A young boy with autism and remarkable perceptual abilities has an encounter with a reporter and his friend.

After leaving the offices of Paranormal Magazine, Frank Glen stood anxiously on the platform, awaiting his downtown train. The rumble of an uptown train echoed like a lion's roar from the other side. Moments later, the downtown train arrived, and he jostled with the crowd to board, almost reconsidering his decision.

Once the doors shut, Frank could hear a homeless man yelling. That man was Robert, waiting for him.

“Get a job!” a passenger shouted back at Robert.

“I had a job on the railroad,” he replied, stepping closer to Frank and locking eyes with him. “But I was injured in a train accident.” Frank, however, was oblivious to the significance of Robert's words.

Robert wandered the train car, cup in hand, largely ignored by passengers. A few older women tossed coins into his cup before he held it directly in front of Frank.

“Could you spare a dime or two, sir?” he asked humbly.

Reluctantly, Frank reached into his pocket and dropped a couple of quarters into the cup.

“God bless you,” Robert said. “Beware the Ides of March. You never know what’s coming for you.”

As the train came to a halt and the doors opened, Frank started to push through the crowd to exit, unaware that this brief encounter with Robert would alter his path significantly.

Just as he began ascending the stairs out of the station, a young woman rushed down, nearly colliding with him. She paused, standing before him. It was Paula Hightower.

“Frank Glen! What a coincidence,” she exclaimed. Yet, as events unfolded, it would become evident that this was no mere coincidence. She stepped aside, allowing him to pass.

“How have you been? I haven't seen you since Veronica's funeral,” she continued, referencing the service from three years prior.

“I'm managing,” he replied. “Day by day, as the song says.”

He felt an awkwardness with Paula, a friend of his late wife, but memories flooded back.

“Do you have any plans at the moment?” she inquired. “Perhaps we could grab coffee and catch up?”

“The loss of Veronica weighs heavily on all of us. I think about her every day. For you, it must be unbearable.”

His eyes welled up, and he admitted, “It’s been a challenge.”

They strolled to a nearby coffee shop. “I can’t tell you how many times I considered reaching out, just to check in on you, but life gets so busy,” she said, her voice breaking on the word “busy.” “How’s Melissa doing?”

“She’s well,” he replied.

“Is she still with the insurance company?”

“Yes, at Axiom. She’s been there nearly four years now.”

Once inside the coffee shop, they were seated at a booth in the back. There was a sense of familiarity in their shared moments.

“What about you, Paula? How are you holding up?” Frank asked.

“I’m still at Radio City Music Hall. Always busy, just managing life,” she replied.

Both were entrenched in their grief, hesitant to open up further. Paula’s husband had also passed away recently in a bus accident.

“Are you still with the magazine?” she asked.

“No, I work freelance now, jumping from story to story,” he answered, his words carrying unspoken depth.

“Are you working on anything interesting?” she probed.

“Actually, I’m investigating a story about a severely autistic twelve-year-old who seems to speak backwards.”

Frank stated this as if it were entirely normal, and she replied with equal calmness, “That sounds intriguing. What’s his name?”

“Jonathan,” he paused. “I was just considering a visit to him before we ran into each other.”

“Where is he?”

“Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.”

“Would it be alright if I joined you?”

“Of course. But it might take some time. Are you sure you don’t have other commitments?”

“I had some errands, but they can wait. If I’m intruding, just say so.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, though uncertainty lingered in his tone. A waitress approached their table to take their orders.

“I’d like a light coffee with a touch of honey,” Frank said.

“Some herbal tea, if you have it,” Paula added.

Frank retrieved Dr. Carmichael’s folder from his bag and laid it on the table. Paula seemed interested as he opened it and began reading an article titled “The Universe as a Hologram.” While he read, the waitress returned with their drinks.

“Indeed, even our most fundamental notions about reality become questionable. In a holographic universe, as Pribram has pointed out, even random events would be based on holographic principles and thus determined. Synchronicities or meaningful coincidences suddenly make sense, and everything, including the most arbitrary events, would convey some underlying symmetry,” he read.

