BEDFORD — Here, in a blank brick building in a suburban office park, is a vision of an autism quite different from what we’ve come to expect. And a glimpse of a future for which we’re woefully unprepared.
A teenager bolts down a hallway. His teacher races after him, puts a hand on his shoulder, gently guides him back. A boy lies on cushions in a closet lit by a lava lamp, his teacher waiting for him to rejoin the world. Two young men sit at a table, practicing halting small-talk as they eat. A teacher taps on an iPad hanging from a girl’s neck to prompt her to interact with a stranger.