I spent the rest of the morning escorting Adam from class to class. With each hour, I added more rules for Adam to live by. Keep your shoes on your feet. Don’t stick your head in the water fountain. Watch out for open locker doors, janitorial buckets, and people that are shorter than you.
By lunchtime, I was exhausted. The cafeteria doors felt heavy as I tugged one open. We passed a tenth grader with frizzy red hair that stuck out six inches from his scalp.
“Adam, no!” I snatched his wrist as he was tugging at one of the tight curls, leaning in close to examine the unconventional hairstyle. I gave an apologetic wave to the boy and dragged Adam closer to the growing lunch line.
The corners of Adam’s mouth drooped, and he nestled his offending hand close to his chest. “But he has hair like yours, Victoria.” He ventured a sheepish grin. “It’s pretty.”
“Adam, I don’t have hair like that.” I selfconsciously fingered my ends. “Mine’s darker. Auburn. I don’t know.” I tried to cover the horror I felt at being compared to a boy whose head resembled a clown wig. “Anyway, that’s not the point. You can’t go around touching other people’s hair, okay? It’s not polite.”
His chin lowered. “I’m sorry, Victoria.”
I exhaled. “It’s okay. Let’s just find Owen and get some food. I’m starving.”
I led Adam through the maze of lunch tables, where we found Owen and tried sneaking inconspicuously in front of him in line, but as had been the case all day, there was no sneaking Adam anywhere. He towered over everyone, and we were taunted until we were all forced to the back of the line.
“And the perks just keep on coming,” Owen said.
“So there’s a small learning curve.” I moved up in the line and handed Adam a tray. Yesterday I’d been nervous to feed Adam. I could think of no way to test whether his body was fit to consume food without him actually consuming the food. I hypothesized that once his vital organs had been restarted, all systems, including the digestive, should operate as normal. I held my breath as he consumed one bite of a Whataburger Owen had picked up, then two, and before I knew it, he’d eaten both my burger and his along with the entire large fries. To my relief, he didn’t short-circuit.
As we moved closer to the front of the line, I heard a thundering rumble from deep in Adam’s belly. Owen’s shoulders shook with laughter. I slid my tray onto the metal shelves. “Okay, Adam,” I began. “You just tell the lady what you want, and she’ll put it on a plate and hand it over to you.”
He nodded while another rumble sounded from the pit of his stomach. I ordered the only thing on the menu that didn’t look like prison food, a slice of pizza and a side of tater tots. I watched out of the corner of my eye while Adam pointed through the glass. I slid farther down the row and picked up two Cokes.
“Adam, I got you a—” But when he joined me at the cashier, my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. He grinned. His plate was a mountain of food. Mashed potatoes piled on spaghetti with gravy running into a puddle on the side of his plate. Pizza with tater tots half covered in a mushy spinach dish. I fought my gag reflex and forked over an extra five dollars to cover Adam’s cafeteria feast.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” I squinted at his plate as we staked out a table near a row of trash cans.
“I don’t know,” Adam said.
Owen plopped a tray with pizza and tater tots down on the other side of Adam. “So I see we’re still calibrating his taste palate.” Adam’s forehead wrinkled. He stared up quizzically at Owen. “Interesting tastes, my man.” Owen patted him on the back. “March to the beat of your own drum. More power to you.”
At this Adam grinned and eyed his plate greedily. He sank down into a chair and gripped the sides of his tray.
“Shoot, we forgot utensils for you,” I said. “One sec.”
But before I could return to the end of the lunch line, Adam had pawed a heap of mashed potatoes and spaghetti into his mouth and was slurping down a noodle. Brown gravy dribbled down his fingers. I hesitated, then lowered myself back into my seat. “Or … not.”
He was already going in for another. This time he scooped up some of the spinach mixture and licked it happily from his hand. I pulled out my seat, shaking my head slowly as I watched Adam devour fistfuls of his food. Fatigue and hunger dragged at me as I rested my elbows on the table.
“Shouldn’t we teach him about silverware?” Owen asked, curling the left side of his lip up and scooting a couple inches farther from Adam.
I blew bangs out of my face and stuffed the end of my pizza in my mouth.
Don’t eat with your hands, I should have added to our list. But, instead, I just sighed, picked up a tater tot, and said, “Tomorrow…”
TWELVE
The closest comparison to the subject’s experience of the world is that of a toddler. While he has retained motor skills and clearly some muscle memory, he is learning about how his surroundings work each moment. So far it seems the maturity of his brain and its size are resulting in a faster learning curve than a toddler despite following the same processes.