That Was Yesterday; We Still Have Today and All of Our Tomorrows

The plan for New Year’s Eve was to have a girls' night with my best friend Alina, either in my condo or her apartment, since we have both been going through some stuff, but it appeared that the man upstairs had another plan. I had to run a laptop to my cousin Heidi, at the Sheriff’s Department.  Apparently the laptop had been used to stalk and track the whereabouts of Alina, who had become the unexpected victim of domestic violence. She received it as a gift from someone she considered a friend, but the guy wanted more and she kept telling him no. He would send her flowers, offer to fix her car, things of that nature. Apparently he had used the laptop, a chromebook, specifically, to connect to her phone and somehow listen in on her phone calls, track her locations, and read her emails.  I also had to take her car down to the station to have a K9 sniff for a gps tracker. She was too scared to do it on her own, so I became the bait, turned the laptop on while en route to the police department, and had its last known location pinged to the department before I shut it down.

Heidi, as a deputy sheriff, advised that all she would do with the laptop is scrub it clean, call the perpetrator and have him come get it, or I could have my son scrub it and keep it. She knows how much my Jacob loves repairing and rebuilding computers. She and her husband have given him many computers and phones over the years to fix; even the department has tossed him a few to repair. Naturally, I chose the latter. I needed a new laptop anyway since my old Hewlett Packard met a sudden death by way of coffee spill.  She advised me on information to provide to Alina: send a no contact letter via return receipt mail, even if the perp rejects it, Alina would still get the receipt that a delivery attempt was made. If the perp continued to contact Alina after the letter was sent, it would be considered harassment. If three documented harassment attempts were made toward Alina, she could obtain a restraining order. Once her harasser violates the restraining order, she can file stalking charges. Pretty simple. 

I return home, and advise Alina of all of this via her work email since my son has not yet wiped the connection between the laptop and her phone. She emails back that she’ll be over when she gets off of work at 1:30, and we can go over it then. Fantastic. Perfectly normal day, hauling evidence all over the place, helping domestic violence victims stay safe; totally not what I do on a normal day. I usually just do laundry or catch up on my DVR shows, maybe work at my real job on the county ambulance.

My 19 year old son, Jacob, who is autistic, goes out for his daily walk, which consists of the rather large two and a half mile triangle of north on St Andrews Road to the Shadowbrook Market, then south on St Andrews Rd, South on Old Bush River, hop across old Bush River to Carriage Lane and then through the neighborhood back to our house. He’s been doing this for years, and every day, I tell him to stay safe. I know his route like the back of my hand, and he has a GPS tracker on his phone. 

Alina and I are sitting on the couch, and I have her turn her phone off so we can speak in the open without a chance of her stalker using her microphone to hear us. 

“Alina, honey, he’s using your microphone somehow. I’m not sure if he can access it all the time or just when you’re using your phone or when you’re using certain apps. We did figure out yesterday that it has something to do with the laptop and the connection that he created between your laptop and your phone; Also he created a connection between his laptop and yours. When I had the laptop down at the sheriff’s office today, I was able to log in as you with your username and password, we connected to the office network, but then we were faced with another login screen and it was his login information that we needed to get any further. We didn’t have that, so we couldn’t do much. However, since we were able to connect to a network, it’s last known location was Richland County Sheriff’s Dept, and I shut it down there.  If he’s still tracking you, that’s where he will see the last location since we turned maps off on your phone yesterday.”

“Are you sure?” she has a worried tone in her voice. “I mean, he won’t be able to keep scanning my calls or whatever? AJ, I don’t know how he’s doing this.”

“Girl, I’m almost certain it was the setup he had with the laptops and the connection. Not to mention he has two phone numbers. One of them was assigned by his carrier and the other is a google phone number that he can forward from google to his phone, so if someone calls or texts his google number, it rings straight to his phone and he can check voice mails like they’re email. It’s pretty complicated to people who may not be tech savvy, but it’s not that hard to shut down once someone figures out how it was done. Shit. Hang on, Jacob is texting.”

I pick up my phone and I have strangely worded text from Jacob, “Hey mom. I unintentionally did something I didn’t mean to do.” My heart sinks and I have this terrible feeling in my gut like it’s being twisted sideways. I text back, “you ok? What happened?” He responds, “I was trying to cross the street and I looked both ways and I accidentally hit a car’s mirror.” Every internal organ I have hit the floor like a lead weight. His autism prevents his communication from coming out fluid as a neurotypical person would, but I knew exactly what he meant. He was hit by a car. 

“Gotta go. Jacob just got hit by a car.”

“AJ?? What??” Alina screams? “Are you kidding me? Where is he? I’m coming with you!”

“Jacob got hit by a car!”

