2
As God usually does when I’m at the end of my rope, He ties a knot for me to hang onto. This time, the knot’s name was Reba.
I’d just finished adding oregano to my famous spaghetti sauce when the phone rang.
“You’re going to have to come help me,” Reba said in her matter-of-fact way. “Timmy’s having a meltdown, and I can’t get him past it.”
“Oh no. What is it this time?”
“We’re out of five-inch corner braces, and I can’t convince him that more will be here tomorrow.”
She popped her gum into the phone.
I turned off the stove, jumped into the van with Timmy’s weighted blanket, and sped the one mile to O’Malley’s Hardware store.
When I pulled up to the curb and jumped out, Trace, Reba’s husband, opened the door and let me in. I could hear Timmy screaming from the stock room.
Customers avoided my gaze and pretended not to hear.
“I’m sorry, Trace,” I whispered, giving him what I hoped was a pained, apologetic look.
“It’s OK, Kirstie. It’s just going to take time.” Trace’s smooth, basso voice calmed my aching spirit. God bless him. Not a church-going man, but he had a heart of gold.
Before coming to Eel Falls, my husband’s resume looked like Swiss cheese because of Timmy, whose outbursts and aggression embarrassed other congregations. Unfamiliar with autism, they blamed us for his unusual and disruptive behaviors.
I hurried to the stock room and found Timmy rocking in a corner on the floor between two shelves. Reba stood by talking to him softly, making sure he wouldn’t hurt himself. She moved from the corner so I could sit beside him.
“Timmy, it’s Mommy.” I draped the weighted blanket over his shoulders. “Shhhh, it’s Mommy. It’s OK.”
“No bay-sez, no bay-sez. Bay-sez all gone. No bay-sez.”
“I know. I know.” Fingers taut, I rubbed his arms up and down and down and up. “Braces will be here tomorrow. It’s OK.”
He banged his head on the wall.
“No banging, Timmy. Remember the rules.”
He banged again. I sighed. My heart broke every time his did; and his broke a lot. Timmy needed sameness. Five-inch corner braces had their own spot in the store and now there were none.
I left his side and walked over to where Reba sat on a stool smoking a cigarette. Timmy calmed best when left alone once he passed the violent phase of what we called his “nuclear meltdowns.”
“I’ll leave the weighted blanket here from now on and get another one for home,” I said. “That is—if you’re still willing to work with him.”
“Ain’t been nothing ol’ Reba hasn’t conquered.” Curls of smoke wafted in front of her piercing blue eyes. “Timmy’s a pussycat. We’ll get along just fine. Why the heavy blanket?”
“It soothes him. The deep pressure is comforting.”
Reba blew a puff of smoke out of the side of her mouth, away from me. “Just let me know if I’m doing something wrong.”
“You’re not doing anything wrong, Reba. It’s not you.” I looked down at Timmy and shook my head. The monstrous, ugly disease of autism was in the room staring me down, daring me to battle.
She took another deep draw on her cigarette. I worried that she smoked, but I didn’t judge her for it. Reba smoked. I ate mashed potatoes, fried chicken, and fudge brownie sundaes every chance I got.
She exhaled with a big huff. “Autism bites.”
I nodded. I hated the word. I felt myself tearing. She stood up to hug me.
“Don’t.” I threw up my hands to push her away. “I’ll lose it if you comfort me. I don’t know why I’m not more used to seeing him struggle by now. It makes me so mad. And when I’m mad I cry.”
Reba grinned with a spark in her eyes. “When I’m mad, I cuss.” She blew out a puff of smoke and flicked her cigarette into an ashtray sitting next to her by the stock room phone.
I laughed and wiped my eyes. I loved Reba. She was tough as nails, rough around the edges, and because of past hurts, didn’t attend church. But she and Trace had always treated Timmy with respect. From the time we arrived in Eel Falls, Timmy had loved the hardware store. When he was younger, we visited every day. Sundays were difficult because the store was closed, and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop in. But Monday through Saturday he loved spinning the washers around the bolts and screws and watching them wind up and down. He relished the smell of the leather tool belts and the feel of the cool heads of the hammers. The hardware store was Timmy’s Disneyland, and when the O’Malleys offered to let Timmy work there in the afternoons, we were thrilled.
Reba, my best friend outside of the church, didn’t have any expectations of me. I could be myself, and she’d never tell a soul my secrets. I never heard her gossip about anyone.
She lit up another cigarette. “You need to get that motorcycle you’ve been talkin’ about and ride with Trace and me this summer.”
“I’d love that, Reba. I saw you ride by the church the other night. It looked like heaven to me.” I sighed and watched Timmy huddle deeper into his blanket.
Me ride? What would people think? What kind of rumors would Elder Norman and Bernice start? Could Aaron lose his job? If he lost his job, we’d be on the street because the church owned the parsonage. Besides, who would take care of everything and everybody when I was riding my bike? What would happen if I had an accident?
What would happen if I didn’t do something for myself and lost my mind?
“You’re only human,” Reba lectured me. “You need a break. When’s the last time you went anywhere by yourself without your kids or your husband?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t remember one time in the past ten years.
“I can teach ya to ride,” Reba said. “Ain’t nothin’ to it. And you need the break. A time out.” She arched her fingers like quotation marks. “It’d give you something to do besides all that churchy stuff.”
I nodded. I’d wanted a motorcycle ever since I was a little girl and my great-aunt put me on her Indian. I loved everything about them: the masculine smell of leather, the feel of the cold metal gas tank, and the rumble of the engine.
Was it time for me to pursue some dreams of my own?
My cell phone rang. Aaron. I listened to his frantic voice on the other end.
“OK,” I sighed into the phone. “OK, I hear you. I’ll bring something home. And Aaron—I’m sorry…”
I clicked my phone off and looked at Reba, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. I could only imagine the face I made.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“Oh nothing—just that…” I broke down in giggles. “Goliath ate tonight’s supper off the stove.”
“That dog’s a monster.”
“You have no idea.” I turned to Timmy who had calmed himself down to small, puffy sobs. “Ready to go to the Fried Eel and get hamburgers for Daddy, Timmy?”
He looked up and smiled at me through tears. The Fried Eel was his favorite. “Fried Eel fwies? Timmy fwies?” He wiped his nose on his shirt.
“Yes, Timmy. We’ll get you some fries.”
“I’m gonna look into getting you enrolled in some riding classes, Kirstie,” Reba said, putting out her cig.
I started to object.
Reba held up her hand and raised her left eyebrow parent style. “I don’t want to hear it. Won’t hurt a thing to find out about it. And in the meantime, let’s go shopping for a bike. An adventure like that’d be fun and do you good. Now, what color you want?”
“What color bike?”
“Yup. Let’s get specific.”
“Reba, you know me. What color do you think I want?” I gave her my most mischievous grin. I was a girly girl.
Reba wasn’t. She rolled her eyes. “Oh no.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can be seen going down the road with you.”
We walked out of the back room and past Trace, who had been listening to the tail end of our conversation.
“Why?” he asked. “What color does she want?”
Reba groaned and waved me off with her hand.
“Bubble gum pink!” I said. “What else?”