The Vignette Vault Of Veracity

He Moves Like Code

There’s a guy on the floor who don’t speak much.
Don’t look much either.
He moves like he’s been programmed—
not cold… just calculated.
Like everything’s already been thought through
ten thousand moves ahead
and you’re only catching the tail end of the ripple.

First time I saw him work,
he labeled wires like he was carving scripture into steel.
Didn’t look up.
Didn’t need to.

Most folks called him weird.
Said he was “off,”
like that’s all it took to write a man down to his static.

But I’ve been here long enough to know
the loudest ones break first.

And this guy?

He don’t break.

He bends in ways you don’t see
unless you’re watching real close.

He keeps the same wrench in the same pocket.
Same lunch.
Same shift.
Routine’s not habit—it’s his spine.
His tether.
His ritual.

I saw him freeze once
when a supervisor changed the assignment last second.
Not mad. Not stubborn.
Just—paused.
Like reality skipped a frame and he had to find the beat again.

And then I saw it—
The way he twitched when the forklift beeped too close.
The way he winced at fluorescent hum,
how he cracked his knuckles not out of boredom,
but to bring his body back from the brink of sensory combustion.

It clicked.

Autism.
Or something like it.

Not broken.
Not weird.
Just tuned to a signal
the rest of us were never taught to hear.

And damn if it didn’t make me feel
like I’d been speaking in wrong languages this whole time—
asking him for nods, smiles, eye contact,
when all he’d ever offered was precision.

The man don’t talk small.
He talks useful.
He talks necessity.

His compassion isn’t soft.
It’s in how your tools are always where they should be.
It’s in how he rerouted the coolant lines
and never asked for credit.

I stopped trying to pull words from him.
Stopped watching his eyes,
started watching his hands.

That’s where he keeps his dialogue.

Now I leave the lights a little lower.
Send him updates in writing instead of barking them mid-floor.
Respect the pattern.
Respect the quiet.

'Cause some folks are loud in ways you’ll never hear
if you’re always listening for your own echo.

And me?
I fix pipes, sure.
But today I fixed something in me.

'Cause maintenance ain't just what keeps machines from breaking.

Sometimes, it’s what keeps people from falling through the cracks.