Merle had Asperger’s syndrome.  Everyone at school called him a retard, but he knew better.  Merle’s mother brought him to the little fundraisers she was always putting on for autism research.  One day, an old woman there pinched his cheek and he screamed all the way through the “Happy Special Friends” montage.  After which, Merle’s mother crossed out “Hello my name is” on his nametag and wrote in “Please-Don’t-Touch.” Merle’s mother made him wear the stupid thing everywhere, in case he bit someone or caused a scene.

Please-Don’t-Touch-Merle wondered why he was the only one who had to turn his insides out.  Please-Don’t-Touch-Merle often wished that everyone wore nametags that said the dark and private things, things they’d rather keep hidden:

“Hello, my name is Ben, and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hello, my name is Peter, and my dad used to beat me up.”

“Hello, my name is Marilyn, and I’m addicted to methamphetamines.”

“Hello, my name is Roger, and I cheated on my wife.”

“Hello, my name is Dana, and I feel like jumping off a bridge. Every day.”

“Hello, my name is James, and my family hates me because I’m gay.”

“Hello, my name is Sheila, and I’m 40 and I’ve never been in love.”

Please-Don’t-Touch-Merle thought this world in his head would be more human than the one he lived in, this world full of stares.