?

What the fuck!

Approaching him, I leaned my face into his, “Who are you?”

The next thing I knew, his two hands landed on my head, pushing me into his face so fast that I had no time to react. His nose was buried in my hair as he pulled on it. It was like he was…sniffing me for dear life. He was. He was sniffing my hair.

Barely unable to break free of what felt like a super human grasp, I managed to pull myself away just as Amber entered the room.

“I see you’ve met Milo,” she casually said.

“Who the hell is he?”

She was laughing, and at that same moment, realization struck.

Oh.

Ohhh.

Now, I felt like an idiot. A massive fucking dumbass. This wasn’t her date. It was her client, the special needs adult she takes care of at night. She’d never brought him here, so I never suspected it was him. Everything made total sense now.

Rather than answer my question, Amber seemed to understand that I had figured it out. She looked utterly amused as she took a seat on the couch then wrapped her arm around him.

“Milo, this is Channing. He has nice hair, doesn’t he? Did it smell good?”

He smiled and grunted.

“Yeah, I bet.” She laughed then looked at me. “Milo loves to smell hair. It’s his favorite thing to do. And if you’re fresh meat like yourself, you’re gonna get extra special attention.”

I nodded then addressed him, “Sorry, man, for overreacting. I didn’t know.” I looked at Amber. “Can he understand me?”

She got up and nudged her head for me to follow her before leading me over to the kitchen.

Whispering, she said, “Sorry, I just didn’t want to talk about him in front of him.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’m not sure the extent to which he can understand something like an apology, actually. He can typically understand concrete things. He can request very simply but can’t converse or talk about feelings, stuff like that. But just because it doesn’t come out verbally, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand. There’s still a lot even I don’t comprehend.”

“So, what does he…have?”

“He has autism. He lives in a group home with other adults who have varying needs. But as you know, I take him out a few nights a week. I normally don’t bring him back here, but I ended up having to use the bathroom while we were out. Since we weren’t too far away, I figured I’d just come home. He loves The Wiggles, so I knew if I put that on, it would buy me some time to get a few things done around the house. Now, I don’t think he’ll ever want to leave.”

“God, I thought I was interrupting something, thought you’d brought a man back here. He looks so…I don’t want to say normal, but…what’s the right word…typical?”

“Typical would be what I would say, yes. That’s the thing about autism. You can’t necessarily tell by looking at someone that there are any developmental issues. It’s only when you try to interact with them that you realize it. In Milo’s case, he’s child-like, even though he’s close to our age.”