The Color Orange

By Me'Chele Sevanesian

Robbie sees emotions in color. Autistic, artistic and extremely empathetic, Robbie can tell when those around him are angry or sad or searching for something deeper in their lives based on the color of their aura. That's the problem: If we're always searching for something deeper, then can anyone ever truly

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Aug 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637303221

Book preview

The Color Orange

Me’Chele Sevanesian

new degree press

copyright © 2021 Me’Chele Sevanesian

All rights reserved.

The Color Orange

Illustrations by Myranda Gereau

ISBN

978-1-63730-320-7 Paperback

978-1-63730-321-4 Kindle Ebook

978-1-63730-322-1 Digital Ebook

Author’s Note

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Hi Friend,

I am so happy you’re here! There is a small middle school in Los Angeles that can be seen on the 405-freeway going west. It is not very impressive and has very little significance to the people who drive by it, but to me, it is where I found my love for writing. My English teacher had an obsession with Pez and an ability to make literature come to life. I now consider Ponyboy and Dally close friends and wish I could talk to Doodle long enough for the Scarlet Ibis to disappear in symbolism. This combined with some wholesome middle school bullying brought me inside during lunch and nutrition all the way until I graduated high school. In high school, however, I found there are teachers who truly love to be teachers. Lucky for me, one of mine just happened to be the director of the Creative Writing Program. Her room was a safe haven for writing and film geeks; and every day there was Great Films Club. Of course, on Thursdays was Creative Writing Club: a mix of basement poetry slam and high school rage in the back bungalow of a high school on Valley Circle formerly known as Valley Girl. My high school’s disability department would often have the students and their aids come in and we would all hang out. The space that was created in that room was so safe and cozy that I still yearn for it a lot. All of that has led me here.

So many books written by people with disabilities highlight the struggles of disability through the lens of that particular diagnosis. What is even more compelling is that the reviews by neuro-typicals or able-bodied people was a sense of awe that this person can do things. Here is where I have found my perspective. The larger part of society looks at people with disabilities with more curiosity and fear than with compassion and willingness to learn. These inspiration porn stories of a person with a disability rising to the top and being showered in praise because they can, quite frankly, sickens me. This is why I have purposefully written a book about a group of individuals who are widely different in their diagnoses and, most importantly, their personalities. As a neuro-typical and able-bodied woman, I want my commentary to not define or overshadow the work being done in the disability community, but to highlight ignorance as an ally. Anyone can shout anything out into the open in hopes that someone with power comes to stand beside them and shout the same things. I think every voice counts no matter what.

This story is based around autism and follows the perspective of only one boy with autism. This in no way is an attempt to define or shape autism culture, or any of the other cultures mentioned here. Robbie is an inspirational person, as he overcomes and discovers parts about himself throughout the book. But the purpose of my characters is to blur the lines that are set in social stigma. You can love his character, or his friends, and maybe you’ll even miss them when you’re done, but it won’t be because they have disabilities or impairments. Overall, I hope you come to love the Freaks and Geeks of disability (which we all know should’ve gotten more than just one season).

I wanted to bring to the surface the different phases of not only navigating school and friendship, but navigating ignorance and unwanted opinions that parents of children with disabilities know all too well. When I look at even my Armenian heritage, which has blessed me with the richest history, I also see the lack of acceptance for the disability community, which in the Diaspora would not require anything more than just education and acceptance. This cultural stigma is not limited to just my culture, but I found that if I can bring it to light in my community, I am doing as much as I can. If the commentary I make makes you angry, then you are exactly who needs to hear it. At the end of the book, you will see a collection of anecdotes from people in Armenia who are residents of an orphanage that houses abandoned individuals with disabilities. I also have anecdotes from people I have met who are siblings of people with disabilities and they are sharing their experiences.

