Maceo stands bent over his knees, gliding his feet across the multi-colored carpet, lost in the patterns, lost in the repetition. He swings his swollen, blistered fingers like propeller blades between his teeth. He propels oohs and moos between spit-covered fingers, becoming louder and faster, gaining momentum. Attempting to fly. “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,” Maceo says, each word drawing him deeper into his world. Instead of soaring, Maceo flings himself back onto the couch, crashing into its center. He giggles and wiggles into position before picking up his iPad and launching into his favorite car racing game. He bursts out laughing as he attacks the on-screen controls for accelerating the race car and increasing the volume of the game’s music. He usually covers his ears with his thumbs when he hears loud noises. He stiffens his fingers in the air like moose antlers as a distress signal. As he plays, colors flash across his face like a kaleidoscope. In the quiet living room, onomatopoeic sounds collide. From the dining room table, his father, eldest brother,...
