Autistic people don’t dream the way normal people do, and our nightmares are no exception to this rule. While you dream of that horror movie monster you saw in the theater last week, we dream with people we see on a daily basis, showing strange emotions on their faces, demeanors we’re not used to, foreign and alien, that scares us worse than Friday the 13th’s Jason’s mask or Scream’s disguised murderer would scare you. The new ways in which faces can twist their features, contort them beyond our ability to recognize them (or at least feign recognition) or draw comfort from familiarity terrify us and cause a reaction on a visceral level, making us wake up with a start. Still, I never forget the distortions on the faces I dream about, even if they’re twisted in what you would consider normal expressions of sentiments that would be easy for anyone else to recognize. I’ve fallen out of bed so many times, I’ve bruised my hands and head, and I still shiver every time I remember the way you stared at me unwaveringly in the eyes for more than the few seconds it takes to make me feel naked and uncomfortable, your smile crooked beyond its perfect and normal dimensions, just a little more lifted on the left side, showing more teeth than usual, extra lines and creases in your wrinkles, and the shine in your tapetum lucidum more or less dimmer. All I can think about when I open my eyes after those dreams are “Wrong! It’s all wrong!”, and "Why does it take so little to turn a person I know or love into a stranger?" I need to grab and stare for a few minutes at photos of you in the albums where I’ve intricately and extensively documented your many ways of showing animi moti.