His name is Zach. He is nine years old. If I were his parent, I could tell you a lot more, but I only live here. I have lived with him for almost 2 years. He is as complex and unlockable as day one. He is imprisoned with bars as thick and strong as they come inside a disorder called Autism.

His labels are many: high functioning, hyper, impulsive, aggressive, bright, intelligent, above average, complex, difficult, and sometimes a brat. He holds it all...just out of reach. Even so, sometimes I...we reach through the bars as the hem of his garment passes through our fingers.

I don't pretend to be an expert on Autism. I relay my pitiful understanding. Autism is a social and neurological disorder that mostly affects social behavior. I have seen it many times referred to as a spectrum disorder because of its many degrees and facets. I refuse to discern Zach by way of terms outlined in a book or on an Internet page. His complexities are too varied to generalize or interpret through mere education about his disorder. The word, "unique", is too small to hold all that he is.

His mom had a dream a couple of years ago. It went something like this: Zach was lost. There were many people searching...scouring the woods to find him. One person stepped into a creek that divided the wood. The water was only a few feet deep in some places, deeper in others. As the person in the creek scanned the water, he/she found coins scattered on the bottom. In excitement, he/she indicated to each seeker as they came near one by one...by one. Soon a good number of the search party were looking for more and more coins in the creek. It was as if they had forgotten their purpose for searching in the first place, and they stopped looking for Zach. His mother stepped into the creek in desperation still searching. Suddenly, she saw him and ran to his side in fear that it was too late. Once she stood above him, his eyes opened beneath the surface. She pulled him from the water. He was completely fine.

When his mom told me about the dream, I saw the meaning right away. I have never interpreted a dream before this one. "Zach is Zach. The coins are Autism. When someone finds out that he is Autistic, they stop there. They stop looking for him because they think he is too deep. They sell themselves short. That is where you come in. You find him and you make it all okay, and he will be fine because of you and your understanding of who he is."

Some people you know, some you hear about, but one must experience Zach. His mother relayed my first tastes to me. "Once he dumped a 5lb bag of flour on the kitchen table because he wanted to drive Thomas the Tank Engine through the snow."

"He decided one day that he wanted chocolate milk so he squirted the Hershey's syrup into the milk jug and was standing in the kitchen shaking it when I caught him."

The list goes on and on.

One December a couple of years ago, I met Zach for the first time and before the end of my stay, he had broken me in well. Zach is surprising. He is bright, articulate, and he might just shake your hand. With a disorder whose patients range from non-articulate individuals who border on human vegetables in diapers to people that it barely phases at all, Zach is unique among them. He is complex and unpredictable, but oh so sweet and loveable at times. His memory is near photographic, and I find myself consulting with him when I cannot remember. He has an intense and passionate love for trains especially Thomas the Tank Engine and steam locomotives. I'll never see another train when I don't think of him. He is terribly imaginative with almost anything but particularly amazing with Legos and other building toys. He is most adoring of his mother as he knows her to be his biggest advocate and fan in this life. He loves water. He is terrified of dogs. He does not like bugs. He hates loud persistent noise and bright light. He is more perceptive than is ordinary. His favorite color is green. He does not deal well with sudden transition, and an unexpected change of plans is enough to produce a meltdown in some cases.

I took him a pen on that first visit as a gift. Not just any pen, but one that had a motor in it which turned a weight to make it write in swirls. There was some initial testing of this new toy. I even got some original Zach artwork out of the deal; however, writing with the pen was not the fun part. Autistic children have this thing for sensory stimulation, which varies from child to child. After seeing his sister touch her pen to the desk thereby producing an interesting sound, this became the sole purpose for his new pen. Up and down the hall, on the walls, on the desk, on the kitchen table...it made the rest of us want to escape, but Zach sure had fun.

My initiation climaxed on the last night of my stay when Zach emptied a 2-gallon container of laundry detergent and a large bottle of fabric softener in the floor of the laundry room. We never managed to get a reason out of him, but I think it had something to do with the push-button spout on the container of laundry detergent.

So much of him is locked beyond the bars of Autism. Every glimpse is precious. He will approach with what he can, a handful of coins...most will take only that and not expect more. Some will struggle against the bars, refuse the coins, and touch the hem of his garment...maybe more. His name is Zach. He is nine years old.