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The sweat dripping down his temple was the only hint that he was alive. Like a gargoyle, the stranger stood motionless in front of me in line. We both had a hankering for Subway, but that's where the similarities end. He was probably 6'7". The cocoon of grease that encased his person made it difficult to tell where clothes ended and skin began. His old leather vest was riddled with "Hell's Angels" type badges. The bandana around his skull hid thin hair pulled back into a pony tail. He wore a black t-shirt. Except his right arm was sleeved. And his right hand bore a glove. Not a motorcycle glove, more like a dentist's glove, tight fitting.

As I took a few steps to the side to glance at the menu, I noticed the boy and his mother in front of Sasquatch man. He couldn't have been more than 8 years old and he couldn't have had anything other than autism. He was silently observing the giant stranger's gloved hand and arm. His mother impatiently recited the orders for sandwiches while being sure to keep ahold of her young son's hand. It was just she and the boy in the store but she was ordering for a battalion.

"On that one I want lettuce, pickles, no tomatoes... no, no... I said no tomatoes... um I guess that's it. On that one I want lettuce, tomatoes... yes I did want it toasted... you know what, don't worry about it, you've already put the toppings on. Forget it." She was right in the middle of her order, no end in sight when the boy's curiosity became too great to contain.

The restaurant was pretty crowded, and the line was certainly packed. You know how Subway lines are. You stand three inches from strangers for like 15 minutes without ever saying a word to them. The weird Subway code of silence. This line was especially silent. I think because we were all a little scared of the monster in front of me. But not the boy.

"What happened?" said the boy innocently, pointing to the giant's gloved hand.

The man craned his massive, bearded head down to meet the boy's gaze.

"I burned it. A long time ago." His voice was scarier that you would have imagined. Think Don LaFontaine with an angry frog in his throat. We, the rest of the line-standers, were surprised both by the sound of his speech and the content of his claim. Everyone got quieter.

The boy's mom sort of froze. She looked back at the huge man who was staring at her son. I swear I saw panic in her eye for a second. The boy slowly let go of his mom's hand and took a step toward the glove. His mom didn't (couldn't?) stop him. Without a word the boy positioned himself on the right side of the giant, facing his mom and the now observing sandwich makers. Then the boy reached up and took the scary man's scary hand in his own. The restaurant was motionless, disarmed. A barely audible gasp from behind me made me turn around. The elderly woman behind me was tearing up.

Spirit That Moves In All Things, I'm grateful that you move in small-town Texas, in Subway lines, in autistic kids.