“What do you think?” he asked her.

“I believe I have much to contemplate,” she replied.

“May I browse through it for a moment?” she asked.

“Feel free,” he replied.

“What time is it?” he inquired.

“About three o’clock,” she answered.

His mind drifted as he observed her reading.

“I lack sufficient knowledge in neurophysiology or sensory perception to grasp it all,” he expressed. “That’s the issue with journalism school; they don’t teach you the depth needed to fully understand what you’re writing about. It’s far too easy to stick to the obvious. We are all creatures of habit. For instance, this coffee—why do I always order it the same way? What would it hurt to switch things up every now and then?”

She continued to turn the pages earnestly.

“I feel the same,” she said. “Every Thursday, I follow the same routine. But today, I deviated for ten minutes to browse in a bookstore, and that’s how we ended up here together.”

Frank then made an unexpected remark.

“Patterns of perception shape our comfortable certainties, yet we only see what we’ve trained ourselves to see.” He paused. “We should get going now.”

“Just a few more minutes; I’m almost done,” she insisted, quickly finishing the last page and returning the folder to him. He tucked it back into his bag.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yep,” she replied, and they both exited the coffee shop.

On the subway heading uptown to Columbia Presbyterian, Frank and Paula stood closely together in a packed car.

“Is it common for you to join people you haven’t seen in years?” he teased.

“Not really. But I vowed to seize opportunities as they arise. I’m tired of dwelling on ‘what ifs.’ What if I had done this? What if I had made that choice?”

“Yeah, I know all too well. What if we had caught the cancer earlier? What if I hadn’t hesitated to ask her out? I can’t afford the energy for such regrets anymore.”

The subway opened, and they began to disembark.

“I’m determined to work through it somehow. I need to find something else to believe in, or I’ll drive myself crazy,” she confided.

As they walked from the subway to the hospital, Frank kept reflecting on how familiar she felt. Veronica had spoken of her often when they first met, and although they had only exchanged a few words at the funeral, he sensed Paula carried a burden.

Upon entering the hospital, they approached the elevators and ascended to the fifth floor. As they reached Dr. Carmichael’s office, they noticed the door ajar, revealing him working at his desk.

Frank hesitated before knocking. Paula stood a few steps behind him. When Dr. Carmichael didn’t respond, he knocked louder.

“Come in, please,” Dr. Carmichael eventually called out.

Pushing the door open, Frank entered.

“I hope I’m not interrupting. I apologize for arriving unannounced.”

“It’s no bother. Please, take a seat,” Dr. Carmichael replied.

“I brought someone with me,” Frank said, gesturing for Paula to enter. She stepped in awkwardly.

“Please, both of you, sit down. I just have a few minutes of reading left. I’ll be right with you,” he said.

Frank and Paula took seats across from him, and Dr. Carmichael continued reading for a moment.

“So, Mr. Glen, did you have a chance to review the material I provided?” Dr. Carmichael asked.

“It was fascinating,” Frank replied. “Though a bit mind-boggling.”

“Was that your only takeaway?” Dr. Carmichael queried, sounding slightly annoyed.

“To be honest, I didn’t grasp half of it. I’m rather uninformed when it comes to neurophysiology and brain chemistry.”

“A brave man admits his ignorance,” Dr. Carmichael acknowledged. “But you grasp the general concept of holographic perception, correct?”

“Only vaguely, Doctor,” Frank replied.

Dr. Carmichael paused, contemplating how to simplify his explanation. He picked up a blank piece of paper, holding it by the corners.

“Imagine all our perceptions plotted along the top edge of this paper, from our first cognitions in the womb to our final moments of awareness. Our experiences move along this edge, while the rest of the paper symbolizes the stimuli from which these experiences are isolated,” he explained. “Do you follow me so far?”

“Up to this point,” Frank replied.

“And you, Ms. Hightower?” he asked.

