Cher was an attractive, outgoing girl who loved guys.  She had four ex-husbands, boyfriends, and flirts to prove it.  But there was a guy at work that really creeped her out!  She wouldn’t have minded a stalker, but not this guy.  He was always interrupting her at work, calling her by name though they had never been introduced, and leaving little things on her desk.  Every day she would find something like a used pencil, a few potato chips or part of a candy bar.  Weird.  And gross.  Even Cher couldn’t love a guy like that!

“Hi, Cher,” he would say in his strange monotone.  She knew his name was Eric, but didn’t like to use it for fear of encouraging him.  “Hi, guy,” she said cheerfully as she quickly moved away.  If she didn’t, he would sometimes stand about 3 inches from her face.  “Stand back!” she would shriek.  “An arm’s length,” he would mutter, with a memory of his mother-thing flashing through his mind.

“Nice clothes,” she thought sarcastically.  Eric was always dressed in the same pitiful flannel shirt over a T-shirt.  It did not smell good.  God only knew when it was washed, or how often he himself bathed.  She could not fathom how anyone would do that, year round, same stupid, dirty clothes! - - - She would have been fascinated by his routine.  Eric always took his flannel shirt off at night, threw it in the hamper, took a shower and went to bed exactly at 8:00.  He would wake up the next morning, put on a fresh T-shirt, and reach into the hamper to take out the same flannel shirt from the day before.  It was not the only one he had, but it was his favorite.  He liked the softness of it, and he lived by routines.

He had the same breakfast every day and showed up to work on time.  He had a driver.  He actually liked his data entry job.  Numbers were predictable.  In his mind, numbers were shapes and colors that could be combined and separated by addition, subtraction, multiplication and division.

When the weather was bad, his boss, who had a special child of his own,  would let him go home early.  He understood that storms would really upset Eric.  It was as if some primitive fear of the elements took over.  Eric would visibly shake, unable to function, and reach for pencils to hold in each hand.  That always helped.  And storms were not the only things to freak him out.  There were certain sounds and smells that were intolerable, like the sound of children playing.  He couldn’t stand that for some reason.  He couldn’t stand rough clothes, and the tags really irritated his skin.  Things needed to be just right, and the same, and calm.  Then he would be alright.

Cher was talking to a customer when Eric approached.  “Hi, Cher.”  “I’m with a customer,” she responded.  But Eric proceeded as if he didn’t hear her.  “Tony Stewart is going to win at Michigan International Speedway this weekend,” he said matter of factly.  Cher was irritated.  Who the hell was Tony Stewart?!   She said, “This is important.  We can’t be interrupted.”  With a blank look on his face, Eric added, “Jeff Gordon can’t beat Tony Stewart. He wishes!”  Cher was becoming very upset by this.  She was embarrassed in front of her customer.  She looked right at Eric and firmly ordered, “Eric, go away!”  With that, Eric’s facial expression brightened, and he quickly stumbled away. - - - Cher would eventually realize that Eric did not understand phrases like “I’m with a customer,” or “This is important,” or “We can’t be interrupted.”  That didn’t clue him in on what to do.  He did not get the implications.  He didn’t get the social context.  He never understood facial expressions.  He couldn’t identify feelings.  So he was actually glad when Cher clarified things with “Go away.”  That was clear.  He was happy to please her and do as she asked.  Though he also didn’t get that she was irritated.

When Cher confronted Eric about the little “surprises” on her desk, Eric said, “I like your name,” seemingly at random.  “Share.”  Your name tells people to share things with you.

Eric would never become Cher’s fifth husband.  But she liked the fact that she could tell him what to do, and he would do it gladly, if he could.  He liked being helpful, and he liked praise.  And she was getting better at saying exactly what she meant.  And she was becoming more comfortable with his oddity.

At the office Christmas party, Cher had drawn Eric’s name and had a present for him.  She had gone out of her way for Eric, buying him a nice, soft, $2.00 flannel shirt at the Salvation Army, just like his other one, only newer.  She made sure the tags were removed.  When he opened it, he made a weird face that was probably an expression of joy.  He wore the shirt every day after that, and washed it religiously on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, just as Cher had told him to do.