The Episodes of My Life

By Clinton Strader

Young Peter Davids has always had a knack for writing lyrics. But once his younger sister falls terminally ill, Peter wonders; can he perform them well enough to save her life?

This riveting drama of a family sees a struggling artist with his back up against the wall. With nowhere to turn for help, he must rely on himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098344559

Book preview

Cake

1

The Boy Who Didn’t Belong

Hi, I’m Peter Davids. I live in Detroit. Some say I shouldn’t be here, that this isn’t the place for me. I like to say they’re right. A white guy who can write rhymes but not rap. A high school drop out to be, stuck in the middle-class society. And, on top of all that, I have Autism. Nobody seems to take me seriously because of it. They all think I can’t even read and write. But they don’t know me.

For your information, Autism is a spectrum disorder. That means it affects everybody differently. The only constant with Autism is that it affects these three things. Communication, social interaction, and imagination. The only difference is the extent to which it affects those things. It’s like saying all bass guitars are guitars, but not all guitars are bass guitars.

I really wish I could lay down some lines, but my parents hate rap. They say it’s the Devil’s music. Clearly they don’t approve of my ambition to be a rapper. That, coupled with the fact that I was much too scared to even step in to a studio (thank you, Autism) made me feel like I can’t do it.

But all that was about to change.

...

It was closing time at the local pizza place. I was busy sweeping floors while my boss, Jason, was filling the last order. I was busy thinking about a rap I was working on. Finally, the guy got his pizza and left.

Yo, today’s payday, right? I asked.

Jason looked right at me with a look in his eye that said I should know something that I don’t. Yeah. Don’t know why I pay you though. You don’t do shit around here! he replied.

The fuck you talkin’ about? I said. I work my ass off around here!

You don’t deal with the customers He told me. Only I’m doin’ that

Well, when you actually let me deal with them, I’d be happy to do it I replied.

What the fuck would I let some Autistic dumbass talk to the customers for? He said snidely. You won’t even remember you’re own fucking name!

Autistic dumbass?! I started. You don’t even know what Autism is! Who’s the dumbass now?! I’m sick and tired of dealing with assholes like you who seem to think that being Autistic means I’m stupid as shit!

I turned to see his face. He was looking at me like I had said something I shouldn’t. But I was in the clear to say that. Like hell I was going to let him talk to me like I didn’t know what he was saying. That shit was wrong. Nobody should be treated that way.

Fuck it I told him. Clearly you don’t want me to work here. I’ll take my paycheck now. I’m quittin’

He gave me my check and I left. I was never going back there.

...

I got to my apartment home at around midnight. My little sister, her blonde hair in a mess and her princess pajamas on, was watching T.V.

Hey, Anna. Whatcha doin’ up so late? I asked as I picked her up and carried her away.

Mommy and daddy aren’t home yet, so I was going to ask if you could tuck me in She told me.

Yeah. Of course I’ll tuck you in I told her as I turned off the T.V.

So I carried her to her room, tucked her in, and sang her to sleep. When she finally closed her eyes, I walked in to the kitchen and pulled out a pad of paper. I continued working on a song. About five lines in, my parents walked through the door. My mom looked at me, babbled some random nonsense, then walked to her room.

How many bottles did she have? I asked my dad.

More than I would care to count He replied.

2

No Place for Autism

The next morning, I decided to eat breakfast at McDonalds. I ordered hotcakes, sat down at a nearby table, and started writing more lines as I stuffed my face as fast as I could. A few lines in and a familiar face sat down in the seat across from me. She had woody brown hair, big hazel eyes, and a very definitive nose. Her name was Gene. She was the only other white person I knew.

Hey Peter. Haven’t seen you at school in a while She said.

I couldn’t respond. I was frozen, staring at her like a doofus. Thank you, Autism, for that. I have trouble understanding social interactions like this one, thus, I’m easily intimidated by them and tend to freeze up.

What are you writing? She asked.

I snapped out of my frozen state.

It’s a song I told her.

She looked at me quizzically. You really need to work on contributing to the conversation She said. She was right. I had quite a bit of trouble with that.

Ohh. Ummm... Uhhh- I started.

Words please She retorted, I think sarcastically.

Right I said. It’s about how I don’t feel like I belong, how people mistreat me for being Autistic, and how nobody takes me seriously

You know She said. Some of the greatest people of all time never really belonged. That’s what made them stronger. Just look at Eminem

Eminem never had Autism I reminded her.

But he was beat up either way. You listen to his songs all the time, Pete She replied. Don’t tell me he had the happiest of teen years

She was right. Despite what I believed, I wasn’t the only one out there who had it rough.

Just then, Gene’s phone rang. She picked it up and had a conversation with whoever was on the other end. I don’t exactly get how we as humans can do that. How can we have a meaningful conversation with someone who isn’t even there? From what I’ve been told, most communication is non-verbal. But when you’re on a phone, you lose much of the things that humans draw upon to guess the emotions of others. Now put somebody like me on the phone. Thanks to Autism, I have trouble picking up on most of those things anyways. If I only have words, how would I