Breakfast for Cassie
by Michael C. Keith
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: The world as seen through the eyes of a severely autistic child.
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If the doors to perception were cleansed, everything should appear as it is, infinite. – William Blake
Cassie felt the sounds that the Object made. “Guloop has sas, hone.”
The Object repeated the sounds. “Guloop has sas, hone.”
Sometimes the sounds the Object made hurt her ears. Other times the sounds made her lean forward because they were so quiet.
“See what Mommy has, honey,” said Cassie’s mother, Mary.
Her seven-year-old daughter looked at her blankly.
“Time for your cereal, baby.”
The Object placed something near Cassie’s face. It contained a familiar smell.
“Here you go, love. Nice oatmeal. Good and hot. Do yummy-yummy for Mommy.”
The Object made more sounds.
“Sabid foof madef here.”
Cassie felt the thing the Object held touch her lips. She turned away abruptly, making the room spin for her.
“No, no, Cassie. It’s good. Eat, honey . . . please. Open for Mr. Spoon.”
The Object pressed the thing into Cassie’s mouth. It felt sharp and stung a little. She swallowed and wanted more.
“Kaslep there foto minga,” sounded the Object, and Cassie made open again.
“Good girl. That’s nice. Big open . . . big open,” added Mary, enthusiastically.
Cassie reached for the Object’s hanging strands and grabbed at them. The Object’s narrow orbs danced in and out. Black lines swayed in the bright space behind the Object. Cassie liked the movement of the lines and bounced back and forth with them.
“Seepod gofub tree terup,” said the Object, moving the thing to and fro to catch her daughter’s mouth.
The Other Object entered, and made more sounds.
“How’s Daddy’s little girl? Having breakfast? That’s good. How’s she doing?” asked Mary’s husband.
“Se Da pato . . . Da.”
His wife held up two fingers and smiled wanly.
“Two spoonfuls. Not bad.”
The Other Object disappeared and Cassie felt the thing the Object held slide from her openness.
“Good girl,” said Mary, pushing her hair back from her eyes and drawing sticky morsels from it.
Cassie liked the fluttery things that dropped onto the black lines in the bright space to her Mother’s back.
“All done,” said Mary, content that her daughter had eaten enough.
As Cassie watched the Object rise and vanish, she felt a long succession of rumbles that were followed by a series of colorful flashing lights. Her hand tensed to a claw and floated above her head.
“Ofub Cas sesup klim,” said the Object reappearing before her.
The fluttery things in the bright space had Cassie’s rapt attention as something was pressed against her lips.
“Time for lunch, sweetie. Open wide . . .” said Mary, smiling lovingly at her daughter.
The fluttery things moved around the dark lines in the bright space and made Cassie smile.
“Yes, it is Mommy, honey . . . yes!” said Mary, delighted.
Swearwords: None.
Description: The world as seen through the eyes of a severely autistic child.
_____________________________________________________________________
If the doors to perception were cleansed, everything should appear as it is, infinite. – William Blake
Cassie felt the sounds that the Object made. “Guloop has sas, hone.”
The Object repeated the sounds. “Guloop has sas, hone.”
Sometimes the sounds the Object made hurt her ears. Other times the sounds made her lean forward because they were so quiet.
“See what Mommy has, honey,” said Cassie’s mother, Mary.
Her seven-year-old daughter looked at her blankly.
“Time for your cereal, baby.”
The Object placed something near Cassie’s face. It contained a familiar smell.
“Here you go, love. Nice oatmeal. Good and hot. Do yummy-yummy for Mommy.”
The Object made more sounds.
“Sabid foof madef here.”
Cassie felt the thing the Object held touch her lips. She turned away abruptly, making the room spin for her.
“No, no, Cassie. It’s good. Eat, honey . . . please. Open for Mr. Spoon.”
The Object pressed the thing into Cassie’s mouth. It felt sharp and stung a little. She swallowed and wanted more.
“Kaslep there foto minga,” sounded the Object, and Cassie made open again.
“Good girl. That’s nice. Big open . . . big open,” added Mary, enthusiastically.
Cassie reached for the Object’s hanging strands and grabbed at them. The Object’s narrow orbs danced in and out. Black lines swayed in the bright space behind the Object. Cassie liked the movement of the lines and bounced back and forth with them.
“Seepod gofub tree terup,” said the Object, moving the thing to and fro to catch her daughter’s mouth.
The Other Object entered, and made more sounds.
“How’s Daddy’s little girl? Having breakfast? That’s good. How’s she doing?” asked Mary’s husband.
“Se Da pato . . . Da.”
His wife held up two fingers and smiled wanly.
“Two spoonfuls. Not bad.”
The Other Object disappeared and Cassie felt the thing the Object held slide from her openness.
“Good girl,” said Mary, pushing her hair back from her eyes and drawing sticky morsels from it.
Cassie liked the fluttery things that dropped onto the black lines in the bright space to her Mother’s back.
“All done,” said Mary, content that her daughter had eaten enough.
As Cassie watched the Object rise and vanish, she felt a long succession of rumbles that were followed by a series of colorful flashing lights. Her hand tensed to a claw and floated above her head.
“Ofub Cas sesup klim,” said the Object reappearing before her.
The fluttery things in the bright space had Cassie’s rapt attention as something was pressed against her lips.
“Time for lunch, sweetie. Open wide . . .” said Mary, smiling lovingly at her daughter.
The fluttery things moved around the dark lines in the bright space and made Cassie smile.
“Yes, it is Mommy, honey . . . yes!” said Mary, delighted.
About the Author
Originally from Albany, New York, Michael C. Keith has paternal family roots stretching back to Clan Keith of Caithness and Aberdeenshire. A leading scholar in electronic media in the United States, he is the author of over 20 books on electronic media, as well as a memoir and three books of fiction. Much more about Michael and his publications can be found on his website: http://www.michaelckeith.com