Two Sides of Touch

What would it be like if being touched were torture?

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, a broadway play, came to the Bushnell in Hartford last week, and asked me to really consider that question. An adaptation of the 2003 novel, Curious takes the perspective of a teenager who places high on the autism spectrum, who is trying to find out how his neighbor’s dog was murdered.

It’s a gloriously uncomfortable walk in the shoes of a boy who sees life from an entirely different perspective. He’s literal – why say “get on with the show” when you just mean “let’s start”?  He’s incredibly gifted – math is his thing. He’s sensitive to noise – the scenes in a London subway station feel like an onslaught to the senses, just as it might to this boy in real life. And he can’t stand to be touched.

It’s a great story and a great show for many reasons. But my big takeaway is about the privilege of touch.

I’m a texture person. I love soft fabrics, running my fingers over textured wallpapers, the feel of cold, wet sand between my toes. Do you remember the kids book, Pat the Bunny? I used to love that book and all its various feels. As I write this, I am petting my dog while he lounges awkwardly on my legs. I have never found an emotion that didn’t require a hug.

So to see parents who cannot hug their children, to think of how it would feel for every touch to feel like an assault – it’s foreign and, for me, very sad. I’m reminded that kids with autism aren’t the only ones who might not like to be touched. Abuse survivors, people with other sensory processing disorders, and others, may also be, completely understandably, resist to touch.

We should never force someone, especially a child, to be touched if they don’t want to be. At the same time, I will be appreciating my hugs, cozy comforters and scratchy wool hats even more with the knowledge that I could have been born without the ability to tolerate, much less enjoy, these beautiful expressions of touch.

Yet again, art gives me a new lens on the world and a new appreciation for something I take for granted. Isn’t that what art is all about?