I grab my keys and phone, and make a dash for the door. I’m not exactly sure which mode kicked in first: mom mode or first responder mode, maybe a combination of the two. I cranked up the car, threw it in drive, made sure no other cars were coming out of the parking lot and slammed it. I sent a speech text to Jacob asking where he was, and he returned a real-time location; however his map wasn’t loading, so I drove his usual path. I found him on Old Bush River Rd near the back entrance to our neighborhood. He was standing on the corner of Old Bush River and Century Drive - he was safe. Thank God. I pull onto Century Drive so as to get off of the main road, and I get out of the car. I ran to my son and walked him back to the car.

“Buddy what happened? Are you ok?” 

“I was trying to cross the road. I looked both ways. There was no traffic and then the car came and I hit his rear view mirror. I’m sorry mom. I didn’t mean to.”

“Jake, buddy, get in the car and sit down. I’ll get your brother to bring my med bag and your medicine to help you calm. I need to check you out, ok?” I start looking him over, for bruising and abrasions, “Just stay put for a second. Hey did the person take off? Are they still around somewhere?” I keep talking to him to keep him focused. 

“They are not here, no. I think they went to Auto Zone to get a new mirror.”

I text my oldest son, Toby, to bring my med bag and Jacob’s Xanax, as well as my wallet that I’d left behind in a hurry. I explain what happened and where I am. 

“Ok pal. Auto Zone is just a block away toward St Andrews, do you think they went there? Did they lose their mirror?” I ask him as I get him to move his arms for me and put up- and downward pressure against my hands, then rotate his wrists and elbows. His radial pulse is a little high, but strong. I know he’s great with some details, but not so great with others, so it will take some in-depth questioning to figure out some things, and not a lot of questioning to figure other things.

“I think they lost their mirror, yes.”

“Buddy, what color was the car?”

“It was either light gold or maybe silver. It was a 4 door Toyota, not new but not old.”

“You’re doing great pal. Did you get a look at the driver at all?”

  “A man was driving, probably in his early twenties. He had hair a little longer than mine, his was red. I have a buzz cut, since his is longer, his wouldn’t be considered a buzz cut. He had one hand on the wheel, one arm down, and he was looking down, since he was looking down and not at the road, he was distracted, which is illegal. He was not watching the road. He was driving approximately 10 miles an hour faster than the car that passed before him, who was averaging approximately the speed limit. He had on a blue and white striped polo shirt and a gold watch on his left arm.” The kid’s attention to detail amazes me sometimes. 

We slowly drive the short distance from Century Drive to Auto Zone, looking on the side of the road and glancing down the entry for Hallmark Drive for the possibility of a broken-off mirror. In the Auto Zone parking lot, I ask Jacob where he told the 911 operator that he would be. He said, “I told them I would be at Century Drive.” 

“OK buddy. We need to get back to Century Drive then.”

We get back to the scene, and I tell the young one to wait in the car, as I was going to go on foot up the sidewalk to see if I could get a glimpse of a lost mirror since it was less than a city block between the two roads. As I approach Hallmark Drive, a silver Toyota makes its way in, slowly pulls to the side of the road, and turns on the hazard lights. With suspicion, I make my way toward the Toyota and remember the description provided by Jacob. As I near the car from the rear, the first thing I see is a blue and white striped shirt. Then I see a shiny metal watch on the wrist of a left hand, clutching the steering wheel. I walk around to the driver’s side; the driver is a male, early twenties with a slightly-longer-than-buzzcut hair-style, red in color. 

“Hey, yeah… I just saw you pull in. um.. Are you ok?” I ask

“Yeah, I’m waiting on someone.” they say nervously.

“Hi. Um… do you… uh… did you happen to be involved in the um.. Pedestrian thing?”

“Oh that. Yeah, why.”

“Well, the boy you hit, he’s autistic. I’m his mom.”

Nothing could prepare me for what came out of that kid’s mouth next.

“Well that concerns me for him then. Since he’s retarded and all. People like him shouldn’t be out in public on the street.” 

“I wouldn’t…. Um.. I wouldn’t call him that, considering he gave me an accurate enough description of you that I knew to ask if you were involved in the car versus pedestrian thing. And he caught your description as you hit him at 55 miles an hour. I’m gonna walk away now. I’ll be over on Century Drive, where the incident took place, when the police get here. There’s a man right there working in his yard who will attest to the fact that I never laid a hand on you.” I backed away from his car, one eyebrow raised, with a Samuel L. Jackson “say 'what' one more time” look. If ever there were fire in my eyes, that was it. Once I got to the rear of his car, I turned and ran back to Century, back to my kid.

Alina pulls up and makes sure we’re ok. Toby pulls in right behind her with my med bag.

“Mom, don’t you think you should be down there with the police?”

“No, I’m going to stay right here with the victim, who also happens to be my son, your brother, and where the incident occurred. Alina, can you please go down and tell the cop that we’re down here?”

“Yeah you bet. AJ, how are you not strangling someone right now?” She looks back at me as she starts to walk off toward the overgrown sidewalk that leads to Hallmark Drive.

