AUTISM AND SENSORY DISORDER. Adventure at the store. A trip to the market, as told by a boy with Autism Spectrum Disorder.

Today Mom took me to the grocery store. Big mistake!

            The day started as usual with Mom telling me to get dressed. If only she knew how much I hate to wear clothes. For me it’s like wearing sandpaper. The material rubs against my skin and irritates it to no end. It feels all scratchy and limits my mobility. When I raise my arm, the shirt moves too and scrapes against my flesh. Thankfully she cut off the tags. Those little labels make me crazy! They feel like a stick has been shoved down my back.

            Anyway, we got in the car which I don’t mind too much because the motion lulls me and quiets my mind. Once we got to the store, I started to panic. There were cars everywhere. How would we ever find our own car again? I mean, it’s not like there’s a flag on top of it so it stands out from the rest. Mom didn’t seem too concerned, and she never steers me wrong, so I stopped worrying and took the hand she held out towards me.

I always have to hold Mom’s hand in the parking lot. “You wouldn’t see a car backing out or coming towards you even if you were looking, which you aren’t most of the time,” she once told me.

            It’s true. There are so many thoughts and ideas trickling through my mind at all times, that I don’t really pay attention to my whereabouts. I mean, who wants to look at cars when you can be contemplating the magic of prime numbers, or the names of all the constellations in the sky?

            We walked up to the big, double doors. They scare me something fierce! Mom just walks up to them, fully trusting that they will open for her. I don’t, so I hold back, pulling on Mom’s hand until they slide open. Can you imagine how painful it would be if they didn’t and you smacked right into them? My nose would get crushed, my forehead might get a big bump on it, or I could even bounce off the glass and fall backwards onto the hard asphalt. It might cut my head open and then I’d be bleeding all over the sidewalk. I’d have to go to the hospital (another place I hate) and get stitches. No! It’s just not worth it. I’d rather wait to see them open before approaching those fearful doors.

            “Come on, Jacob,” Mom said, pulling on my hand. “Don’t dawdle.”

            It’s not dawdling, it’s fear that’s causing me to hold back. If only she could understand fear controls most of my day. Fear of pain, fear of failure, fear of accidents or not being able to control my emotions. Fear walks along beside me every moment of every day. If only fear could stay home just once!

            As soon as we walked through those doors I was assaulted by a thousand sights, sounds and smells that made my head hurt and my flesh crawl. The lights were glaringly bright and they hurt my eyes. I closed them against the onslaught, but then I couldn’t see where I was going. I should have remembered my sunglasses. That might have helped, but then people would have stared at me.

            The lights also buzzed too loudly. Mom says she can’t hear them, but to me they sound like a thousand bees buzzing in my head. I would have covered my ears, but Mom was holding fast to one of my hands. I should have worn my headphones. But people would have stared at me for that too.

            Then a woman walked past with a baby in tow. The child’s diaper reeked of urine, but his mom didn’t even seem to notice. Poo-wee! When he started crying, I started crying too. I wanted someone to stop the wailing. That’s why I hate being around babies; they emit the loudest, ear-piercing cries and make my head feel like it’s going to explode.

            “Come on, Joshua,” Mom said, tugging my hand once more. “We just have to pick up some bread and cheese, then we can go home.”

            Yeah, right. She made it sound like a walk in the park. But for me, it was like crossing a mine field. Something was likely to explode, and it just might be me.

            At the deli, some man behind the counter was running a meat slicer.

            ZZZZZZ! ZZZZZZ!

            I doubled over with pain, clasping my head in my hands. The sound was simply awful and it hurt every part of my body, from my head to my toes. It was like having a dentist hit a nerve with his tooth drill. “Someone please stop the noise,” I wanted to yell.

            The deli worker saw Mom standing at the counter and stopped his infernal machine. Thank goodness, now I could breathe.

            “Ten slices of Muenster cheese,” she asked him.

            I’ve always wondered why they call it ‘Monster cheese.’ Seems like a weird name, but nonetheless it takes great with ham and bread.

To my dismay, the deli worker pulled a large wedge from the glass display. This meant he was going to have to cut it in his cheese slicer which was just as bad as the meat slicer. I covered my ears and started humming.

            “Why are you making so much noise?” Mom asked me as I hummed louder and louder.

            Ignoring her, I turned my back on the deli and hummed even louder. Finally, Mom pulled on one of my arms, removing my hand from my ear.

            “He’s done slicing the cheese,” she said.

            I looked up. There was a crowd gawking at me. Some were whispering and I could hear bits and pieces such as “What’s wrong with him?” “Is he mentally ill?’ or “Glad my child doesn’t do that sort of stuff in the store.”

            Mom’s face started turning red, a sure sign she was getting mad. That wasn’t good.

            Now it was my turn to grab her hand and pull her away from the jury and the judges. “Come on, Mom, let’s get the bread and get out of here.”

            Besides, I did not like the smells at the deli. Some of those meats smelled like dead armadillo. Yuk!

            Mom snatched up a loaf of French bread, the paper crinkling as she clenched it in her fist. I cringed. Why does paper have to make that crackling sound? It makes my teeth go on edge, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

            We found a register with a fairly short line. I had to endure the annoying beep, beep, beep of the laser scanning each item. When it was finally our turn, the cashier ran our items through. Beep. Beep.

            “That’ll be $10.50,” she says.

            “Ten dollars and fifty cents?” I wanted to yell. “For two items?”

            But I kept my mouth shut because I’ve learned Mom doesn’t like me to say stuff like that. She slipped her card through the scanner, pushed a few buttons then was handed a receipt. That crackled too as she scrunched it up and shoved it in her pocket. She grabbed the plastic bag the cashier handed her and we headed towards the Exit sign.

            I paused as we near the doors, but someone walked ahead of us and they opened as if by magic. Phew! I tugged on Mom’s hand and we raced through the doors before they slammed shut on me and I ended up in an ambulance on my way to the hospital.

            Thankfully we found our car without too much trouble. We only missed it by one aisle, but then I noticed the busted light on the driver’s side and pointed it out to Mom.

            “Yep, that’s our car, alright,” she said, laughing. 
            Dad didn’t laugh when Mom told him about the accident two weeks ago and the damage that had been done to the front light and bumper. Guess Mom was just happy to see our car, period.

Once we were in the car, on our way home, I let out a big sigh of relief.

            Mom glanced in her rearview mirror. “That was more trouble than it was worth, wasn’t it?”

            I nodded. I could have told her that before we even left the house. But does ever she listen to me? No.