I needed to get him to pull over so I could drive us. But how was I going to do that and not push him further into his meltdown?
“Flynn, listen to me. I think you need to pull over. I can drive us. You can relax and let me take over. Please. For me,” I said. I made sure not to touch him. I knew that would be disastrous.
“Flynn, please,” I said again. Suddenly Flynn jerked the steering wheel hard to the left, the wheels crunching over seashells and sand on the shoulder of the road. He threw the car into park and pushed open his door, jumping out and almost into oncoming traffic.
People were laying on their horns. Several were yelling out their windows at Flynn who was now pacing in front of the car, rubbing his hands.
I didn’t get out of the car right away. I stayed where I was and watched him. Every time someone honked their horn, he covered his ears.
Eventually his pacing became less intense and his hands stopped wringing. I got out and went around to the driver’s side and got in. I didn’t say anything to him. He would come when he was ready.
I pulled up the address on Flynn’s phone and sat it on the dashboard. Murphy was whining again in the back seat. And I waited.
We were sat there for another fifteen minutes before Flynn got in the passenger side. He wouldn’t look at me. He kept his head down. He put on his seatbelt and positioned his body so he was angled away from me.
“The hotel is fifteen minutes away,” I said, putting on the blinker and pulling back out into traffic.
Flynn didn’t say anything. I knew he was embarrassed. He was always shy after his meltdowns. But I tried really hard to act as though nothing had happened. The last thing I wanted was to make him feel worse about something he couldn’t control.
My empathy for Flynn was surprising in so many ways. I had been told my entire life by therapists and social workers that I possessed an inability to empathize. I was missing the crucial part needed to identify with others. I had been labeled. Defined. Explained and diagnosed. And every single one of them had been wrong.
Because I understood Flynn. I connected with him. I wanted him to feel as good as he made me feel.
And that was completely contradictory to everything I had been told to believe about myself.
I turned up The Cure and allowed the music to soothe him in a way my words never could.
Despite Flynn’s humiliation, I could tell he was starting to perk up. He looked out the window at the ocean and I saw his smile.
“You’re going too fast. The speed limit is twenty-five,” Flynn told me, pointing to the speed limit sign as we passed it.
I looked down at the speedometer and saw that I was only going five miles over, but I slowed down anyway, much to the annoyance of the people behind me. Well, they’d have to just get over it.
“Don’t follow too closely to the car in front of you. Keep at least two car lengths between you,” Flynn frowned, pointing to the vehicle in front of us. I was tempted to smack his pointing finger away.
It was like traveling with a talking driver’s manual.
“Actually, that’s just on the highway, Flynn,” I countered. I had passed the written exam the first time. He wasn’t the only one who knew his road facts.
Flynn made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. I glanced over at him and his mouth was curved upwards into a smirk. I don’t think I had ever seen Flynn smirk before. It made me grin.
“You’re right. That’s on the highway,” he agreed.
“Wow, I knew something Flynn didn’t. We need to mark this day on the calendar,” I teased.
Flynn frowned. “Why should we mark it on the calendar? That’s stupid.”
It was my turn to snort. “It’s a figure of speech, Flynn. We won’t really be writing it on the calendar,” I explained.
“Oh. Well that’s a dumb figure of speech and it makes no sense,” Flynn replied.
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.
Soon we were pulling up in front of an older but nicely maintained hotel. It looked as though it were well past its prime but was trying like hell to hold on to its relevance. But it was right on the beach; I could see the ocean line from the parking lot. I liked it instantly. We were lucky to get such a good deal because it was off peak and the tourist season was dwindling down. So I wouldn’t complain about the dated awnings and the garish paint job.
I parked the car and looked over at Flynn who was absently scratching Murphy’s head and staring out the window toward the open ocean. The beach was mostly empty. Only a few people on boogie boards were braving the most likely cold October water.
“Let’s go check in,” I said enthusiastically. Flynn’s mood was still off but he seemed to be coming around.
