Every Nanny is a Spider on the Wall
I’m basically a nanny. In my care, it’s Leon. Leon is almost 22, but he usually cannot remember his age. He often says he’s 16. Leon has Autism and an Intellectual Disability. I like, love him. Not sexually, but almost romantically, I love him so much. People like this are special, and you know if you love someone who’s like this. They aren’t stupid. They aren’t dumb. They know exactly wtf is going on. Leon doesn’t use “novel speech” very often. Almost everything he says is from a script on a TV show, or a reference to a song he likes. I know all the shows and songs, so I speak “Leon.” Lately, Leon has been utterly long phrases with sounds that sound like words, and I swear, he’s gaining increased comprehension (of wtf is going on). And how to talk about it. He’s been able to make requests about where he wants to be, which room, and what he wants to do. My life is richer with Leon. He used to say I love you all the time, but then I went away for a few years to teach at schools, and when I came back, he was a little more sad, a little less likely to exclaim I love you. Something happened in the family. Someone tried to kill their self, and lost their pregnancy, the baby died. She left the country, but the mom and dad never got their groove back. Grief can be like that. What can we do, but turn on each other. Your pain mirrors and exacerbates my pain, please get over it, you depress me, etc. Do they still love each other? Maybe. There’s a new girlfriend now, though, which will complicate things. I whisper the truth about Leon’s family to him when they’re not around. Your sister is sad. Mom and Tim are fighting. Something happened. I don’t know if I could ever explain how much Leon is my friend. We hold hands for at least 4 hours per day. I do everything for him.