The Village Parliament 2

The afternoon ritual began precisely at 4 PM, when the tobacco shop reopened after the long Italian lunch break. This timing was strategic—arriving during that golden hour when the shop was empty, before the evening wave of customers seeking cigarettes, newspapers, and the small transactions that punctuated village life.

The Unofficial Therapist - 23

23 was everything Me wished she had encountered earlier in her journey toward self-understanding. A woman just one year younger than her, but carrying herself with the quiet confidence of someone who had made peace with life's complexities. She had raised two children who were now grown and finding their own paths, leaving her with the kind of intellectual freedom that comes when your primary obligations shift from caretaking to self-development.

Her intelligence was immediate and comprehensive—the kind that could pivot effortlessly from quantum physics to child psychology to agricultural economics, depending on what the conversation required. She had trained as a teacher but possessed the intuitive understanding of human behavior that marked natural therapists. Behind the counter of her small shop, surrounded by cigarette displays and lottery tickets, she had become an unofficial counselor for half the village.

Me would buy her usual cigarettes—always the same brand, always the same quantity—then settle onto the stone step to the left of the door. This became their therapeutic space, an outdoor office where she could process the daily accumulation of social interactions that had taken on new complexity since discovering her autism.

"Tell me about this morning" 23 would say, leaning against her doorframe with the patient attention of someone who understood that healing happens through conversation. "What felt different? What made sense now that didn't make sense before?"

She would recount her interactions—with 21 at the bar, with 13 in his workshop, with 22 at the market—examining each exchange through the new lens of neurodivergent awareness. 23 had an extraordinary ability to translate neurotypical social cues into language she could understand.

"When 21 mentioned the woman watering plants at midnight" 23 might explain, "she wasn't just sharing gossip. She was testing whether you would respond with judgment or curiosity. Your response told her something about your character."

23 helped her decode the subtle dance of village social life—how conversations carried multiple layers of meaning, how silence could communicate approval or disapproval, how the timing and setting of interactions affected their significance. Under her guidance, our heroine began to understand that her past social failures weren't character defects but translation errors—attempts to navigate a social language she had never been taught to speak.

The River Intermission

After their session, she would walk down the winding path to the river, where ancient stone bridges connected the newer parts of the village to the old quarter. This was her decompression time—two cigarettes smoked in contemplative silence while watching the water flow past limestone banks that had witnessed centuries of human drama.

The river offered perspective. Whatever daily complications arose, whatever social mysteries she was trying to solve, the water kept moving with indifferent patience. Sometimes she would see herons fishing in the shallows, their prehistoric focus reminding her that survival often required the ability to wait motionless for exactly the right moment to strike.

The Evening Parliament - 14's Delicatessen

The final stop of her afternoon circuit was 14's shop—a delicatessen that served as unofficial evening parliament for the village's more contemplative residents. The space was cramped but welcoming, walls lined with local wines, artisanal cheeses, and cured meats that represented the best of regional food culture.

14 was a man in his sixties who embodied the kind of gentle masculinity that suggested strength without aggression. His face bore the weathered lines of someone who had spent decades balancing the demands of business ownership with family responsibilities. Two grown children: one who had joined the family meat production business, carrying on traditional methods of curing and preparation; another who had followed a completely different path, working in children's education abroad.

Despite the demands of running his shop, 14 always made time for conversation. He would pour wine, arrange small plates of cheese and prosciutto, and create space for the kind of unhurried discussion that had become rare in modern life. His kindness wasn't performative—it emerged from genuine interest in human experience and the hard-won wisdom that comes from navigating decades of small-town relationships.

"Recovery isn't linear" he would say, refilling her glass with local red wine. "Especially when you're recovering from not knowing who you were in the first place."

The Philosophical Ensemble

The shop's regular patrons had evolved into a loose community of evening philosophers:

24 and 25 were a couple in their fifties who owned the shop next door—a small boutique specializing in handmade textiles and local crafts. They moved through the world with the synchronized grace of people who had learned to think as a unit while maintaining individual perspectives. 24 was analytical, always questioning the economic and political forces shaping village life. 25 was more intuitive, reading social dynamics with the precision of someone who had spent years observing human behavior through the lens of commercial interaction.

26 was the owner of another neighboring business—a shop that seemed to sell everything from household tools to seasonal decorations, the kind of place where you could find solutions to problems you didn't know you had. A practical woman with calloused hands and shrewd eyes, she brought working-class wisdom to conversations that might otherwise drift into academic abstraction.

27 was perhaps the most entertaining member of their informal group—a traveling salesman who worked the mobile market circuit throughout the province. His stories from different villages provided a broader perspective on regional culture and politics. He had the comedian's gift for finding absurdity in everyday situations, but his humor was never cruel—always aimed at systems and pretensions rather than individuals.

Together, they would spend an hour each evening examining the day's events, local politics, broader social changes, and the eternal questions that arise when intelligent people have time to think and discuss. The conversations ranged from practical matters—village development, seasonal festivals, local business challenges—to philosophical territory: what constitutes a meaningful life, how communities maintain coherence across generations, whether individual happiness should be subordinated to collective wellbeing.

The Safe Harbor

For Me, these evenings provided something she had never experienced: intellectual community without competition. No one was trying to prove superiority or extract information for professional advantage. The discussion was its own reward, a form of social interaction that nourished rather than depleted.

14 understood that she was rebuilding herself from fragments, learning to inhabit her authentic identity after decades of operating from false assumptions about her own neurology. He would steer conversations in directions that allowed her to practice social skills in safe contexts, always ready to offer gentle course corrections when she misread social cues.

"You're learning a new language" he would say. "Be patient with yourself. Fluency takes time."

As evening deepened and other customers arrived seeking dinner supplies, their informal parliament would dissolve. She would walk home uphill, carrying the warmth of genuine human connection and the satisfaction of another day successfully navigated.

These afternoons became the scaffolding of her recovery—structured social interaction that built confidence while providing the intellectual stimulation her neurodivergent mind required. For the first time in her adult life, she was experiencing what healthy community felt like.