Page 81 of The Upside of Falling
“Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “No.” I stare at the window. “I just need to make sure he’s okay. I need to get to him.”
“I know. I’m trying, Rory.” He squeezes my hand and maneuvers around cars, trying to gain a little more speed, sailing down the road, making his best attempt to get me to Bryan.
All I can think about is how scared Bryan is, how he’s probably cowering in a corner, hitting himself because there is too much sensory stimuli. The onlookers, the judgers, the people who don’t understand why a thirty-year-old man would be wailing and hitting himself.
Not a lot of people get it.
Not a lot of people are educated about autism.
Not a lot of people have hearts kind enough to make them stop staring, to stop making assumptions, to look away instead.
Colby pulls into University Village where the Dugout Store is located, and before he can even park the car, I’m hopping out and rushing through the doors, running into racks of Rockies T-shirts and jerseys. Looking past the sea of purple, I spot my mom in the back looking stricken, the shop manager looking concerned, and then I hear him. Bryan’s soft cries hit me like a semi-trailer in the chest.
Calming myself, knowing he doesn’t like rash movements, I approach lightly despite my need to get to him as quickly as possible. When I finally see him, my stomach lurches from the sight of his bloody face, the red-stained shirt covering his chest.
Oh, Bryan.
When I reach him, I crouch down and sit cross-legged on the floor, gently placing my hand on his knee and speaking softly, barely above a whisper.
“Bryan. It’s Rory . . .”
It takes twenty minutes to calm him down, to let us help his nose stop bleeding, and to change him into a clean shirt thoughtfully given to us by the store manager. We apologized profusely and get Bryan back in the car, a baseball in hand, and a new shirt draped over his shoulders. My mom and I are worn out.
When my mom clicks the door shut to the car, I turn to her and ask, “Where’s Dad?”
“Called in for a few hours.” She presses her hand to her forehead, looking absolutely exhausted. “Thank you, honey. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Turning to Colby, who has his arm wrapped around my waist, holding me close to his body, she says, “We couldn’t have done it without you either.”
And that’s the truth.
Colby sat next to me, carefully speaking to Bryan. At first, I didn’t want him to try to help, but once Bryan started responding to Colby, his deep voice and steady tone like my father’s, I leaned on Colby for help.
“Please, no need to thank me. I’m just glad I could be here for you too.” Glancing at the car, he asks, “Is he going to be okay?”
My mom nods. “He’ll be okay.”
“Do you want me to ride home with you?” I ask.
She shakes her head and pats my arm. “Go home, spend time with Colby. This is his last break before graduation. I got this.”
“Are you sure, Mom?”
She nods and leans over to press a kiss against my cheek. “I’m positive. Thank you both for your help.” She gives Colby a hug, and then gets in her car, giving us a little wave with her fingers.
And life goes on.
Because that’s what happens. We can’t sit and dwell, and we can’t take a break from our reality or the world. We have to keep moving forward, and we have to continue to keep life as normal as possible despite the unpredictability of each day.
Silently, Colby and I drive to my apartment, our hands linked, the experience we just went through together hanging above us. And I wish I were talking about the skydiving. Unfortunately, that is a distant memory now, nearly replaced by Bryan’s meltdown.
Some people might be mad at their brother for “ruining” a special day, but not me.
I could never be mad at him, at least not anymore, not since I’ve matured. I know Bryan can’t help it. I know when he has a sensory overload there is only one way he knows how to deal with it. It might not be conventional, it might be how we deal with it, but it’s his way, and I have adapted to that. I know I need to be there for him, to help him through it.
It’s my duty as his sister.
To take care of him. And to take care of Mom. This is hard on her, and I’m glad I’ve been able to find fulfillment here and not begrudge them missing my chance to go to New York.