Ignorance, in my most humble of opinions, is far more debilitating than any cognitive or physical disability. Ignorance and intolerance, not just of disability but of diversity, will always set people back. I hope by the end of my novel, and in the spaces in between, you forget you are reading about a child with autism and his friends. I wanted to illuminate that their disabilities are a part of them; they are not their disabilities. Being kind does not cost anything, in fact, it is more work to persist in ignorance. I really do hope you enjoy this book and everything that comes with it.

Thank you,

Me’Chele

Contents

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Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Anecdotes Introduction

Anecdotes from Armenia

Questions for Myranda

Amanda Spillman

Mary Andranikyan

Micah Wheatley

Alexandra Polansky

jacob intro

Jacob’s Story of Joseph

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

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He had a bad day, bad days happen.

"This is not just a bad day; this isn’t a phase."

Robbie sat on the floor outside his room listening to his parents talk about the meeting they were going to have with his school the following day. He knew his reaction was wrong, but he could not help it, the room was just so loud. Everything was always so loud. He pulled out his red crayon and began drawing.

You know if they find that, they’re gonna get sad. His sister was standing above him and pointed at the picture. Sasha was only about four years older than him, eight going on eighteen. Her long brown hair that she refused to cut was always oily on top and dry at the ends. They were best friends, closer than close. Robbie would always watch her meticulously because everything he did, looked like she was doing it best. Sasha laid next to Robbie and let him use her back as a table to finish his drawing; he drew his parents arguing.

What happened today? she said, voice muffled with her mouth toward the floor.

He sat and thought about it and felt his cheeks turn red. School was always so much fun, but some days were so hard to keep still or pay attention because even if he didn’t focus his attention on small sounds or annoying habits, his brain did. Robbie chose to sit at the last table; all the quiet kids sat there, too. They never asked for his crayons because they usually brought their own, and they always lifted the chair off of the floor when moving it closer to the desk, which he greatly appreciated. But when they got back from Christmas break, Ms. Reign decided she had to move Xavier and Julius away from each other, which meant that Julius moved to the back next to Robbie.

Even though they were in TK, Julius was built for his age. Raising his arm and flexing it to show his muscles, he would show the kids how strong he was by bending a pencil. He broke the lead of said pencil at least three times a day from pressing too hard. In these cases, he would have to raise his hand, ask permission to sharpen his pencil, drag the chair the entire way back, walk to the sharpener with the heaviest foot known to man, walk back, and then drag his chair all the way forward before sighing because his pencil was too dull. Every time he did this, Robbie felt like there were ants crawling up his back. Julius had very greasy hair, which he attributed to having style, and he liked to pull on his hair and play with the gel in his hands. The most annoying of them all was when he tore pages out of his notebook without removing the fringe. The paper pieces got all over the table and made a mess. Today, however, he had lost a game of Gladiators and Super Heroes to Xavier and Rahul, and came in from nutrition quite sweaty and frustrated.

Hey Wobbie, he wiped the boogies off of his upper lip. He could never say Robbie’s name correctly. Robbie knew that sometimes he has trouble with words, but never like this; this was insulting.

Wobbie, what are you drawing? He pointed his little finger on the sketch Robbie had just started. What’s that? Is that a Demogorgon? When he lifted up his finger, he had smudged the face of Robbie’s character. My brother watches that show and he said the Demogorgon is too scary but not to me! I love it! he screeched in Robbie’s ear. Robbie felt a surge of fire travel from his feet to the top of his head. He grabbed his trusty eraser and tried to get rid of the finger print. The smudge began getting worse and now took up the entirety of the page. His beautiful art piece was now lost among the fingerprints of the little goblin sitting next to him.

Wobbie what happened? He grabbed Robbie’s shoulder and the dirt from his fingers got onto Robbie’s white shirt.

No, thank you! Robbie screamed in his face. All of the ants on his back now moved throughout his entire body. The room now sounded much louder with his classmates moving their chairs without lifting them. Two were fighting over a Japanese eraser and Mrs. Reign was there trying to solve the problem. Xavier and Rahul were making fun of Julius, which then sent him into a frenzy of crying and pointing. Teacher, Teacher, they’re making fun of me.

