Mockingbird

by Kathryn Erskine

Dad is working on the chest. It’s hard for him. He really has to Work At It. If he can do it then I guess I can too. And also . . . maybe it really will help me get to Closure. The chest alone does not seem to be working.

We all fall on the spectrum of behavior somewhere. She puts one hand on one side of the table and her other grips the far side. Here’s the spectrum, she says. It’s a line and we’re all on it. Some of us are farther along the line than others.

How do you know where one ends and the other begins? I have to know exactly where I am in space. That’s why I draw in black and white.

And obviously we need to work on friendship skills in the fifth grade as a whole. These girls need some educating. They need to learn some finesse too, I say. Mrs. Brook nods. Yes. And some better friendship skills. I know it. They will never make friends that way.

Oh for the love of— Why do they give me all the autistic kids?

>:(

Not for me, I say. Colors are mushy and I don’t know where they end or what happens to them when they run into each other because they change. Emma tilts her head. I don’t Get It. Black and white is boring. Colors are beautiful.

I guess the good news is that everybody has to put up with being special because everybody is alive.

But I’m not crying for ME! I pull my head out from under the sofa cushion and Look At The Person. I’m crying for Devon! I’m crying because I feel bad for HIM! Isn’t that empathy? I’m feeling for HIM instead of me! Dad smiles even though he has crying eyes. Yes, he says, yes. Now you know what it’s like to feel for other people.

I feel conflicted about this part.

Over all the noise in the auditorium I can still hear in my head what Devon told me. I have to go now Scout. I’ll be up there. You’re going to be just fine.

Repetition to indicate the double meaning