Unintended Effects
Causes
That must be blood.
My father’s violent cough was worsening; I could hear the crackling moisture in it.
My family were migrant farmers, spending our lives harvesting clementines in California. An unregulated fungicide had been used on the farm where my father and mother had worked for years. It was thought to be the cause of his deteriorating health, his chronic whooping cough, and, some experts thought, my autism.
Thoughts at Dinner
“In 2017, farmers spent more than $17.5 billion on pesticides—$37 for every acre treated,” I muttered, looking up and to the right. I had a habit of looking off into space.
My dad joked, “What’s up there, Clem?”
“I’m creating a picture.” I had many pictures in my brain, a library of memorized facts from my voracious reading.
Isabella and Jose—my siblings–were fighting over dessert; my father was smiling at their banter, and my mother was suggesting a picnic in a nearby park on Sunday, while I ran through agricultural facts, reciting them like familiar lines of poetry, whispering out loud:
“Agriculture was at the heart of Mesoamerican civilizations; the principal crops were corn, beans, squash, chili peppers, and tomatoes. Planting corn, beans and squash together allows the beans to replace the nitrogen that corn depletes from the soil. These crops are so interconnected that they are sometimes called the three sisters.”
My mother looked at me and said gently, “Clem, you’re talking to yourself quite a bit.”
“Was I?”
“Yes,” Isabella said, rolling her eyes, stabbing at her ice cream.
Meanwhile, Jose stared at me with narrowed eyes, seemingly unable to make up his mind whether I was insane or a genius.
A Free Space
I paced back and forth in my room. At breakfast, I had perseverated too much on the colors of the vegetables that I was eating, until Jose yelled at me to shut up. He’s been crueler to me since dad died.
In my room, I felt safe to be in my thoughts:
Autism is strongly genetic.
I tapped my chin five times, and stammered:
“Pesticides are rotting crops and poisoning humans.”
I started rocking back and forth and stimming my hands:
Families with one child with autism have an increased risk of having another child with autism when compared to another general population.
I looked up and to the right, and I murmured to myself:
“Older parents may be a factor.”
I walked anxiously around my room, thinking:
Pesticides can be regulated by planting cover crops and perennials, reducing tillage, applying integrated pest management (IPM), integrating livestock and crops, adopting agroforestry practices, and managing whole systems and landscapes.
I walked over to my bed, paused, and raised my eyebrows in excitement:
Bad parenting does not cause autism; it is inborn.
Images then coursed through my mind; the music of Modest Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition echoed in my ears, as I saw every image of my life with my father, a montage of our relationship from my birth to his death. I paused, sat, and said with confidence:
“I miss you, Dad. My objective is inspired by you–creating sustainable agriculture in a new world, a better world.”
Three Perspectives on an Autistic Child
Jose
Crack. I feel a fist of one of the bullies at school punch me in the face hard, and my nose bleeds. I am in the nurse’s office. That’s the last time I stand up for Clem. Goddammit, why doesn’t she stop being so repetitive? What the hell is going on in her mind? Selfish, annoying, autistic sibling.
Maya
Mateo, they’re fighting more than ever without you. I don’t know how to keep them together and keep us together. Autism. I remember when we were told that by the doctors. I still don’t understand who or what did this to her and us and you. I blame myself.
Isabella
I slid a book on top of Clem’s bookshelf as she was sleeping in on Sunday morning. I believe she is a genius, and I want to see her achieve her goal of becoming a NASA scientist.
Clem began to wake up; she whispered my name:
“Isabella, I’m ready to go to do an experiment with you outside after I get dressed.”
She then saw the book, scurried over to it, pulled it down, and brought it back to her bed. It was amazing to watch her. She read the entire book in 12 minutes muttering syllables under her breath. I knew she was the future.
A Free-er Space
Thirty-three years later, Dr. Clementine Sandoval walked through the agricultural sector on Station Colonization 2.0 of the newly para terraformed planet Bahazar, a refuge from Earth, which had been ravaged by war and global, environmental crisis. She inspected the grounds, conducted some soil testing, and then returned to her lab.
On her desk was a book her older sister Isabella had given her: Silent Spring by Rachel Carson. In it, Carson explains the central idea around DDT, and how a silent spring—caused by pesticides—would mean no birds chirping. She opened her window and listened to the vibrant birdsong of Bahazar.
My objective was to create sustainable agriculture without chemical agents that poison crops, contribute to environmental damage, and cause unintended effects, like you and me, dad. I did it.
Back to Top of Page | Back to Fiction | Back to Volume 17, Issue 2 – Winter 2023-2024
About the Author
Zachary Pietrafetta was born at 23 weeks, six days gestational age, under two pounds, and spent 198 days in the NICU. Doctors have diagnosed him with many labels: autistic, ADHD, CP, etc. These labels can be both helpful and hurtful. In his writing, Zach builds worlds with characters who refuse to be limited by labels, neurodivergent heroes who help change the world by working toward a utopian ideal. Zach currently resides in Wilmette, IL. He is working on a novel, Erasing Time. “Unintended Effects” is the backstory of one of this novel’s main characters.