I am looking at an image of a man/beast-like creature hunched over as drool oozes out of his teeth. His hands are hovering over his head and his fingertips slightly scratch the surface of his skull. Planted on top of this zombie-looking beast are sev¬eral transmission line towers.

The first day I visited Ben, he never looked me in the eye, never acknowledged that I was in his home or photographing him. I was not invisible, and he made space for me, but he seemed miles away. This distance is just one of several traits that reveal the struggles Ben and his adoptive family, the Lehrs, have en¬dured for the past 30 years. Ben is autistic.