Ripples In The Water

A young boy’s troubles are the focus of this heartwarming short story by Angela Apps.

WE’D had a lovely time over the holidays. A week away taking it easy had been just what Will and I needed after the school term.

But I’d misjudged the play-date with his best friend, Eric.

It should have been perfect. It was perfect.

Right up until Eric started going on about his perfect holiday.

Now, Will was convinced that anything he did was wrong.

All that time I’d spent helping to build up his confidence, and it had been washed away in one thoughtless swipe.

I could have cried.

A hand touched mine and I realised I was crying.

“I’ll take care of this, Katie,” Mum said.

“No. You’ll just –”

Make it worse.

Too late. She brushed me aside and swept into the lounge, where Will sat at one end of the sofa, trying to block out the world.

“What’s all this, my little pebble?” Mum said too cheerfully, perching beside him.

Will shrugged her away, burying his head in his arms.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” she persisted. “Mummy says you’re sad.”

He scrunched tighter into a ball. I hated seeing him like this, especially after the brilliant week we’d just had. Mum didn’t understand. I took a deep breath and stepped forward, but she stopped me with a scowl.

I threw my hands up and retreated to the kitchen, stopping inside the door.

A part of me was eager to witness her failure, but the mother in me was poised to pick up the pieces.

If my son felt unhappy, it affected me more than anyone knew . . .

“I shouldn’t exist.”

I was surprised. Not by Will’s words: I’d already heard them far too many times over the last hour.

I hadn’t expected him to talk to her.

“What do you mean?” It was a fair question. A statement like that could easily be accompanied by some bizarre scientific theory. But not today.

“I shouldn’t exist,” he repeated. “I don’t fit in the world. It would be better if I wasn’t here.”

Mum gasped and I nodded. Those words cut to the bone and they never got easier to hear.

I blinked away more tears. “You’re only nine!” she exclaimed. “You shouldn’t think things like that.”

“But I do,” he said simply. “But why?”

Why do you think, Mum, I wanted to howl. Because he is different.

“It’s so hard!” he suddenly burst out.

I was amazed. He rarely spoke whole sentences when upset. Particularly to people who didn’t understand what autism was like.

Mum, despite all her attempts to say she understood, probably still thought it was in my head.

“Tell me,” she invited. “What’s so hard?”

I could see him in my mind’s eye, leaning away from her.

“Living,” he whispered. “Trying to fit in.”

I drew in a shaky breath, wanting to give him a hug.

Some people on the spectrum couldn’t abide touch, but Will gave the best hugs.

“It is hard,” Mum agreed. “It’s hard for all of us.”

Here we go, I thought.

“It was hard for me to carry on when Grandad passed away,” she told him.

“But I had to. And you helped me more than anyone with that.”

I’d never heard her say anything like this before.

“In fact, you’re possibly more important than anyone else in the world.”

“No, I’m not.” I could hear the irritation in his tone.

“That’s why I call you my pebble,” Mum went on.

“I’m not a pebble,” he said. “I’m Will.”

“Of course you are,” she replied. “You could never be anyone else. Let me explain what I mean.”

Will was silent.

“When you drop a pebble in a pond, it creates ripples,” Mum began.

“The ripples start from small circles at the point the stone met the water, then spread out across the surface into larger circles.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about!” I heard the agitation in his voice and headed for the lounge.

I’d had my break; I could deal with it now.

“You’re that pebble for me,” she persisted. “Before you, I didn’t understand about people on the spectrum.

“But you’ve helped me to understand. I’ve watched what you and your mum have gone through.

“How you struggled with the world and worked to make your own space in it.

“I don’t think you realise how amazing you are. I tell people that every day. Those are the ripples I create.

“Every time I talk to someone, they take away a bit of that knowledge and understanding, too, and start their own ripples.

“Eventually we’ll cover the whole pond with ripples. And none of them would be there if it weren’t for you.

“That’s why you’re so important,” she finished.

My eyes misted over, but this time they were tears of relief and joy.

Mum did understand, or she was beginning to. And she’d got that through to Will.

He’d unlocked from his clenched position and had the bemused expression he wore when he realised grown-ups needed to be humoured.

“All that’s because we love you,” I chimed in.

Will frowned at me, but it was a comedy frown complete with rolling eyes and shaking head.

“You aren’t making any sense, either.”

“I am. Perfect sense,” I disagreed and gave them both a hug.

And just like that, everything was all right.

“You know,” Will remarked, his words muffled in my hair, “I’d have hated a holiday like Eric’s.”

The End.