Vincent (ch.1?)

Vincent is (will be) a love story, hopefully with a bit of a twist. It might appeal to people with an interest in special/complex needs.

"I call him on Tuesdays and Fridays, and we always talk for half an hour to an hour," she explained, taking a sip of milk from the carton and then sliding it back into the fridge.  "That's easier for him.  You understand."

I did, and I nodded.  As she continued speaking, I assessed her undeniable good looks; her eyes were the darkest shade of blue I'd ever seen, with a hint of violet, and her hair was the palest shade of brown possible, without being blonde.  Her skin was so pale it was honestly closer to white than cream, and her features were so symmetrical, so Hollywood-does-girl-next-door pretty, that I found it difficult to look away from her.

And me a straight woman, twice her age.  I could imagine what boys thought of her.  All except this one.

"Did you meet him at college?" It was the logical quesstion.

"Oh, no," she said, and gave me a sweet, shy smile.  "We met a few times at a support group, after my half-sister was diagnosed.  That was my final year of highschool, and then," she thought for a few seconds before continuing, "I did wind up going to his university, and we had 2 classes together my freshman year, so we just kinda stayed in touch.  They were English classes," she said with another smile, "And I enjoyed them a lot more than he did.  I think he kept speaking to me so he'd have someone to gripe at, when he didn't like our assignments."

She was probably right.  "But you feel you've become genuine friends, in the time since?"

"Well, yeah.  We've been doing the phone thing for about 2-and-a-half years; even Vince would've said something by now, if he didn't want to talk to me.  And, hey, sometimes he even remembers to ask me how I'm doing."

Her wryly amused, gently proud tone was deserved.  From what I'd seen of Vincent so far, any interest in her feelings was a significant mark of how much he cared about her.  I just had one final question, more for my own curiosity than my report.

"Vincent said that the 2 of you spent some time together over the summer, before you actually enrolled at the university.  How did that come about?"

"Oh," she said, and gave me her biggest smile up to that point.  "I'd almost forgotten that.  It was at the May support group meeting, I asked him if he wanted to come to my 18th birthday party, and he said no.  When I asked why not, he grinned at me--I think it was the first time I'd ever seen him smile, definitely the first time he ever smiled at me--and he said, 'Because I have Aspergers,' like that was a reason all by itself.  Which, you know; it was." 

I did know. 

She wasn't done speaking.  "It was funny, it was *good* to see that he had a sense of humor, especially about himself.  It just made me like him. So I got his number, and invited him out a couple of times over the summer, and we both actually had fun.  Maybe that is when our friendship actually started."

Again, the touch of pride in her voice was unmistakable, and again, it was deserved. I told her so, thanked her for her time, and left; I had less than 30 minutes to get halfway across town, and there was no way I was going to risk being late.

It was time for my mid-week meeting with Vincent.

The End

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