She nodded in understanding.

“Everything else on this paper, every point not along the edge, has been filtered out to provide coherence to a chaotic set of stimuli. I propose that even our sense of duration, this perceived movement from one event to another—what we call time—is merely an illusion our brains create. As the neurophysiologist Karl Pribram suggests, our brains act as a sort of holographic film, capturing certain patterns of stimuli from the environment.”

“That’s quite a lot to digest,” Frank interrupted.

“Allow me to finish. Then I’ll take you to see Jonathan again. He’s been asking about you.” He paused. “Many linguists, following Noam Chomsky, believe language is innate to our brains at birth. We emerge from the womb with an understanding of basic grammar and word structure, with our quest for knowledge being a discovery of the patterns within our neural networks.”

He gestured for them to follow him. “Let’s go see Jonathan.”

He reconsidered for a moment. “It might be better to bring him to the observation room. Just wait a few minutes; I’ll be back.” He exited the office.

“Did you understand anything he said?” Frank asked Paula.

“Yes,” she replied. “He’s suggesting there’s more to see than what we typically perceive with our senses. That’s the rest of the paper.”

They sat in silence for fifteen minutes until Dr. Carmichael returned.

“Okay, I’ve taken Jonathan to the fourth floor. You can see him now.”

Dr. Carmichael led them downstairs to the same room where Frank had previously met Jonathan. The boy sat quietly in the corner, eyes closed, hands resting on top of each other. Dr. Carmichael gestured for Frank and Paula to keep their distance, then sat across from Jonathan.

“Jonathan, Jonathan,” he spoke softly, prompting the boy to open his eyes. “I’ve brought visitors to see you again.”

Jonathan turned his head slowly, almost mechanically, his gaze distant as if in a trance. His attention fixated on an artist's sketch pad resting beneath his elbow.

“Have you been drawing again? May I see?” Dr. Carmichael asked.

Jonathan didn’t respond. Dr. Carmichael opened a drawer and retrieved a tape recorder.

“Can you tell me what it is, Jonathan?” he asked into the recorder.

Pressing a button, he played the recording backwards. Jonathan began to mumble, and Dr. Carmichael recorded his words, then played it back.

“It’s a high tower,” Jonathan’s voice echoed.

“This is eerie,” Paula remarked. “You don’t think this has anything to do with my name, do you?”

“With Jonathan, we’re never sure,” Dr. Carmichael admitted. “He constantly surprises us with his coincidences.”

“That’s unsettling. Surely, it’s just a coincidence,” Frank added.

“Whether it is or not remains unknown. We’ve documented over two hundred such coincidences. You wouldn’t believe some of them,” Dr. Carmichael noted, gesturing toward the ladders and flag in Jonathan’s drawing. He leaned closer, staring directly into Jonathan’s eyes. “What do you think about the ladders and the flag?” he asked.

Jonathan remained stoic and unresponsive. He understood too much to share the full extent of what he knew—there was a war coming that would reshape the world.

“You’re not suggesting there’s a real connection between this drawing and me, are you? How could that even be possible?” Paula questioned, grappling with the implications.

“I can’t explain how it’s possible, but it appears Jonathan perceives the world differently. He seems to see more than just the edge of the paper,” Dr. Carmichael explained.

“To us, he seems unresponsive, disconnected from his surroundings,” Paula observed.

“It’s a paradox. He may appear lost in his own world, yet he’s completely aware of everything around him,” Dr. Carmichael reassured her.

“Poor boy, what a tremendous burden that must be. Can I try talking to him?” Paula asked.

“Of course,” Dr. Carmichael replied.

He rose, allowing Paula to sit across from Jonathan.

With warmth in her voice, she took his hand and said, “Jonathan, Jonathan. What a heavy gift! What must you see?” In that moment, Jonathan recognized her, sensing her importance in his life. Tears filled his eyes as he turned to meet her gaze. She kissed his cheek and embraced him briefly, causing two streams of tears to flow down his cheeks.

