Timmy pulled his suitcase, packed with his favorite jeans, shirts, and stuffed lizard babies, in and out of my bedroom while I sorted through the piles of clothes on my bed.
“You can’t go this time, Timmy. The trip is just for girls.” I rolled up a pair of jeans and pushed them into my motorcycle sissy bar pack.
“Timmy go.” He clapped his hands, opened the suitcase, and ran to the bathroom to retrieve his toothbrush. “Timmy goooooo!”
Timmy was on the brink of a meltdown, and I didn’t have the time or patience right now to deal with it. “Aaron! Where are you? Are you busy?”
Patrick hollered at me as he ran down the stairs. “Mom, I’m going over to Adam’s house.”
“Wait!” I ran into the hall and looked at him from the top of the stairs. “Why are you going to Adam’s? Is his mom home?”
“Mom, c’mon. I’m just going to Adam’s to play Wii.”
“Is his mother home?” I raised my eyebrows and plopped my hands on my hips.
“Yes, Mom. His mother’s home. I’m leaving now.” He huffed at me and rolled his eyes.
“Don’t talk to me that way, Patrick. I don’t deserve to be spoken to in that tone. And you should ask me, not tell me, you’re going somewhere. I’m still your mother.”
“Mom, I’m going to go now, OK?”
I paused. Should I let him go? His attitude stank lately. Still, it was summer time, and he was restless. Maybe Aaron was right. Maybe the sassiness was Patrick’s effort to cut the apron strings. What did I know? I’d never raised a boy to be a man.
“OK.” I hesitated and looked down from the landing at the floor below, trying to arrange my thoughts. “But you have chores to do when you get home. And I want you to give me a big hug and kiss before I leave tomorrow. Just think: a whole week without M-O-M.”
“Fine.” He waved me off and ran out the door, slamming it behind him.
“Timmy goooooo.” Timmy sat on my bedroom floor rocking back and forth and slapping his forehead. I ran to him.
“Timmy, Timmy, stop it, honey. Don’t hurt yourself. “
My phone rang from somewhere under the clothes spread all over my bed. I rummaged around for it and answered.
“So, you all packed, girl?” Reba’s voice was unmistakable.
“Timmy go. Timmy go. Timmy go! Timmy go!” Timmy’s anxiety escalated, and he ran up and down the hall hitting the side of his head.
“What’s wrong with Timmy?”
“Let’s take him with us. He’ll have a blast.”
How could I tell Reba that I had looked forward to this trip to get away from Timmy for a few days? How could I explain the nervous twitch in my eye when Timmy began to hurt himself? It made me nervous because he was nervous. Would it be too much to ask to have a break?
“But I don’t know how to ride two up yet.”
“Not a problem. I’ll take Trace’s Goldwing and Timmy can ride behind me. You can take him short distances until you’re comfortable.”
“But you love riding your Harley…”
“I like the Goldwing, too. Just don’t tell Trace ’cause I like giving him a hard time about it not being a Harley. It’s in the manual, ya know.”
“What is?”
“If you own a Harley, you have to give bikers who ride those foreign bikes a hard time.”
“Serious?”
“No, but I think it should be.” She cackled, and her laughter morphed into a hard cough. Those blasted cigs. “So, ya gonna let Timmy go or not?”
“Look, I don’t think he’s gonna change his mind.”
She was right. If I didn’t take Timmy, Aaron was in for a huge meltdown that would last for hours, maybe days. Still, there were plenty of times Aaron left me alone with Timmy and the aftermath. But I was more concerned for Timmy than Aaron.
It wasn’t only today that made living with autism difficult. It was looking ahead and knowing that as long as I lived, Timmy would need me. Some days, the reality felt heavier on my shoulders than Timmy’s weighted blanket. But it didn’t change the fact I loved him more than life. He would have a great time on our trip.
“OK, he can go,” I barely spoke above a whisper.
“He’ll need to stop for bathroom breaks.” Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
“Your gas tank isn’t that big, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” Reba giggled and coughed again. My tank only held enough to go about one hundred miles without a fill-up.
I said good-bye to Reba, hung up the phone, looked at Timmy, and turned on my best smile. I ran over and hugged him. “Timmy go!”
The tears and rocking stopped. He tilted his head. “Timmy go?”
He clapped and ran through the house.
“Dad-ee! Dad-ee! Timmy go! Timmy go!”
