Shopping

The sun is just starting to lighten the sky and I am getting an early start today. I look over at the little boy whose hand is clasped in mine. He bounces up and down with his uncontrolled movements. He has way too much energy this morning. Looking at him you would never know he was up half the night screaming and thrashing in his bed. The puffy eyes and dragging feet are mine. It was a long night. My lack of energy gets me nearly knocked from my feet as my six year old autistic son yanks on my arm as he splashes the puddles. I am too tired to complain that the lower half of my pants are now soaked. We make our way into the store just as the rain starts to let up. Daegan sits in the cart as I collect the items we need. This early the store is nearly empty. I try to keep the cart rolling down the middle of the aisle. I don't need more men's deodorant or another lint roller or whatever else happens to be at Daegan's eye level and within his reach. I have to remove more items than I put in. Bananas, yes. Men's hair growth, no. Baby wipes, yes; lots and lots of wipes. Tylenol, not on the list, but it might come in handy. Gas cleaner, no. Pregnancy test, let's pray not. I turn around for a split second to put back a can of chili's that apparently Daegan can't live without. My head whips around as his hysterical screaming abruptly stops. He is no longer in the cart. I turn in circles. He is no where to be seen. Leaving the cart, I race around the corner. There he is lying on his back in the middle of the aisle 6. I walk over and start to drag him to his feet. It feels like he has glued himself to the floor. How is it that I cannot lift this forty pound child? The store is getting busier. A young couple turns into our aisle. They hesitate when they see my child unmoving on the ground. They turn away. Apparently they didn't need rice after all. I start to scold Daegan, but I stop. The look on his face is so calm as he stares straight at the ceiling. I look up. What does he see? All I see are bright lights and air vents. My curiosity gets the better of me. I glance in both directions. No shoppers. I join Daegan on the hard, dirty floor. I lie back and look up. The world disappears. I see lights and shadows creating designs across the ceiling. The shelves rise up around us like towering cliffs. Sounds are muffled until all I hear is my own breathing falling in rhythm with the small figure I can sense next to me but cannot see. For a moment I am at peace, until a concerned face leans into my line of sight. "Are you okay, Dear?" A kind elderly woman has happened upon us. I quickly stand up, dragging my son with me. He twists and screams trying to get back to his serene world. Unconvincingly, I tell her we are fine and race back to my cart still sitting in the next aisle over. I make a beeline for the checkout counter. I realize that I am unintentionally annoyed with the old woman for interrupting my solace. It is the same feeling I get when my husband catches me hiding in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub reading a book as I try to get a moments peace. Do closed doors mean nothing anymore?