“Hey, what’s the deal with Ricky? Does she really have a photographic memory? I didn’t know that was a real thing.”
“I heard a podcast about that too. Most people don’t believe in photographic memory, per se. Not as we think of it, anyway, with someone looking at a book and being able to see each page in their head later on. But people, especially kids, have an incredible ability to recall huge amounts of information, especially if they actively work at it. Like you saw, Ricky does have amazing recall, but I don’t think her memory’s actually photographic. She doesn’t like to talk about it, so I only know what I’ve seen.”
“Is she like—sorry, I don’t know the right term or whatever, but does she have that, uh, Rain Man thing going on?”
“Autism,” Rafe supplies. He runs a hand through his hair, which seems to be an indicator that he’s uncertain. “Colin, I’m sorry, but I can’t really tell you anything personal like that about the kids. Confidentiality, you know?”
“Oh yeah, of course.”
I feel like an idiot for asking. Of course he’s not going to just tell shit about the kids to some random mechanic who met them once.
“But I can tell you that I’ve never seen her that intent on something at a workshop before. She was really into it. Mostly, she’s interested in military history, like you probably noticed from the stuff she was saying about the world wars. That kid can tell you every battle that was fought during World War II, in order. It’s pretty amazing.”
“Wow. Isn’t it a little strange for a kid to be obsessed with military history? She’s, what, like thirteen, fourteen?”
“She’s sixteen. I don’t think so. Not any weirder than being obsessed with cars when you’re sixteen, is it?”
“Yeah, I guess not.” But I was only interested in cars because they were around all the time, because Pop was always talking about them and I wanted to be just like him. But hey, maybe Ricky feels the same way about history.
“You were good with them, Colin.” Every time he says my name, a little shiver runs down my spine. It makes me realize that people almost never say my name at all. Pop calls us all “kid,” Xavier usually calls me “man” or “bro” or something. “You gave them a lot of information but still made it fun. And they responded well to you.”
“Heh, yeah, well, I really like explosions, what can I say.” Rafe nods. “Um,” I start, but then I shove the rest of my burger in my mouth, hoping Rafe’ll just keep talking about the kids. But he doesn’t. He looks at me, waiting for me to go on.
I choke a little under his regard. It feels like everywhere he looks, I can feel his eyes on me. No one else in the burger place is paying any attention to us, but I suddenly feel like everyone is staring at me, able to read every thought in my head. Rafe pats me on the back as I cough and I flinch. He takes his hand away.
“What were you going to say?”
“Oh well, I remember you said that maybe I could do more workshops—I mean, if the kids’d want me to come back….”
Rafe smiles at me. “You’d want to come back?”
I nod.
“Why?” he asks, and though his tone is matter-of-fact, I can tell my answer is important. He’s obviously really protective of the kids.
“It was cool,” I say automatically, “getting to shoot the shit about cars.”
When he says nothing, just keeps looking at me like he’s waiting for my real answer, I try to pinpoint it for myself so I can have some hope of explaining it to him. It’s not the cars. Not really. Hell, I talk about cars all day long most days. And it’s not the kids, exactly. I mean, I liked them a lot, but… it’s me.
“I don’t know how to explain it, but… it feels different from the other stuff I do. Like, I go to work and I run and I… I just. It’s nice to do something that’s not about… me, I guess.” Shit, that’s it. I don’t do anything for anyone else. I mean, I fix cars because I get paid to do it. I listen to music and watch movies for entertainment. I run and lift weights because if I don’t, I’ll go crazy. But none of that feels good; it’s… necessary. Even building my models is just a distraction. Something to do with my hands, a problem to solve, like fixing cars, so I don’t have to think.
Rafe is looking at me intently, nodding.
“Javier was the first one who got me to understand that. That doing something for someone else, for a cause, was the best way to get outside of myself, of my own shit. That being a part of something—at least trying to make things better—was a way to feel like I had something to offer.” His voice is fierce.