Mary Lynn Ackerman Willis - The Edge of The Playground: Two Stories one Journey: A Mother and Daughters Memoir of Autism From Childhood to Adulthood

R ecess. In one word: chaotic. Something I do not look forward to. I hear the teacher say it is time for recess. The other children become loud and rambunctious. They quickly flee the classroom to the outdoors. Faster than I can even realize what is happening.

I slowly walk outside to the playground. I am immediately met with a storming sea of bright lights, colors so vibrant I can barely open my eyes, and the loud voices of children at play. I am drowning. I have capsized. Carried out to sea with no escape. I see no faces, the only thing before me is painfully vibrant color with no place to rest my eyes. Like a bright, glaring light turned on too soon after being in complete darkness. Even the faintest light feels as if I am staring directly into the sun. Smells overwhelm me. The sounds are so loud I can distinguish no specific noise or words. Hearing each sound with equal intensity and no ability to filter out background noise. Jolting sounds that do not allow me to process what is being spoken. Constant input.

I need to find refuge. I cannot stay in this place.

I walk until the sounds slowly begin to fade away and the colors and brightness are not as enveloping. I walk and walk until finally I find peace. The place I have found is perfect for me. It is calm, there is not a lot going on. There are even straight lines made out of wood that I can walk and line things up on. I am close to the trees and feel relaxed. I have found my own little sanctuary amidst this sensory onslaught. Here, I am safe.

This place I have found is the edge of the playground.

I see no reason to leave. I am not lonely here. I am content. I am able to enter a meditative state by walking the edge. I do not want other children to approach me. They are too loud. What games could they possibly play more fun than my own imagination? I entertain myself very well. I crave this solitude. Befriending them is too difficult and interpreting social behavior is exhausting.

You are all alone.

I look up. A girl. She has come to the edge of the playground.

Why has she come here? I think.

I do not need her here. I did not even ask her to come over. I am happy where I am. I look her way, and I am confused by this behavior.

Lets be friends! Come with me Ill introduce you to the others and you can play with us.

Once again, I am confused. Why do these others desire my company? Why do they choose to be in this sensory storm day in and day out? I do not need friends; I am happy in my own world and my own space. The rest of the playground is overwhelming.

But deep down I wonder what friendship has to offer. Why people feel such a joy when being together. I find myself considering this invitation. Entering their world comes with a price. I know that. The price is learning a language that will always be foreign to me. Social and nonverbal language I dont easily understanda language I never fully grasp. Theres an eternal guessing game, along with the sensory storm I cannot filter. Being part of their world would not be simple for me. But this girl is inviting me. Maybe I will join. After all, I can always return to this place.

As I tentatively follow her from the edge of the playground into the storm, a single thought runs through my mind. Is it worth it?