What can YOU say in six sentences?
Some nights I can see through Han's window where he sits and writes to me, his office and other rooms cluttered with boxes still unpacked after seven years. Before she left for college, it was common to hear his daughter play violin from her upstairs bedroom, beautiful sounds flooding my back yard where I would sit after dark just to listen, unaware that downstairs furniture was being ripped apart by his other child, holes punched into walls. I never knew he had a son, then came our memorable first meeting when the fifteen year-old wandered into my house a few weeks ago, no eye contact or words except "Dog", and as he moved quickly through rooms to study objects with fast-beating intensity, the word feral came to mind. Yesterday Kevon yelled "House!" over the fence then clicked his tongue to let me know he wanted to visit -- "Hi, Kevon," I answered, then he paced his yard with its new locks so he cannot escape and I wondered why he is so focused on my house, how he managed his recent Houdini escapes, what benefit will come from these emails between his father and me. Tonight Han thanked me for the note about insurance coverage for disabled children who wander from home, then the email recounted his thirteen-year journey beyond the autism diagnosis, explored guilt over whether he has done enough for Kevon who briefly attended the private school where my son is now, the school that "didn't work for him", and I pictured the line he had drawn between himself and hope. Han mentioned Lorenzo's Oil, a film that made him ask if he possessed the same determination as the father's character to fight for and recover his son, the question forever a specter in his house.