Alone In The Pool

When my son was a little boy I could always find him at the swimming pool. I just had to look for the kid who was farthest away from any other child, playing by himself.
He was perfectly content, and the other kids weren't being mean. He just didn't connect with them, didn't play the games, didn't form those automatic play relationships we take for granted.
He was always alone.
Now, some 20 years later, I'm in the kitchen of an old hotel along the beach in Napier, on the east coast of the north island of New Zealand.  Eighty years ago, a massive earthquake levelled the city, started a fire that burned it to the ground, caused massive landslides, and pushed the land up so far the shore receded several dozen metres.
Somehow this old hotel, being wood, survived. Napier's known for its art-deco architecture- it was rebuilt in the trendy style of the period. That's why we've come here- to see the 30's style buildings. But this aging spinster of a hostel we're in pre-dates that era. Once a trendy spot for Edwardians, it's now creaky, cramped, and smells a bit funny.
But it's got a well-stocked kitchen, tool-wise, and we've bought some steaks and fries at the local grocery. We'll barbecue.
At another table in the lounge, a group of 20-something European kids are talking and laughing. They're young, fit, blonde, nordic-types. A couple of tattooed guys, some girls with short dreads.
My son's surfing the web, a table away. Every once in a while he'll giggle, or rub his hands excitedly. The young people glance over every so often but take little notice of him.
He's not always oblivious to others. In Wellington he wanted to go to the hostel bar by himself, and talk to people. "But they're young people, like me," he pleaded. "I won't drink, I'll just have a Coke."
As if that was our worry. It was late, and we convinced him to come up to the room with us instead.
So now it's us  pulling him away from other kids in the pool. It's shit that like that breaks your heart as a parent of a kid with autism.
But we have to be wary. In a Christchurch hostel, he wandered away to the TV room where two girls and a guy were hanging. I went to check a few minutes later and he was sitting on the floor, with his head resting on a girl's lap. Living his dream. I pulled him out of there and read him the Riot Act.
The three young people were great, very cool. But it could have gone very differently. He never really gets out of my sight now. Not when there's other people around.
So it's actually easier like this, watching him in his own little world. Perseverating about fantasy heroines and Old English syntax and the mandibles of synaptic reptiles. Smiling to himself in the glow of the laptop. Alone in the pool.
But at least I can join him.
"Any news about the new Godzilla movie?" I ask, as I serve him his well-done steak, crispy fries, ketchup.
We talk about the latest production rumours from Hollywood, until it's time to go to bed.