The Ride

 The ride home was both familiar and awkward. 

He sat in the front seat. Taller, wiser. And in shorts that were too tight and a shirt that looked like the seams would burst if he took a deep breath. He looked both more mature and somewhat neglected. His face had filled out and he sported a brown tan and shaggy hair. That haircut we requested never happened. His clothes by contrast looked dirty, ragged, worn, like they had been laundered intermittently at best and without the benefit of soap. His new crocs showed wear all over, the color faded and the straps missing, the dirt caked on his feet rubbing off onto them. 

We rode in comfortable silence after he asked for a Dramamine as we left. He found the book I brought for him on the seat and alternated asking the same questions, reading a bit, asking for music, and begging for food. He couldn't hold a conversation or a topic for more than a minute. The same disturbing lack of focus we had seen often on our visits. 

"I donated all the books I didn't want with the pages ripped out."
"Can we have Whataburger?"
"Can we listen to Emenim?"
"I am so thirsty I really, really need a drink."
"What is Davey doing at home today?"
"It was hot at Meridell."
"I want to go to Sonic for dinner."
"I like your music. Can we listen to it right now?"
"I don't want to wait until Buckees to eat."

And so it went. Over and over. For the first hour of the trip. My mind raced to keep up, savoring his company, but already exhausted by his demands for answers, attention, and connection. 

We stopped for a potty break and grabbed a few snacks. I froze in fear when we had to separate for the restrooms and I wondered why Buckees does not have family bathrooms for people with special needs. I spent my time in the restroom listening for my name on the public address system and hoping he didn't assault anyone in the men's room. I came out to find him holding an enormous icee, half full. He was polite, compliant, and somewhat adorable and was rewarded with a bag of gummy sharks.

The next two hours alternated between chill silence as we listened to music, and him talking about food. He said he enjoyed the food at Meridell and he gained about 35 pounds in the 70 days he resided there, so apparently his voracious eating habits had kept up with him. 

We arrived home and while I hadn't let my guard down yet, I began to adjust to the new person I was getting to know. Older and wiser, yes, but still my little boy.

I only asked him one question about his stay. "What was your favorite part?" His reply surprised me, "The other kids. Getting to know that there is other people like me and I am not alone."

For an autistic child who has never had close friends and doesn't really seem to connect to others, those words shook my perception of him. In that simple reply I understood that for the first time in his life, he truly experienced community.