Grey clouds filled the skies above them, not only amplifying his own anxiety, but giving it a true form. It made his nervousness tangible. He had finished packing the trucks last night. The rain should have held off until noon, but now it was coming early, and the open-bed truck had a mattress pad, fridge and shelves that would probably get messed up in the rain. The sky had not yet unleashed its wrath, but he felt like his shirt was already soaked walking outside.
“Hurry up, we’re going to be late.” They weren’t, but he was always extra early, as it made him anxious to be late. “We have to stop and pick up a tarp on the way.”
They didn’t live far from the school, but no one wanted to take any chances. His younger brother, John, sprinted out the door, pulling it shut behind him and leaping down the stairs. He was 17 but seemed like a ten year old sometimes by the way he carried himself. Usually, his brother could pass as a normal kid and be extremely high functioning, but other times… Well, this looked a bit like one of those times.
His brother’s autism, and I suppose his own Asperger’s, presented themselves most obviously in their being prone to melodrama. John threw open the truck door, pulling his satchel of art supplies up into his seat and slammed the door.
“Gogogo” John spat out as quickly as he could. Both cars rolled out of the driveway and into the street. They planned on stopping at Chick-fil-a on the way for breakfast. The ominous feeling in the bottom of his stomach grew and grew with each passing mile. Thank god Chick- fil-a was only about three miles away.
While the rest of the family went inside to order, his dad, Nick, went to Walmart to track down a tarp before the sky opened up. He didn’t return until everyone had already ordered and eaten. As a family, they strapped the tarp down as best they could, with bungees, rope and anything they could find to keep it secured. They were barely on time. Only five minutes ahead of schedule. The poor freshman was about to have a heart attack. He couldn’t be late. To anything. Being late is the most disrespectful thing anyone can do. It’s not okay to be late. Not one second, not an hour. Lateness was inexcusable.
Vasili climbed into the truck with his mom, the one with an open bed, and they got onto the nearest highway as quickly as they could.
“Are you excited Vas?” his mom inquired, pronouncing the ‘v’ more like a ‘b’, like the Spanish do. She wasn’t by any means Spanish, but it didn’t matter. That’s how he said his name. “Maybe a little nervous?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the rear view mirror; the tarp was flapping in the wind, obstructing her view.
“A little of both, I guess.” He would have been less nervous if they had been running 30 minutes early, like he planned. 15 minutes for traffic, putting him at least 15 minutes early. It made him feel more comfortable to be early.
“I’m sorry honey, I know how much you hate being late, but we have to pull over. This tarp is going to come off and cause an accident. Can you call your dad and put him on speaker?” He did so.
“Hey, Nick? Yeah, keep heading up to Clemson, we’ll meet you there. We have got to stop to tie down this tarp. Love you. Bye.” Vas’ mind was racing. Only five minutes early. That means they would have to rearrange the entire tarp in less than five minutes to even think about being on time. He could not be late. Nonononononono. He was nervous enough as is.
He struggled with making friends and couldn’t stand the thought of going somewhere where he knew so few people. He started the deep breathing exercises he had practiced so he could calm himself. There was nothing he could do about this. It wouldn’t matter five years from now, so it’s not worth more than five minutes worrying about.
“It wouldn’t matter to a normal person, but it might to me,” He told himself. “No. it doesn’t matter. I can’t change it, so let it be. No sense in freaking out.” He calmed himself down by the time they reached to off ramp.
Vasili and his mother pulled into the nearest gas station and hopped out of the car, pulling out any rope or bungee cords they could find and lashed down the tarp in every which way. A man came up to them asking if they needed help, but they kindly declined, saying they were in a rush. The wind grew from a breeze to a rush of air, gently tugging their hair across their faces. The man didn’t leave and asked for money for a cigarette. Vas’ mom, Kathleen, kindly told him she didn’t have any cash on her, and she didn’t want to have a cigarette charge on her card. Vas just said he was broke, like any college student.
On the road again, Vas returned to his regularly scheduled panic attack, only it was a little more visible this time. His mom instructed him to pull out his phone to tell the people at the school that he’d be late because as long as they knew, it might make him feel better.
“Hey, I’m running a little late because of the storm. Is that okay? We’re like half an hour late, so do I need to park somewhere else, or…” he trailed off, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
The girl on the other end gave a kind little laugh over the phone. “That’s totally fine. Just get here as safely as possible. The times aren’t like binding or anything, they’re more like a suggestion.”
All of the tension sank from his shoulders, down his chest, and through to his toes. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding it in until it escaped.