“Trust me, there is a lot of willpower behind this. A lot. Also, prison orange isn’t my color, I'm more of a peach” I say, sarcastically.

I finish checking Jacob’s vitals, his blood pressure, his reflexes, making sure everything works. He’s still shaking a bit and resorts to playing a video game on his phone as the highway patrolman arrives with the flashing blue lights atop the silver Dodge Challenger.

“Jake, buddy, the policeman is here. Remember, they’re your friend, ok? They’re supposed to help you. Don’t be nervous, ok?”

“OK mom. I will try not to be nervous.”

“Hey pal. What happened?” The officer asks him.

“I was crossing the road and I looked both ways like I’m supposed to and there was no traffic and then I hit someone’s mirror.” Jacob says rapidly. I can sense the stress as his voice trembles.

“Officer, excuse me for interjecting, my son is autistic. Do you mind if I help?”

“You’re mom, I assume?” He questions. (Didn’t I just say that? My son is autistic?)

“Yeah, I’m also an EMT. He’s a little shaken up and somewhat nervous. He’s having difficulty communicating and his answers may not be clear to you. May I do the interviewing so you can get appropriate answers? He may require some sign language while he's under stress.”

“Ma’am there’s no need. Your son just said he was trying to cross and there is no crosswalk, so he is clearly at fault. If you want to file a collision report, your son will be listed as a contributing factor in this.” 

I’m thinking to myself that this officer just spent the better portion of his on-scene time talking to the other party, but has zero regard for my son; the officer just assumes Jacob is at fault because he can’t communicate the same way that the other party does. Let’s try this again.

“Officer, I’d like to press charges against the man who hit my son. If you hear my son out like you did the other party, you’ll understand.”

“Ma’am, if you file a collision report, your son will be listed as a contributing factor and you will be responsible for not only your son’s medical bills, but also for the damage to the other party’s car.” He points down toward where the car is parked.

At this point, I’m getting rather frustrated that one side is significantly outweighed by another simply based on a communication disorder, which should be considered in the matter, or rather only one side is being heard because a communication disorder isn’t being considered.

“Sir, my son had not even crossed the road. He was on the pedestrian side of the white line, and had stepped over slightly to see if there were any cars coming over the hill.  He can describe the man in that car down there,” I point to the road where the vehicle is, “down to the watch on his left wrist. I don’t think you understand how autism works. Please,” I’m begging the officer to reason with me, to listen, to be fair. At the same time, I’m struggling hard to hide the anger, the hurt, and the urge to seriously lay some pain on somebody. 

“Ma’am unless you want me to charge you with hitting a pedestrian or hit and run, I suggest you back off! YOU’RE the one that went to Auto Zone and back. That kid in the car just got scared, took off and came back because he’s never hit a person before, so who’s the one that hit and ran? Huh? YOU. Your son said he was crossing and that’s all he needs to say! If a person so much as places their arm over a white line and gets hit, they’re the contributing factor!” He’s yelling at this point. This young kid, half my age, his uniform hanging off of him, shoes half polished, trooper hat barely hanging on his head, has to look up because I’m a good six inches taller than he is, is YELLING at me. “Even crosswalks don’t mean squat in this state. The only time ‘Right Of Way’ is used is determining who is at fault in an accident, so don’t ever assume someone has right of way! I suggest you don’t file the report if you want to keep your  son out of jail. For all I know you went down there, got a description of the guy and came back and gave it to your son. I do understand autism, ma’am. I’ve seen Rain Man. It’s one of my favorite movies.”

“Ok, you know what, you haven’t even asked my son his name. You’re trying to convince me to not file a collision report, you have shift change at 5pm, it’s 3:45 now. You haven’t asked for my ID or his ID. And that kid was texting and speeding. I know because this kid is a physics genius and I have his and our entire exchange recorded. Since you’re letting us go without knowing our names, I’ll take it, and I’ll take it one step higher. Have a good new year, officer.”

I walk around to get in the car, and the officer stops me, “Ma’am, if you try to challenge me, you’ll regret it. But you’re free to go.” 

“I know. The kid who hit my son was free to go, also.” I say as the kid drove by.

Alina went to work, Toby went back home, Jacob and I went to urgent care. Joshua, the registration clerk at Urgent Care, explained how a certain type of insurance would help us since my boy was involved in an accident; he also explained how the officer didn’t do the right thing, and that we should have gotten some type of report. I had explained it to Heidi when we got home, as she’s a twenty year veteran of the force; she called the patrolman lazy, likely that he didn’t want to do paperwork on New Year’s Eve and we likely have a strong case against South Carolina Highway Patrol. Jacob got cleared from Urgent Care, we were home by 7. He did his nightly Minecraft YouTube video, and I fell asleep watching Netflix again. I called out of work today to stay home with my son. Not because he was seriously injured - he wasn’t - but because another six, or even four inches and he wouldn’t be here. I’ll take all the todays and tomorrows I can get.