Turning to Dr. Carmichael, Paula implored, “Is this all you do? Keep him here for tests like some lab rat? Doesn’t he get to experience life like other boys?”

“He’s not like other boys,” Dr. Carmichael replied.

“Have you asked him if he wants to go out?” Paula pressed.

“The outside world poses too many dangers for him,” Frank interjected.

“That’s absurd. We could take him to the park, the zoo, or the museum,” Paula countered.

“Maybe Dr. Carmichael is right. How would he communicate?” Frank expressed.

“Let me try that machine,” Paula said, moving to the recorder. “Jonathan, how would you like to leave the hospital? Would you prefer to go to the zoo or the museum?”

She played it backwards, and Jonathan’s eyes sharpened as he turned towards her, forming his lips.

To their surprise, he spoke slowly, “I go with you.”

“Yes, Jonathan. Outside,” Paula encouraged.

“I want outside,” he struggled to articulate.

“You can’t keep him cooped up inside like this. He’s a little boy, for heaven’s sake. I know what we can do. We’ll take him to Playland. I’m sure he’ll love it,” Paula insisted.

“I’m not sure about taking him anywhere,” Frank interrupted.

“Why not, Frank? The excitement would do you good as well,” Paula challenged.

“Dr. Carmichael, you must stop this talk of taking him out,” Frank pleaded.

“I’m beginning to reconsider. Yes, I think allowing him to go outside could be beneficial,” Dr. Carmichael decided.

“So, when can we do this, Doctor?” Paula inquired.

“Saturday should work,” Dr. Carmichael replied.

“Great! We’ll be here around ten o’clock and make a day of it,” Paula said enthusiastically.

“Has anyone mentioned how assertive you are?” Frank teased her.

“As I said before, I’ve resolved to seize the moment. Can I tell him now?”

With excitement, Paula said, “Jonathan, we’re going outside on Saturday.”

For the first time, Jonathan smiled.

“Now that we’ve agreed on this unexpected outing, I have a question for Jonathan,” Frank suggested.

“I can’t guarantee he’ll respond, but feel free to ask,” Dr. Carmichael replied.

Frank recorded his question, “You once told Dr. Carmichael, ‘Tell them he stopped the train wreck.’ What did you mean?”

Dr. Carmichael played the question in reverse for Jonathan.

“Sometimes he won’t respond,” Dr. Carmichael noted.

Jonathan began to speak in his characteristic backwards sing-song voice, the inflection almost melodic. He spoke for about thirty seconds. Frank nervously fumbled with the recorder, finally managing to play it backwards, revealing Jonathan’s words: “That train wreck four months ago was stopped by the old man.”

“What train wreck was stopped four months ago? What does that mean?” Paula asked, bewildered.

“This is insane. I must be losing my mind thinking about this,” Frank reflected, recalling the boy in Mexico and all the bizarre coincidences over the past weeks.

“Dr. Carmichael, could you compile a list of those two hundred coincidences? I’m curious,” he requested.

“Of course,” Dr. Carmichael agreed.

“Thank you. I think we should be leaving now,” Frank suggested.

“You can stay a little longer if you’d like,” Dr. Carmichael offered.

“Can you explain what was going on with that question?” Paula asked. “Why are you so eager to leave?”

“No, I believe we’ve pondered enough for today. Please tell him goodbye for us,” Frank urged.

“I’ll say my goodbye,” Paula said, wrapping Jonathan in a warm embrace. “Goodbye, Jonathan. We’ll see you Saturday.”

After leaving the observation room, she turned to Frank. “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you? You fear discovering something that might shatter your worldview.”

“I’m not afraid,” he insisted.

“Alright, if you say so. How do you want to arrange this outing?” she pressed, sensing his apprehension.

“We’ll meet here at ten o’clock,” he confirmed.

She paused, then leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“It was wonderful seeing you again, Frank. I’ll see you Saturday at ten.”

For the first time in months, they both experienced a brief respite from their grief.