Car Ride

My autistic son would live in our car if he could.  Three years ago my family was moving across country.  After driving over ten hours each day we would drag our half paralyzed bodies into the hotel room ready to collapse for the night.  My son would take one step in the room, grab the door handle and frantically try to escape as he repeated over and over, "Back in the car!  Back in the car!" 

Even when we are in the comfort of our own home he will try to sneak out into the garage to sit in our van.  We had to put chains on every outside door and keep our car locked at all times, even while it sits in our garage.  At the park I have to keep a close watch of him.  I have caught him climbing into stranger's unlocked cars many times.  He runs from vehicle to vehicle checking every door until he finds a winner. 

One day he was acting particularly obsessed with the car.  So my husband and I decided to take him on an errand run with us.  He was super excited.  First stop was Lowes hardware store where we intended to buy locks for most of the remaining doors in our house to prevent my son from getting into things he shouldn't, like medicine, vitamins, food, and his sister's bedroom where he likes to hang from her ceiling fan.  We pulled into the parking lot of Lowes and my son hopped out of the car.  The three of us walked hand in hand into the building.  The moment we walked through the doors my son started to show signs of distress.  I don't know what was so offensive about that store, but in less than two minutes my son ripped his hands out of ours and took off across the store.  I chased him down as my husband stopped to ask for help from a worker.  I ran after my son, my eyes searched down every aisle as I raced past.  I stopped as I heard a rattling sound coming from the enormous rolls of carpet that rose up before me.  Two rows back and three rows up, I saw a gigantic roll of carpet spinning around and around as two little feet desperately were trying to climb higher.  My son ignored my pleas to climb down until, in a moment of pure brilliance, I pulled out the little portable video player I always carry in my purse.  He slid down the rolls and clutched the player in his hands as 'Madagascar' played across the screen for the billionth time.  I led him to the garden area and found the one remaining outdoor swing where we spent the next twenty minutes swinging back and forth while my husband finished shopping. My hands were in a death grip around my son and his in a death grip around his precious video player, neither loosened until we were back in the safety of our car.