I was not fond of Benjamin this morning between nine and nine fifty. He was more reluctant than usual to crawl out of bed, shower, swallow breakfast and begin his day. Last week there was a heap of yelling, and he spent more hours than I care to admit in front of the computer. I wouldn't even mind how many times he rewatched Rescuers Down Under, if he watched the whole thing. But he looped the same scene. Ad nauseum. Now I enjoy repetition as much as the next person, but give me a break. I can recite Zsa Zsa Gabor's lines as easily as the pledge of allegiance. It played in the background while I pieced a quilt, wrote half a dozen cards, washed dishes, answered emails. 

 

We sat together while he ate his toast in annoyingly small bites, and I kept checking the window for his companion. The one who takes him to various jobs and volunteer activities. Then he texted someone. I leaned in. 

 

"Who is Connie?" I wondered if this person would mind a text before she has had her coffee.

 

People are impressed that the Pope washed the feet of homeless people and Muslims, and I am too, but where are the accolades for those every day saints who are kind to people on the spectrum?  Just then his phone dinged. Connie wrote back.

 

"She is my buddy," he answered between letters. 

 

Connie made time for him? She is willing to be friendly when she obviously has more important things to do such as blow dry her hair?

 

The thought occurred to me that people like Ben. The two kind souls who go on walks with him keep showing up to do it again. The special ed students at the local college come up with fresh ways to engage with people who never mastered the art of chatting. Ben's siblings interrupt their day to respond to his anxious messages, or riddles. They buy him puzzles and sharp looking khakis. Hosanna took him to the Pixar exhibit a few years back. Micah flew out to celebrate his 21st birthday. Zack takes him out for burritos once a week. 

 

It let in just enough room for the remembrance that I like Ben too. When we are not waiting for a ride, that is. Or listening to Zsa Zsa Gabor. 

 

The car arrived and I pushed Ben out the door, half a piece of cold toast in his hand. As the door swung behind him I could just barely believe that I actually love him to infinity. And beyond.