The ants in Robbie’s body felt like they were biting and bursting through the top of his head. Fists hit the desk as everyone in the room now turned dead silent and looked at Robbie. I said no thank you! No thank you! he screamed and slammed his fists against the table. He noticed that his wrists hurt, but he had to get the ants out of his body. Robbie moved underneath the desk, covered his ears and closed his eyes. He eventually stopped slamming his wrists, mommy, he thought immediately; the only human being in the world he wanted at that moment, arguably even more than he wanted his peers to stop staring at him, was his mom.

His knees felt like they were crumbling like a deck of cards and he sat himself under the desk and cried to himself. After some time, Robbie’s mom walked into the room and sat under the desk with him. The lights were turned off—everyone was outside learning about how plants grow.

Nice place you got here, his mom cupped his chin, wiped the tears off his face and then rubbed them on her shirt and smiled at him.

Too loud, Momma. Everything too loud, he said with little tears coming out of his big blue eyes. They sat under the desk for some time and when his body felt calm again, they got up together and headed home. As he left, he saw Julius and the other boys making fun of him and flailing their arms around.

Now, while drawing his parents arguing, he felt goosebumps go up his arms as he finished telling his sister the story. It was just loud, Sissy, he said, shrugging.

Then they heard: Tomorrow we are going to meet with the school psychologist and we will figure this whole thing out. His dad was pacing around the room. His dad was good at figuring things out. In his office were papers upon papers filled with plans for big buildings with loud machines. Robbie liked to come to work with his dad to see how everything was going, he also really liked the headphones they gave him. Whenever his dad said he would make a plan, Robbie felt confident that the plan would be the best plan ever created.

We should go tuck him in, he’s probably exhausted. His parents’ door opened and the two ran like mice. Robbie hopped into bed and threw the picture in the trash bin.

His mom stood in the doorway and leaned slightly onto her left leg. He could tell she was upset about something but she was half smiling the entire time. Ready for bed? He nodded. Within a second, his parents were off, grabbing every stuffed animal and heavy pillow to put on top of Robbie’s blanket—he always liked to have the pressure.

Robbie’s dad noticed the paper in the trash and picked it up. There was no point in making his wife upset, she was already stressed. Everyone told her it was a phase. They assured them that Robbie being so quiet was just him being stubborn and the two of them would miss these days of him being quiet because eventually he wouldn’t be able to stop. Well, that day came and went and they never noticed. When he thought of himself at Robbie’s age, he remembered jumping from the dining room table to the couch. He had always pictured himself running around outside with his son. He only became a calm man when he met his wife; up until then, he was a child inside and out. What would happen if tomorrow they did come up with some possible diagnosis for Robbie? He looked at the picture again. Would this be their new normal? He crumbled up the paper and put it in his pocket.

Robbie’s mom gave him ten kisses on each cheek to make it even for each side. She brushed her hand sideways over his forehead and closed his eyes and slowly backed out of the room. As they entered their bedroom, she stood right at the edge of the bed and stared at her pillow. If she went to sleep that meant that today and tomorrow were a different day and these days were defining moments; but if she didn’t sleep then it would just be one long day, one defining section of life. She held her head up as long as she could until the stress wore her down enough to fall asleep.

Today was a very different day, Robbie could tell. Mom and Dad were driving him and they got hot chocolate before school. Maybe, he thought to himself, they were coming to hang out with him or tell the teacher to move Julius back. Yes! That’s what it was! Ah, Mom and Dad always knew exactly what he needed; they were going to march into the room and demand that he gets his table back to himself and that he and all the other nice kids would get their table back. Besides, ever since that gremlin arrived, they have not gotten a single gold star for best table.

This fantasy was far from the truth, Robbie soon learned. His parents were sitting in a room with the principal. Robbie had only ever seen her when Salcedo jumped off the table and broke his finger.

Robbie was sitting in another room that had a little table, which was once blue but was now covered in crayon marks. It was a cold