Born on a Blue Day: Inside the Extraordinary Mind of an Autistic Savant (21 page)

I first met my partner, Neil online in the autumn of 2000. He writes software programmes for a living so uses computers on a daily basis. Like me, Neil is very shy and found the Internet helped him to meet new people and make friends. Almost immediately we began to exchange emails every day, writing about everything from the names of our favourite songs to our hopes and dreams for the future. There was plenty that we had in common and it was not long before he suggested we swap photos and phone numbers. Neil was beautiful: tall with thick, dark hair and shining blue eyes and when I spoke to him over the phone he was always extremely patient, polite and more than happy to do most of the talking. He was nearly the same age as me, twenty-four, and lived and worked in Kent, not far from my home in London. The more I learned about him, the more I remember thinking to myself: I have met my soul mate.

Falling in love is like nothing else; there isn’t a right or a wrong way to fall in love with another person, no mathematical equation for love and the perfect relationship. Emotions that I had not experienced in the years since my teenage crush I now felt suddenly and strongly, for long and lingering moments, so profoundly that they hurt. I could not stop thinking about Neil, no matter what I did, and found it difficult even to eat or sleep properly as a result. When he asked me, in an email at the start of 2001, whether we could meet, I hesitated nonetheless. What if the meeting went badly? What if I were to do or say the wrong thing? Was I even someone who could be loved? I did not know.

Before I could answer Neil, I decided I needed to tell my parents about him, which meant I needed to confront them with the truth about myself. The house was quiet that afternoon; my brothers and sisters were all playing outside or upstairs in their rooms, while my mother and father were in the living room watching the television. I had rehearsed what I wanted to say many times over in my head, but entering the room I still felt a pang of sickness because I had no idea what their reaction would be and I do not like situations where anything could happen because they make me feel dizzy and nauseous. Wanting their full attention, I walked over to the television set and switched it off. My father started to complain, but my mother simply looked up and waited for me to speak. Opening my lips, I heard my voice – quiet and cracking – tell them that I was gay and that I had met someone who I liked very much. There was a brief silence when both said nothing but just looked at me. Then my mother told me that it was not a problem and that she wanted me to be happy. My father’s reaction was positive too, telling me that he hoped I would find someone I would love and who could love me in return. I hoped so too.

The following week I agreed to meet Neil. It was a cold January morning as I waited for him outside the house, wrapped in a thick coat and wearing a hat and gloves. Just before ten o’clock he pulled up in his car and got out. His first words to me as we shook hands were: ‘Your photo doesn’t do you justice’. I smiled, though I did not understand the phrase. Neil suggested he drive me down to his home in Kent for the day, so I sat in the passenger seat and we set off. It was a peculiar journey. After a few minutes talking, he lapsed into silence and I did not know how to restart the conversation so I just sat there. I was feeling very nervous and thought to myself: ‘He must not like me’. We had driven for over an hour when we reached Neil’s home in Ashford, a market town in the centre of Kent. Just then, he leaned behind his seat and lifted out a beautiful bouquet of flowers and gave them to me. So he did like me after all.

Neil’s house was part of a modern development, surrounded by other identical-looking houses and a small nearby park with a pond and swings and round-about. Inside, there was striped wallpaper, red carpet and a black-and-white cat called Jay. I kneeled down and stroked her head and she started to purr. Neil took me into the living room and we sat at opposite ends of the sofa and talked. After a while he asked whether I wanted to listen to some music. Gradually, unconsciously, we found ourselves sitting closer and closer together on the sofa, until Neil was holding me in his arms as I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, listening to the songs. Soon afterwards we kissed. We decided there and then that we were meant to be together. It was the start of something big.

Neil did not find it difficult to accept me for who I was. He too had been bullied at school and knew what it was like to be different from your peers. Being a homebody himself he didn’t mind that I preferred the quiet and security of home to the commotion of pubs and clubs. Most important of all, he – like me – had reached a crossroads in his life and wasn’t sure about the way forward. Through our chance meeting online we had both of us discovered, to our mutual surprise and joy, that thing that had been missing from both our lives: romantic love.

In the following weeks we continued to email each other daily and to talk regularly on the phone. Whenever he could, Neil would drive up to see me. Six months after we first met, after long discussions together, I made the decision to move to Kent to be with Neil. I walked into the kitchen one day and told my mother matter-of-factly: ‘I’m moving out.’ My parents were glad for me, but they were also concerned: How would I cope in a relationship with all of the ups and downs and responsibilities that come with it? What mattered at that time were the things that I knew to be absolutely true: that Neil was a very special person, that I had not ever felt about another person quite how I felt about him, that we loved each other very much and wanted to be together.

The first months after the move were not always easy. Living off a single salary meant that we had to be very careful with our spending. It would be more than two and a half years before we had our first holiday together. During the day, while Neil worked at his office in nearby Ramsgate, I did the chores and cooked in the evenings. I also wrote to all the libraries in the area asking if they had any vacancies, as I very much wanted to work and contribute as much as possible to the costs of running our home. One morning, I received a letter in the post telling me that I had been selected for an interview at a library office where new books were located, ordered and organised for display. On the day of the interview, Neil lent me one of his ties, put it on for me and gave me written instructions for the bus ride to the address given in the letter. Though I got lost walking around various buildings looking for the right one, I eventually made it to the interview with the help of a member of staff who walked me to the correct door.

