Taking the Leap: Luke's Return Home

There was a girl. There was always a girl.

Not that I could really blame her for it. In my mind, a girl was the only thing I could imagine worth going back to Japan for. A real girl, not one of those round-eyed anime knockoffs I used to idolize when I was little.

Sure, she's never "real", as long as I have her image in my mind, but that just made her all the better. She would be there waiting for me whenever I wanted her, and she would never call me names or get angry at me or try to stab me with needles or - god forbid - hit me. And she would never "die" on me like the girls in my class did before they reached the age of ten.

But then again, maybe it was time to finally stop thinking about such things. Maybe it was time to let go of them and move on, like everyone else seemed to do so easily all around me in America.

After all, it wasn't like I had any use for them anymore. There were no more bullies, no more doctors and nurses sticking needles into my arm, no more therapists trying to make sense out of my nonsensical ramblings. If anything, now *I* was the bully! Now *I* was the one who didn't care about your feelings or your opinions on how you thought things should be done! Now *I* was the one who got away with doing whatever he wanted because he knew that he wouldn't be held accountable for it!

That's right! You don't get mad at someone who's autistic! Who cares if they don't understand what you're saying? They're autistic! Who cares if they can't read social cues? They're autistic! Who cares if they're hitting you? They're autistic! Don't bother wasting your breath complaining about them to their parents; they're autistic too! And now that you know that, you'll know better than to mess with them next time, won't you?

But even though I was like this (and getting worse by the day), I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me sometimes. Here I am finally free from all those restraints and restrictions forced upon me by society and its idiotic rules, yet all I can think about is going right back to where everything started. To a place where there aren't any of these so-called "autistic tendencies" or "social disorders" that people kept telling me about. To a place where people are as crazy as me and just want someone similar to stand next to them and be their friend; not because they feel pity for him or owe him anything in return, but simply because they want him there with them. To a place where people are taught from birth that it's perfectly acceptable for a grown man to play with his toys for hours on end without fear of being ridiculed for it.

But wait... does this mean that America wasn't *so* bad after all? Was there still hope for me after all these years? Does this mean that I could still go back home? That maybe even *now*, after so many years of living in America...

...maybe I could still make friends...?