...And Other Stories, part 3

The Christmas Train

"...And I'll see Santa, and I'll tell him I want a good day to play trains. More than anything I want a good day to play trains. And then I get to ride the train because I love trains." Andrew said.

"Andrew," I said as I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, "We've talked about this. I understand that this is what you want, but when you talk to Santa you ask for a toy or a present. Can you try that again? Tell me what you're going to ask Santa."

I could feel Andrew scratching out a word with the tip of his finger on the back of my seat. He remained silent. He was probably tired of us going over the "procedure" for our trip today.

"What are you writing?" I asked my son.

"B-O-X-C-A-R," Andrew recited as his finger formed each letter. "I'm going to ask Santa for a new train because I want a good day to play trains. And I want to ride the train"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, "Thats just the thing to ask for. I'm sure Santa will bring you a new train. We'll have an wonderful Christmas." I pulled into the mall parking lot, glad to see that it was mostly empty. "We're here, Andrew," I said.

"No, Mama!" he screeched, "One more!" He was impatiently drumming his finger on the back of my seat.

"One more, real quick," I allowed.

"C-A-B-O-O-S-E," Andrew spelled out. "Okay. All done. Let's go. I want to ride the train." He unbuckled his seat belt and carefully opened the door of the car. I exited the vehicle as well, locked up, and tried to match my smooth gait to Andrew's uneven one as we headed toward the mall entrance.

We came in near the food court, the scent of stale chicken nuggets hanging in the air.

"We're going to see Santa and have hot cocoa at Starbucks and ride the train," said Andrew, reciting the plan I had made for our adventure at the mall today.

I glanced at my watch. It was 10:27. According to the mall website's event calendar, Santa's village was supposed to open at 10:30 on Monday mornings.

"Almost time for Santa, Andrew," I said. "Shall we head downstairs?"

"Yes, downstairs. We'll see Santa downstairs. And I'll ask him for a good day to play trains. We'll have hot cocoa and ride the train," Andrew said as he walked toward the escalator.

"Remember what we talked about?" I reminded, "About asking Santa for a toy?"

"Yes."

"So what should you say to Santa?"

"I'll ask him for a train so I can have a good day to play trains," Andrew said. He was tracing letters on his thigh with the tip of his finger as we rode down the escalator.

"That's a great way to ask," I encouraged.

"E-N-G-I-N-E-E-R, " Andrew answered.

We arrived at on the first level of the mall right in front of a large red and white sign reading "Santa's Village." A little ways behind the sign was a roped off area of red carpet and piles of fluffy "snow" decorated with glittering Christmas trees. In the center was a green and gold velvet throne. To the right of this area was a second section, this one surrounded by a fence made of giant striped candy canes. Inside was a large play train, about waist height, with an engine and four red and green cars equipped with child sized seats.

"We'll see Santa," Andrew pointed at the area with the throne, "And have hot cocoa," he pointed at the Starbucks a little ways to the right of the village, "And then ride the train!" he pointed to the train area and jumped around to face me. "It will be a good day!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, a very good day," I affirmed. Andrew and I walked toward the entrance to the throne area. A small sign near the roped off entrance showed the hours that Santa's village would be open that day. However, a piece of paper was taped over the original message. It read "Santa will not be here today."

Six years of raising an autistic son had taught me not to swear, but I wanted badly to let loose a few curse words. My plan for the day was ruined, and I was betting that Andrew wouldn't take kindly to a change in our carefully discussed adventure. I glanced around, looking for something, anything to help with, or at least distract from, my crisis.

I spotted the customer service desk a little way past the train area. Someone was there manning the counter. Maybe I could get this figured out. "Hey, Andrew," I said, "Before we do the stuff in our plan, I need to ask the customer service lady a question. Let's go over there for a minute."

"But-- Santa, Starbucks, train," Said Andrew.

"Yes," I said. "That's still the plan. Just question first, then Santa, Starbucks, train." I led the way to the customer service desk. Once we arrived, Andrew immediately began to trace letters on the front of the counter.

"Good Morning," I said. The girl behind the counter couldn't be older than 19 or 20, and she had piercings in her lip, nose, and eyebrow. She looked up from the counter and quickly pushed the magazine she'd been reading under a stack of papers.

"Um, how can I help you?" she said.

"I was wondering when Santa would be in," I said, "I noticed he's running a little late."

"Did you read the sign?" the girl asked in a bored voice. "He's not coming."

