Ashley Nance - Crystal Puzzle: Growing Up with a Sister with Aspergers

Calm and Confusing

W ithout conscious thought, I enter the username and password of my e-mail account into the fields as required. The page loads, and there is a message from my parents reminding us to pray for Crystal and to call her at least once a week. I had received an almost identical email a month or so ago, when her last relationship reached crisis level. I wonder what has happened this time, but even before I open the message, I know there wont be any details in the e-mail.

We are fasting about Crystals short-term and long-term future this Sunday and would like you to join us. Her time at Scenic View may be drawing to a close. She has demonstrated that she has had a difficult time making good choices about relationships, and it seems to us that her self-esteem needs a boost. We need to decide with Crystal when she needs to leave Scenic View. Either way, she needs a plan for the next twelve months.

As I suspected, Ill have to call and get the specifics from Mom, and Crystal, later.

My name is Ashley. Im brown-haired and brown-eyed with glasses and frecklesas normal and quaint as can bebut I am not your everyday Ashley. Not every Ashley has visited nine different countries, sung soprano in an all-region choir, ran with her mother as she worked to lose 140 pounds, helped teach teens and adults with severe physical challenges, or learned to speak Mandarin Chinese in Taiwan. And not every Ashley has a sister with Aspergers syndrome.

Life with my mother and father began in the great state of New York, and all five of us were born before we moved out of the tiny, two-bedroom apartment that they had moved into as soon as they were married. Mom stayed home with us while Dad worked to keep dinner on the table. Weve always been happy to be a family because we loved each other and by the grace of God, weve never wanted for any of lifes necessities.

Crystal and I are the oldest two children in my family. We were born eighteen months apart, and we have shared the same room, clothes, and experiences for the better part of our childhood. I dont remember anything about me before her birth, so I think its fair to say that I would not be the woman I am today if I had not been Crystals sister. She has served as one of the most powerful and persistent motivations for learning and growth in my life thus far.

Child number three is Elizabeth, who is another eighteen months or so younger than Crystal. She has been my best friend and partner-in-crime as well as my companion in pretend games ever since I can remember. She loves being with her family, making beautiful things, and figuring out how things work.

Next down is Mark, the only boy in the Brayton brood. He has masterfully fulfilled his masculine role as the nemesis of all of his sistersand their precious dolliessince before he could talk. As a child, I would frequently beg my mother to send him back, but now that hes grown up, I wouldnt trade him for the world.

Then comes baby Jessica. She has the perfect personality for being the youngest.. I was seven when she was born, so I have Jessica to thank for all my pre-babysitting experiences changing diapers, burping, testing bottles, and inventing age-appropriate baby games. I was older than Id like to admit when I began seeing her as more of a sibling than a dependent, but Im sure she always knew who her real mommy was.

Would you be willing to sit on my couch for a moment?

Take a good look at my familys entertainment center. Theres a TV in the middle, flanked by two built-to-blast speakers Dad bought when he was in high school, with the radio/tape player and VCR stacked on top.

This entertainment center was custom-designed and built by my father. See how he lined the widest parts with carpet to protect little children from hurting themselves as they toddle past? This man misses nothing. Its sturdy enough that a kid could ride his bike into the side of it, and nothing would come down. Its sturdy enough that when I was a child, I could climb up next to the speakers to put videos into the VCR on top. Mom often asked me to help her by doing this, and I was proud to be the only one of the kids who could.

This VCR fascinated me to no end when I was a child. I would peer inside the front flap of the VCR for as long as I could balance, trying to imagine what moved to make room for the video tape that I put in and which pieces pulled on the tape and set it into place. I even imagined that the different pieces were talking to each otheror to me. And sometimes I wondered whether anything else might fit in that perilous-looking space and survive coming out.

So begins the tale of the bologna sandwich.

I have never loved bologna, and I imagine it was indifference toward my lunch that provided the first threads for weaving this tale. One day, I tried to put a whole bologna sandwich into the VCR, and I remember the fear of realizing it wasnt going to come out.

I heard someone coming and jumped down. I sat on the couch, trying to look innocent, and wondered how long it would be before I was discovered. Then I imagined how I might respond to being asked about it. No one had witnessed my crime, but in the Brayton house, we all knew we would get in more trouble for lying about doing a wrong thing than for doing it. We also knew that telling the truth quickly improved our odds of receiving a more lenient consequence. More importantly, I loved my role as the trusted helper, and I had already promised myself I would never tell a lie; thus, I prepared to do the right thing and accept the consequences.

I didnt have to wait long for my opportunity. Dad came into the living room and immediately went over to look at the VCR. This surprised me, as I had somehow imagined that he might not have noticed until he went to use it next.

Visibly frustrated, he turned around and asked, Who put bologna in the VCR?

I took a deep breath. I opened my mouth to speak, and a little voice said, I did!

It wasnt mine.

I snapped my head toward the sound and saw Crystal smiling sweetly from her seat on the floor.

Not to be robbed of my heroic response, I said in my defense, No, I did!

In total disbelief, Dad looked from me to Crystal and back again a couple of times before he left the room without a word. We were both off the hook.

Disappointed that the story in my head had been changed without my consent and upset with her for uttering an untrue statement, I turned on Crystal with a full-blown lecture. Now I can see that her statement was probably just an opportunistic attempt to get an extra bologna sandwich, but at the time, I couldnt fathom why anyone would lie, especially when there was nothing to be gained by a successful deception. The fact that her statement had gotten me acquitted for my carelessness was completely lost on me, and the reason I was directing my apparently random outburst of frustration at Crystal was completely lost on her. She left the experience cool, unconcerned, and indifferent. I left fuming, dissatisfied, and bewildered.

I had a piece of the puzzle, but the puzzle was growing.