Daniel walked into my room smelling of chlorine, his eyes bloodshot from swimming. “What’s with Timmy?”
“He’s going with me on my motorcycle trip.” I turned back to my packing.
“Nope. Reba suggested we let him go. She’s going to let him ride on the back of Trace’s Goldwing.”
“What a nice attitude, Daniel. I’m proud of you for being happy for Timmy.”
Daniel grinned at me. “I’m not happy for Timmy. I’m happy for me. I get Dad to myself. Well, except for Patrick, but he’s never home, anyway. This totally rocks.” He ran down the hall and slammed his bedroom door.
Aaron and Timmy came into the bedroom giggling and poking at one another.
“Are you sure? I mean, it won’t be much of a break.” Aaron took Timmy’s hands in his to keep him from poking. Timmy wiggled free and sat down with his suitcase. I looked at him and shook my head.
“No, I’m not sure, but I am sure he’ll love it.” I smiled halfheartedly, and Aaron sat on the edge of the bed.
“This will be the first time Timmy and I haven’t been home together.” Aaron sounded sad.
That hadn’t occurred to me. Every time Aaron was home, Timmy was home. I frowned.
“Hmmm. You’ll have to let me know how that feels.”
Aaron convinced Timmy to pack his things in my bag.
I packed three outfits for each of us.
Aaron took the boys out to the trampoline. The bouncing organized Timmy’s brain in some way that calmed him. Afterwards, while Daniel helped me with dinner, Aaron and Timmy swam in the pool.
By the time we cleaned up dinner, it was time for bed. We needed our sleep if we wanted to get an early start in the morning.
“You need to take a shower, Timmy.” I repeated the same thing I said every night at this time.
And he responded the exact same way. “Timmy not dirty. Timmy clean.”
Timmy loved to swim, but he hated showers and baths. He hated anything touching his skin such as soap or lotion. The little bursts of water from a shower were especially painful for him. Still, it was easier and faster for him to wash his hair in a shower, so showering is usually what we did.
I got Timmy showered and dried off and realized he was out of clean underwear. I grabbed the day’s laundry and headed downstairs to the laundry room.
Aaron was sitting on the couch.
Goliath lay sprawled out on top of his feet chewing on an old shoe.
“Have you seen Daniel?” I paused behind him.
Aaron flipped through a dozen channels faster than I could process what was on the screen. “He’s listening to a movie soundtrack in his room.”
“I haven’t seen him.” Flip. Flip.
I sighed and went upstairs into the bathroom where I found Timmy squirting shaving cream all over the shower door. He’d managed to cover his naked self from head to toe with shaving cream and stood grinning at me ear to ear. I was too tired to laugh.
“Timmy, please don’t. Mommy just cleaned that.” Why did shower time have to happen when I was beyond exhausted?
I managed to get Timmy showered—again—his ears cleaned out, and into fresh pajamas. By the time he got into bed, I wanted to crawl in with him.
“Daniel. The shower’s free,” I called.
“OK, Mom.” What a dear, obedient boy.
I went downstairs with my clothes soaked, as usual, and threw myself on the couch with a long, heavy sigh. Aaron sat fixated on a History Channel.
“Did Patrick come home?” The clock said eleven ten. Past his weeknight curfew.
Aaron didn’t look away from the TV. “Uh, I haven’t seen him. Isn’t he upstairs?”
“No.”
I reached for the phone and dialed Adam’s phone number. His mother answered. I couldn’t remember her first name.
“Hello, Mrs. Schmidt?”
“Yes, this is she.” She sounded as if she was roused from a deep sleep.
“This is Kirstie Donovan, Patrick’s mom? I’m sorry for calling this late.”
“No problem. I had just dozed off reading a book.”
“Is Patrick still there? If he is would you please send him home? I’m sorry if he’s still hanging around.”
“Patrick? Patrick’s not here.” She sounded surprised.
I leaned forward and rubbed my brow. “Oh. He’s not? When did he leave?”
“Why, Kirstie, I haven’t seen Patrick all day.”
“Oh.” I was stunned. “I must have misunderstood him. I’m sorry I bothered you this late. I hope you get some rest.”
“No problem, Kirstie. I hope you find him.”
“Sure. Goodnight.”
Patrick was toast when I found him.
“Good-bye.”
I hung up, speechless.
“He wasn’t there?” Aaron clicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the end table.
“No. He never was. They haven’t seen him all day.”