Bittersweet

Billy spoke first. “Those guys were mean.” Still upset from the insults, he shifted in his booth seat, keeping his napkin tucked inside the neck of his shirt.

His friend, Bobby, agreed. “What did we do wrong?” His head twitched and his hand shook from his Tourette’s. Ed, also at the table, said nothing as he rocked back and forth.

Sarah looked at the three of them and tried to assuage their worries. “It’s ok. We’re going to run into people like that from time to time. They don’t know any better.”

The server apologized to them, and said the table of diners shouldn’t have done that. “Sometimes we get people with no class,” she whispered to them. “Their behavior was terrible. I’m sorry they were making fun of you.” The server set their waters down. “I didn’t even know who they were talking about.”

The group had gotten a table at the Cheesecake Factory to celebrate their end-of-year program. As a volunteer for the institute that trained those with special needs beyond high school, Sarah would take them places like this, part field trip/part treat. She looked at the menu and asked the young men what they wanted. Billy, the most vocal of the group, told her, “Chicken sandwich. Fries. But they can’t touch.”

“Yes,” Sarah repeated. “They can’t touch. Ed, what do you want?”

“Can I get a plain hamburger?”

Sarah smiled at him. “Of course, you can. What about you, Bobby?”

Bobby thought for a moment. “Do they have chicken nuggets?”

Scanning the menu, Sarah said, “Yes. They have chicken tenders which are a little bigger. Is that OK?”

Bobby grinned and nodded.

Sarah looked around them in the spacious restaurant. There was a lady at the next table eating by herself. An older couple enjoying the marvelous desserts were closer to the door. The clinking of silverware and light conversation drifted throughout. The booths were partitioned off so they couldn’t tell who was around the corner; they were more isolated, away from curious eyes. She’d been working with these young men - Bobby with his Tourette’s, Billy with his Down’s Syndrome, and Ed with moderate intellectual disabilities -for three years, and she considered them as part of a family, her extended family.

The server came and took their orders, and they had some time to chat before their food came. The table of misfits had finished, and they made sure to exit by the table. One of them called them “a bunch of retards” before they left the restaurant. Billy seemed the most vexed about the interaction.

“We are NOT retards,” Billy said, his head down. “We’re a little different.”

“Special,” Ed added. “Just special.”

Sarah had come to expect such insults from people like that. Deep down she knew how much it hurt her boys; she had lost a son with Down’s and understood the cruelty and ignorance that people often displayed. They either didn’t know what to say, or they said inappropriate things. “You are all special. That won’t stop us from having a nice time today. Billy, tell me more about the web page you’re working on.”

Billy was happy to share. “The center wants me to make a page that describes the activities we do. The places we go. The fun we have. Remember last week’s music?”

Ed looked up, staring up at the ceiling lights. “I liked the guitar music.” He continued rocking but had now slowed down. Those rude people had increased his stress level. “He played for us.”

“Yes, he played for us,” Sarah echoed. “He played for everyone there.” She found it so hard to shield the boys from outsiders who did not understand disabilities. “If you’re really quiet, you can hear the music playing in here.”

All three stayed positively still, straining to hear the music, and afraid any movement would hide the music. Smiles grew on their faces when they heard the background music.

Billy spoke up. “I have $5 to pay for today.”

Bobby added, “I have $4, but it’s in my account. Sorry.”

Sarah laughed. “I got this one, guys. Who knows how long the center will stay open with budget cuts.” She wasn’t even on the payroll. Volunteering was deeply appreciated, and she knew her son would have approved. She knew this would be an expensive outing, but she didn’t want them to worry about it.

With the holidays around the corner, she figured they’d be staying at the center. “Bobby,” Sarah asked, “What’s your favorite dessert?”

“Pie,” he said.

“But we’re in a CHEESECAKE factory,” Billy replied. “They make CHEESECAKE here.”

Bobby said timidly, “I like cheesecake, too.” He looked up at Sarah. “Did I have cheesecake before?”

Sarah laughed. “Yes, you all tried cheesecake before. They add special things to them here.”

The server returned. “Salad for you, ma’am, chicken sandwich not touching the fries, a simple burger, and chicken tenders.” She set down the dishes. “Is there anything else I can get you right now?”

“Can I have some ketchup?” Ed asked. Then quietly, “Please?”

“Of course, Sweetie. I’ll be right back.”

They started eating. Billy had such a hands-on approach to eating, while Ed carefully ate his hamburger around the edges first. Ed put some ketchup on his burger and then handed the bottle to Billy. Bobby used a fork to stab the chicken because he didn’t like to get his hands dirty. Together they shared a special meal, marred only by the individuals that caused them to request another table. The food at the center was OK, but the boys truly relished the chance they had to eat on the outside. Even a visit to the ice cream shop nearby was exciting.

Sarah watched them, wondering what the future had in store for them. Would they be able to make it on their own? Could they live together in a group home with supervision? Will they be able to fill their lives with joy? She wore a tired expression on her face, but her smile was genuine. She cared for these boys.

Dessert time came. Sarah read the list of flavors and toppings. They asked her to repeat them because there were so many to choose from. Predictably, Ed wanted a plain piece of cheesecake, Billy preferred his beloved strawberries (on the side, of course), and Bobby asked for chocolate.

“Really? Chocolate?” Sarah was surprised. “I thought you’d like the cherries.”

“Today I feel chocolate,” Bobby looked down at his arms, “because I’m chocolate, too.” They all had a good laugh.

“Bobby, has anyone tasted your arm?” Ed giggled. “It probably doesn’t taste like chocolate.”

The three of them became friends many years ago when they first came to the center, dropped off by parents who couldn’t take care of them or foster parents who didn’t know how. Now in their early twenties, they could occasionally be high maintenance, but they had hearts of gold. There was not a mean bone in any one of them.

Sarah called the server back and asked for the bill.

“Oh, it’s been taken care of,” she replied.

Visibly puzzled, Sarah asked, “Who-how?” She looked at the boys, and they shrugged their shoulders.

The server reassured her that the bill for the table had been paid for.

Sarah told the boys, “We must have a guardian angel.” Folding her napkin and laying it on the table. “I can’t believe it.” This would have been a strain on her finances, and quiet relief framed her face.

The woman at the next table looked over at Sarah and smiled. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear your stories. I’m a teacher, and your boys did not deserve that treatment.”

Sarah got up to hug and thank the stranger, and there were tears all around. “This has never happened to me, or to us.” Now it was the woman’s turn to talk.

“My son is on the spectrum as well. I recognize bullies when I see them.” Addressing the boys, she added, “You deserve to be happy.” She didn’t say much else.

Billy said, “Thank you. Here’s $5.”

“Oh, please keep it. You have Christmas in a month or so. Just keep on being the nice gentlemen you are.” She got up and touched each boy on the shoulder. “May all your days be happy ones, fellas. Don’t let guys like that bother you. They don’t know you at all.” With that, the stranger gathered up her purse and shopping bag and left the restaurant, leaving Sarah and her charges knowing that good still exists in the world.