This Is Us

Chapter 7

  The entire world around me could go up in smoke. I could literally fall over dead and my life would be complete.

A passerby would assume it was because I'm in a movie theater with Chris Evans.

But, no. It's because my six-year-old son just spoke his first word.

Do I care that it wasn't 'mama' or 'mommy?' Does it bother me that it wasn't 'dada' or 'daddy?' Not even a little bit.

My crouching stance changes as I finish sinking to the floor, holding Walker's cheeks in my hands. Tears are flowing freely down my face and I can only imagine how confused Chris must be with our interaction, completely ignoring him now as the hand that Walker was using to point up at Chris is now pointing at my tear-stained face.

My face begins to hurt in the most deliciously painful way, all because of the smile that's found its way across my lips. As quickly as he points to my tears, barely touching my cheek with the tip of his finger, his hand drops and he wiggles out of my awkward embrace, headed to choose a seat in the middle of the theater.

My head hangs in my hands as my shoulder's shake. I continue to let myself cry freely, my smile still never wavering as I enjoy the all too short moment, knowing that as soon as I lift my head I will be right back into the world of my nonverbal son.

I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder. It's so light that I almost assume that Walker has come back to see why I haven't followed him. He's so accustomed to me being his shadow when not holding his hand.

"Everything alright?" the accent pulling me up a little sooner than I'd like from my quite possible once in a lifetime moment.

I sniffle, using my sleeve to swipe away the tears that have been dripping down the tip of my nose, also mixing in probable snot, before lifting my face completely. One look down at my sleeve and I see my make up and mascara are just completely wrecked, and I honestly don't care. Standing up, I continue to wipe at my face, an attempt to rid myself of the last remnants of tears, giggling as I do so.

"I feel like I haven't exactly been let in on the secret?" Chris chuckles, glancing over my shoulder at Walker.

"Oh, you have no idea!" I laugh heartily. "Whew, give me another moment." He takes a step back, allowing me space I never asked for. "That was his first word."

I wish I had a photograph of Chris' expression as I told him. The stunned look on his face wasn't that of shock for a six year old to say his first word. But that of the fact that it was in fact 'Cap' rather than something else. In all honesty, he looks humbled and honored. His right hand going over his heart while his left reaches out to touch my upper arm. "Wow," he says simply. "How is that his first word?"

I take a step back, out of his reach. That's the type of question I worried might be coming. The type of questions I've been fielding his entire life as he didn't meet the typical timetable. "Because he's autistic," I say, my voice probably coming across more blunt than I'd like but I feel like the actor just knocked the wind right out of my sail, "and nonverbal."

His eyes grow wide, a hint of embarrassment crossing his cheeks. "Oh, no! Gosh, no. That's not what I meant at all," his hands shaking wildly in front of him as I turn to walk closer to Walker, finding my seat next to him smack in the middle of the theater.  

  When I sit down I cast only a quick glance to see what his demeanor is like, hoping that he'll feel even a little bad about his use of that particular questioning. I'm not entirely positive how to take his stance, hands dug deep in his pockets, his head back as he stares up at the ceiling whose lights are still on as the previews begin to play. 

  My attention is quickly brought back to the little boy next to me who made my night. That's right, friends and fans of the great Mr. Christopher Evans. He didn't make my night. A little boy named Walker Jameson Baxter with his white blonde hair and bright blue eyes, has left me speechless and my insides a melted goo. He bounces in his seat, hands flapping in excitement as he watches the screen come alive with its stories. 

  "This seat taken?"

  I move my purse out of the seat next to me, now wishing that Walker was actually between us. "I'm sorry," he leans over, whispering to me. He gives a soft snicker, "Seems I'm apologizing quite a bit to you tonight."

  "I deal with your kind of questions every single day. Tomorrow will be no different." My eyes go back to the screen as my seat jiggles from Walker's bouncing body.

  "But that's not," he groans, blowing out a large breath of air. "That's not what I meant, at all. I just couldn't understand how it wasn't a more simple word. I've read somewhere that words like baba or dada are easier. A hard C is kind of crazy for a first word, right?"

  "That's true, but kids with autism kind of beat to their own drum." I ignore him now, focusing solely on my son whose face lights up as soon as he sees Captain America on the screen. It's not Nat, or even Falcon that changes his usual somewhat expressionless face. No, he only lights up for Cap.

  Normally that should make this whole experience that much better. And while I will always have the memory of his first word being so incredibly special, I'll also remember having it ruined by ignorance.

  I sit on the edge of my seat as Walker runs down, wanting to get closer to the screen. "Walker!" He looks back at me as I sign and speak the word 'no.'

  "It's alright," Chris says from beside me, sitting up a little straighter, his eyes on the little  boy. "He can do whatever he needs in here. It's just the three of us."

  "He may have autism, but he should still be respectful of  his surroundings. An A-typical kid wouldn't be allowed to run around the theater, so why should he."

  Chris shocks me with a laugh, "Because he can.  Would he run down to the front of the theater if this room was filled with people?" I grit my teeth, and shake my head. "This is a moment just for him. Why don't you let him be himself?"

  "Because by society's standards, I can't," I mutter through clenched teeth.

  He looks around the empty theater before his eyes fall back between myself and Walker who is bouncing on the balls of his feet as Steve Rogers endures his first fight of the film. "I don't see anyone with societal standards in here. I see a woman and her son sharing an incredible moment with one another." I shoot him a look to question himself sitting with us. "And a guy who likes putting his foot in his mouth," he adds with a cheesy grin. 

*Unedited