Autists

Carol and Reggie were different. They thought different. Reggie could talk "e;the ears off a corn stalk."e; He was an expert on history, like a walking Wikipedia on ancient times (if people could stand to listen to him.) Carol hardly talked, but her hugs could tell you the world. She could solve quintic polynomial equations. And a 4x4 Rubic's cube with one hand.They were autists. "e;Special needs"e; people. Savants, kind of.They were perfect for each other. Or maybe not. So different.Between them, they understood the universe.It was no small surprise that they were part of the next stage in human evolution. The one that's already here. Of course they knew it. But most of humanity didn't...Excerpt: Reggie could talk until tomorrow came. Gawd that guy liked to talk.When he couldn't talk, he'd write.Me, I liked to hug. And children. I love children. And what most people think are "e;difficult"e;math problems. They just don't try to understand what thatequation wants. How it smells right when it's accomplished what itwants. So they use math to solve really dumb things likehow a rocket jerks in flight. Instead of looking for things that wantto fly, they have to build something truly inefficient that makes abig sound and blows up with a louder one. Because they don't feelwhen it's right. I moved into Reggie's apartment after we dancedthat one time. His room mate swapped apartments with me, since Ilived near a bunch of other girls and he was tired of listening toReggie. (But I don't think so, it's probably that he'd ratherlisten to girls giggle while they co-flirted.)[Is "e;co-flirted"e; a word? Too bad if it'snot. Bag and Cat are now disjointed from mutual proxmity.]So I'd come back in from work to find Reggietapping out yet another over-long essay on his computer. I'd hug him and he'd pause. And his heartbeatwould slow to match mine.Then I'd let him go and move into the kitchenette tomake a couple of sandwiches for us. I knew he probably hadn'teaten. Or he would eat a sandwich I made just to make me happy. And he would finish up whatever he was bloggingabout. I'd have the sandwiches on a plate and a big mug of sweettea or something cold (or hot, depending on the season) with twostraws. Then I'd come out of the kitchen and bring them all outinto the great room. (Why people call it a "e;living"e; room isnon-sequitur. Living is an action. But they sit and watch do-less TVin it, which is couch-potato logic.)Our big screen was set to a live feed from one ofCal-Tech's telescopes. (No commercials. No fake news.)We'd sit and cuddle the night away watching stars withouthaving to be uncomfortable outside. Sometimes we'd have sex or make love.Felt good either way...