"But he's Santa," I said in a forcedly cheerful voice, "and it's almost Christmas."

"Um, actually he's Doug, and he has a girlfriend and three kids. Sometimes stuff comes up." She shrugged and gestured as if to say "and it's no big deal." "Try coming back tomorrow. He'll probably be here then."

"P-I-S-T-O-N," Andrew said from beside me.

"We can't come back tomorrow; we made special plans to come today," I said seriously. "The mall website said that Santa would be here at 10:30 today, so that's when we came. My son--"

At that moment Andrew began to kick the counter and yell, "Santa, Starbucks, train! That's the plan!"

I bent down to Andrew and said, "I know Andrew, this is taking longer than it should. The plan might have to change a little bit."

"No, Mama, I don't want to change the plan!"

"Let's calm down Andrew, take a big breath with me," I coaxed. He gave one more kick, then took a deep breath in unison with me. "I need to keep talking to this lady for a couple of minutes. How about you go stand by the train and wait for me. You can look at all of the cars and parts. Think about how much fun it will be to ride it." Andrew kicked the floor with his toe, but nodded and headed toward the train. I straightened up and adjusted my position at the counter so I could keep an eye on him as I spoke to the girl.

"My son is autistic," I explained, "He doesn't take to change very well, as you probably figured out."

"Oh," she said, "my cousin has epilepsy." I smiled, but thought, how stupid can this girl get?

"We can't come back tomorrow. We came today because we always go out on Mondays. It's the least crowded day of the week for public places. It's part of our routine," I explained, trying to stay patient and pleasant.

"Um, O-kay," the girl said, twisting her lip ring between her fingers.

"Is there no way Santa is going to come today?" I asked.

"Yeah, no way he's coming. He called in early, so all the elf people aren't coming in either," she said cooly.

"Okay," I breathed. "So no Santa. At all."

"Yeah."

"What about the train?"I asked. "My son, he loves trains more than anything."

"That's the elf guy's job. I can't work it," the girl said snappily.

"But if he could just ride the train, it might still be a good day for him. He really wants to ride it," I begged. I could see that Andrew was beginning to kick the candy cane fence that surrounded the train. There wasn't much time left before a tantrum would start.

"I can't. I'm not trained. Plus, he can't ride anyway if he's going to have a seizure. The mall isn't liable for any accidents--"

"My son doesn't have epilepsy," I interrupted. "Please, just open up the gate. Let him sit in a seat and walk around a little. I can't let him down all the way."

"Gotta teach him that it's a cruel world some day," the girl snarled.

"I know that," I said, "but not today. He's six years old. And it's almost Christmas."

The girl took a lanyard from the desk beside her and started toward the gate to the train area.
"He can only stay for a few minutes. I'm really not supposed to be doing this," she sighed.

"Thank you so much," I said as I followed her. "My son and I are going to get drinks at Starbucks after this. Can I get you something too? I really appreciate this."

"Grande white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of espresso and caramel drizzle instead of whipped cream," she said.

"Sure thing," I answered. We reached the gate to the train area. As the girl unlocked the door, I bent down and faced Andrew.

"Andrew," I said, "The plan isn't going to work out the way we thought."

"Santa, Starbucks, train," said Andrew.

"I know, but it's going to be more like train, Starbucks today," I explained. "Santa can't come to talk to you today. Sometimes things just get in the way. I'm so sorry this isn't working out like we planned."

"But how can I tell Santa that I want a good day to play trains?"

I didn't bother to correct him this time. "We can write him a letter when we get home," I said. "Because Santa's not here today, the train isn't going either, so you can't ride it, but--"

"NO!" Andrew shrieked. He kicked the fence, and the customer service girl, who was standing next to the unlocked gate, gave me a nasty look.

"Andrew," I said, trying to gain his attention, "you can't ride the train, but you can go inside the fence and look at it and sit in the seats."

He kicked the fence two more times, then walked through the gate spitting letters as he went. "P-A-S-S-E-N-G-E-R -C-A-R, W-H-I-S-T-L-E, C-O-A-L, T-R-A-C-K."

I let out a deep breath and retreated toward the Starbucks tables. Maybe Andrew could calm down and enjoy himself enough with the train and cocoa to still make this a good day. I noticed an older man and a teenaged girl sitting at a table nearby. The girl was drawing, a box of colored pencils open in front of her. The man was drinking coffee and watching Andrew examine the train. He glanced at me, then said to the girl, "I'll be right back, Steph." He set down his coffee and came up beside me.