There was a panel of three interviewers. As one of them started to speak I noticed that she had an accent and asked her about it. When she said that she was originally from Finland, a country I had read a lot about in the library as a child, I began talking non-stop about the things I knew about her native country and even spoke a little Finnish with her. The interview did not last long (which I took as a good sign) and I was excited as I walked out afterwards; after all, I had remembered to maintain eye contact, dressed smartly and been friendly throughout. I was devastated when a few days later I received a phone call telling me that I had not been chosen for the position. Dozens of detailed, handwritten applications for other positions in libraries, schools and colleges over the following months were all rejected or went unanswered.

Unfortunately, my experience is commonplace. Research in 2001 by the UK’s National Autistic Society indicated that only 12% of those with high-functioning autism or Asperger’s syndrome had full-time jobs. In contrast, 49% of people with other disabilities and 81% of people who are not disabled were in employment in 2003, according to the UK’s Office for National Statistics. There are several important reasons for this disparity. Individuals with an autistic spectrum disorder often have problems finding out about job opportunities or understanding the confusing jargon that frequently appears in job adverts. Interviews for selection require communication and social interaction skills, which are particular areas of difficulty for someone with autism. The National Autistic Society’s Employment Information sheet suggests a work trial instead of a formal interview as a fairer alternative. Questions in an interview can also be hard to follow and answer adequately. Several of the questions I was asked in my interview related to hypothetical situations, which I found difficult to imagine and could only reply to briefly. It would be a lot better if questions instead focused on actual past experience to demonstrate what the person already knows.

People on the autistic spectrum can bring many benefits to a job in a company or organisation: reliability, honesty, a high level of accuracy, considerable attention to detail and a good knowledge of various facts and figures. Firms who employ individuals with autism/Asperger’s help to raise awareness of diversity among their staff, while managers with autistic employees often find that they learn to communicate with their whole team more effectively.

The lack of money was not an insurmountable problem for us. In particular, Neil always made every effort to be encouraging and supportive towards me, reassuring me when I felt frustrated or sad and gently pushing me to look constructively ahead to the future. At Christmas 2001, I met Neil’s parents and family for the first time. I felt very nervous, but Neil kept telling me that I had nothing to worry about. We drove to his parents’ home, not far from our own, and were greeted at the door by his mother, who showed me around and introduced me to the other family members: Neil’s father, brother, sister-in-law and young niece. Everyone was smiling and I felt calm and happy. There was a very large and tasty meal, followed by an exchange of cards and presents. The following day, Neil drove us up to London to visit my family and it was Neil’s turn to be introduced to my parents and brothers and sisters, who were all excited to meet him. The support from both our families meant a great deal to both Neil and myself.

The following summer we moved to a small, quiet coastal town called Herne Bay, close to the historical city of Canterbury. Moving house is always a very stressful period in a person’s life and it was no different for me. The first weeks after we arrived at our new house were very disruptive, with furniture and paint and boxes spread all around the house and little opportunity to stop and relax. When Neil was busy with something practical, I helped by making food and tea and fetching things from around the house for him. This also helped me to forget about any anxiety I was experiencing by making me focus on the things that I could do, rather than worry about the things that I could not. It was exciting to watch the transformation, as the house became a home.

I feel very fortunate to have the small band of close friends that I do. With email, I am able to stay in regular or irregular contact with distant friends, such as Rehan and Birut
. More recent friendships have all been accidental, in a way, like a wonderful surprise gift. For example, one of my closest friends today (his name is Ian) was a childhood neighbour of Neil’s. One day, shortly after the move to Herne Bay, we received a postcard from him forwarded from Neil’s parents. Ian and Neil had not seen each other for fifteen years, yet when we invited him over one evening it was as if they had never been apart. We soon learned that I had several things in common with Ian, such as a love of books and of history, and we have been close friends ever since.

It is great when I discover that I can put some of my abilities to good use in helping my friends. When Ian recently married a Romanian woman, he asked me if I would help him approach the matter of learning some of his new wife’s mother tongue. In return, Ian takes me to play golf with him at weekends. I am not a very good player, though my putting is pretty good. Sometimes Ian scratches his head when he sees me walking backwards on a putting green from my ball to the hole. What I’m doing is feeling the way that the ground moves through my feet; then I have a better idea of how the ball will move once I strike it with my putter. It works for me.

Our friends are aware of my Asperger’s and try, whenever possible, to ensure that I am comfortable in any social situation with them. Often they will arrange get-togethers that they know I will enjoy as much as they do. Every year, Neil and another friend called Ian organise a treasure hunt in association with their Mini car club and invite me to join in. Each team is given a list of clues and questions that are solved by driving to different locations marked on a map and finding the answers. For example, one clue might read: ‘Young equine’s accommodation’, the answer to which is revealed by driving past a pub with the name ‘Colt’s House’. As Ian drives, Neil gives directions while I help to find and figure out the answers to the questions. It feels good to do something that everyone can enjoy for different reasons.

Whenever we visit our friends we usually play a game after supper, such as cards or Trivial Pursuit. Neil says it is good manners to let your hosts win, but I don’t understand that because if you know the answer to a question, then why not go for it?

I love doing quizzes and enjoy watching programmes such as
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
on the television. I usually know the answer to most of the questions, but I do have my weak points, such as pop music and fiction. My favourite questions are those involving dates (‘What year did the World Snooker Championship first take place at the Crucible Theatre?’ Answer: ‘1977’) or chronology (‘Put these four historical events in the order in which they occurred’).