Idiot Savant

Alvin hammered out the triplets and the sixteenth notes of Chopin’s Prelude Op 28 No 9 with precision on the grand piano while his mother, Sylvia, meticulously arranged his latest artwork on easels. The combination of mathematical drawings confused the average person, but to scientists they were a form of perfection in symmetrical geometry.

 

He was in his own world of music notes and rhythm. He seemed quite far from reality, looking around but not seeing what transpired in the vast living room.

 

  When he was satisfied that the piece was finished, he took out the music composition he created and began adding notes for the violinist.  Last month he completed the composition for the harpsichord, cello and percussion in his concerto.
 
 While Sylvia took a feather duster and put the finishing touches on the furniture, she watched her son rock backwards and forward while he did his thinking. Then, he would stop and write down some notes on the lined paper she bought him in the music store. The serious expression on his face warned her to be quiet.

 

 She walked into his room and pulled out his size 44 suit, his men's size 12 shoes on the bed along with a clean towel for his bath. He still refused to take showers; not even therapy helped change this.

 

 When the room was immaculately clean and his oil paintings were finally displayed, she said, “Al, I need to bathe you and put on a fresh diaper before the gallery curator gets here.”