"He's your son?" the man nodded toward Andrew in the train area. As he moved his head, a jingle bell on the top of his baseball cap where the button usually went made a sparkling ring.

"Yes, he's my son." I felt the need to explain Andrew's poor behavior. "He's--"

"Spectrum?" The man asked. I nodded. "My daughter," the man pointed, "Stephanie, she's Aspergers. Drawing's her thing."

"Andrew's a classic," I said, "Trains."

"Ah," said the man, "I thought so. He's also very good at spelling for...How old is he?"

"Six," I answered, "He loves to read, especially the instruction manuals for toy trains. We keep them in a big binder on his bookshelf at home."

"Now, I'm sure I don't know as much as Andrew," the man started as he tugged on his scrubby salt and pepper beard, "but I'm a hobby collector. I've got a few trains of my own. Would it be alright if I struck up a conversation with him? Maybe he'd like to talk to someone else who likes railroads."

"He'll probably try to push you away," I said.

"Don't worry, I won't be offended. I've had plenty of experience," he gestured to Stephanie, who was choosing another colored pencil.

"Well, it's worth a shot," I agreed, "He may enjoy a good chat."

"Thanks," the man said as he started toward the gate, "I won't be too long." He entered the train area and slowly approached Andrew, who was examining the way the train's wheels rolled on the track. The man bent down to Andrew's level, just as I always did when I conversed with him.

I watched as Andrew looked towards the man, then back at the wheel. I heard the man ask a question, and I was surprised when Andrew answered him in a calm voice. I retreated a little toward Stephanie's table. I caught a glimpse of her drawing as she chose another pencil. I could see the outline of the train and the candy cane fence.

I looked back to Andrew. He was now facing the man, giving him his full attention. Both were gesturing at different parts of the train, and I caught a few words here and there, "How do you think that works?" and things like that.

After about five minutes, Andrew's attention span began to expire. I could see him tapping his toes on the ground. The man noticed too, and I heard him say goodbye to Andrew. Then he left the train area and came back to me.

"Wow, thanks so much," I said, "He seemed to get along really well with you."

"It was a pleasure to talk with him," the man said, "You have a very smart son, Mrs..." he trailed off.

"Oh, no, I'm Beth," I said.

"Nick," the man introduced himself, tipping his jingle bell topped hat.

"You're amazing, a real saint." I had an endless sense of awe for the way he had managed to connect to Andrew in just a few minutes.

"Well, thank you," said Nick. "Andrew loves you very much. Now I really need to get going now, but I do hope I run into you again sometime."

"I hope you have a wonderful day," I said. Nick nodded and smiled, then he returned to Stephanie and helped pack up her pencils. I turned my gaze back to Andrew, where he was fingering the lamp on the front of the train's engine.

Nick and Stephanie passed me again on their way to the escalator. Stephanie stopped beside me. "Here," she said, "for you." She held out the drawing she had been working on. I took the paper. She had done a perfect likeness of Andrew sitting in the train and Nick standing next to him. They were surrounded by the candy cane fence and the bright Christmas trees.

"Oh my goodness, thank you!" I exclaimed. "It's so beautiful."

"You're welcome," Stephanie said to my feet, then hurried to join her father. Nick turned and waved, then they headed upstairs.

I was still looking down at the picture when Andrew appeared at my side. "All done with the train?" I asked him.

"Yes," he answered. "Starbucks?"

"Sure thing," I said

I bought cocoa for Andrew, coffee for me, and the fancy five dollar mocha for the girl at the customer service desk.

"Want to walk and drink?" I asked Andrew.

"Yes," he said.

I placed the mocha on the customer service desk as we passed by. The girl was back to reading her magazine. Then Andrew and I started toward the fantastically decorated department store at the end of the mall.

"You know that man at the train?" Andrew asked.

"Yeah," I said, "His name is Nick."

"He's Santa," declared Andrew.

"Oh really?" I said with a slight laugh.

"Mama, he's really Santa."

"I believe you," I said. "How did you find out?"

"I told him what I wanted for Christmas. And then he gave it to me," Andrew said seriously.

"What did you ask for?" I inquired. It took Andrew a moment to answer, because he had noticed Stephanie's drawing in my coffee-free hand. He slowly took it from me.

"A good day to play trains," Andrew said. He carefully ran his finger down the length of the Christmas train in the drawing. "And now I can remember it forever."

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Look forward to the next installment:

Letters for Santa