Page 3 of Collision
“Did you take anything? I have Advil in my purse—do you want some?”
“No, don’t worry about it. It’ll get better,” I reply, massaging my temples to alleviate the pain.
“Right, I forgot, your mother taught you to be scared of medicine. Well, if you change your mind, it’s there.” She points to the bag on the seat behind her, turns the key in the engine, and drives off. Once my little street is behind us, she decides to tackle the subject head-on. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean tointerfere. I shouldn’t have, especially after what he did to you, but Travis was so insistent eventually I gave in!” she confesses, looking up toward the sky.
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s an idiot,” I reply, switching on the radio.
“That’s for sure.” My friend turns the music up. Without speaking, we zoom over to campus, passing by stately homes and neatly landscaped gardens veiled by the gray mid-September mist. During the trip, despite her trying to be subtle, I can feel her eyes on me.
As we reach campus, the drizzle stops. She pulls into a spot in the student parking lot, but before I can reach for the door handle, Tiffany circles back: “Listen, you know I try not to come between you two, but as a friend, I have to ask: Are you sure this relationship is working? I mean, it’s been over a year, and Travis walks all over you. He knows he can screw up because you never do anything. I don’t know why you let him!”
“I know, Tiff, I know.” I look down at my hands, folded in my lap, and shrug. “I know the best decision would be to end it. What can I say?” I look up at her, ashamed. “I can’t…at least, not yet.”
Tiffany shakes her head in resignation, moistens her full lips, and stares out through the windshield. “You’re too much for my brother, and everyone sees it but you.”
“You know what?” I ask, slapping my thighs, determined to defuse the tension and put an end to the discussion. “We’re starting our sophomore year, I’m really excited about my classes, and I have no intention of letting Travis ruin my day. So enough with the lecture.” And with that, I jump out of the car before she can respond.
“Don’t you realize that trying to avoid a situation you’ll have to deal with sooner or later won’t solve the problem?” she retorts, catching up with me.
“Exactly. Sooner or later,” I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
Tiffany rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t reply, and I silently thank her. Side by side, we walk toward the redbrick buildings, surrounded by shrubs and trees that in this season begin turning rich shades oforange and yellow.
“Gotta go, babe,” she exclaims, after glancing at her thin wristwatch. “I have an advising meeting in ten minutes. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
“Sure, later.” She gives me a big hug goodbye, and I watch her head into the sociology building.
Alone, I contentedly observe the scene, which is the same as every year: parents more enthusiastic than their kids, bags from Target with decor to liven up dorm rooms, seniors resigned to the confusion that recurs every fall because this one is their last.
Whereas for me, not so long ago I was an incoming freshman. I remember my mother cried like a baby that first day and took pictures of me in every corner of campus which she then sent to all her friends and relatives. This year, I had to forgo on-campus housing because we couldn’t afford the extra fees, but it doesn’t really bother me. Luckily, we live in town. And although Mom usually takes our only car, I always manage to find a ride.
I look around, a little anxious—in crowded places I always feel like everyone is looking at me, even though I know they’re not.
I still remember the trauma of middle school, when on the first day, teachers would do icebreakers where we had to say something about ourselves. As my turn got closer, my panic grew. I would practice my lines in my head over and over: “Hi everyone. My name is Vanessa Clark. I live with my mom and dad. I hate nuts in cookies and pickles in hamburgers.”
While that insecurity has lingered in the back of my mind, I overcame most of my shyness growing up. Partly out of pure survival instinct, partly due to my friend Alex.
Alex and I have known each other since elementary school. On the first day of first grade, I sat in the back, as close as I could get to the wall. I stared intently out the window to avoid talking to the other kids. My tactic was working until a boy with big eyes and brown curls took it upon himself to sit down beside me, waiting until I, timidly, turned to look at him. He offered me a piece of candy; I broke into a smile andtook it without a word. That boy was Alexander Smith, and for thirteen years, he has patiently put up with all my obsessions, paranoias, and insecurities. He has been by my side for every important event in my life.
He was there when, at the age of nine, I had to get braces and refused to speak, smile, or laugh in front of anybody. He was there when, at thirteen, I dyed my hair green out of a desire to rebel and regretted it immediately. He was there when, in sophomore year of high school, I had a massive crush on Easton Hill. Oh, Easton… He was wild. Too bad he scammed me: he pretended to like me back just to make Amanda Jones, the prom queen, jealous.
It was a low blow, but Alex knew how to cheer me up: he came over to my house, ordered mountains of Chinese food, and we had aVampire Diariesmarathon. We repeated this routine for two more days, and on the third I was as good as new. Easton, Amanda, and the whole story were behind me.
Alex was there when my father left, but in that situation, he knew the best thing to do was say nothing.
He was there when Travis Baker burst into my life, bringing light where my father had taken it away. Alex and Travis were never tight, but in the early days they had a functional friendship. At least until Alex started pointing out all of Travis’s failings.
Speak of the devil—I feel the phone vibrating in my pocket, and it’s Alex, saying he’s having car trouble and won’t be able to make it in time for our usual 8:30 coffee. I tell him not to worry about it and head for the Memorial Union with a big smile stamped on my face, savoring the scent of wet grass, happy to be back in my favorite place in the world.
Once in the lounge, I sit down on a brown leather sofa and pullSense and Sensibilityout of my bag; I have some time before my first class. I love arriving early and spending a little time alone enjoying the atmosphere of new beginnings.
But I don’t get the chance to read a single page. I look up, and there he is, standing in line for coffee. Travis, with his perfectly gelled auburn hair, open jean jacket, and olive-green messenger bag. I’m surprised because he’s not usually on this part of campus. We go to the sameschool, but we have different majors, and he spends most of his time in the economics building or holed up in the gym. I, on the other hand, am usually in the liberal arts building or hunkering down in the library. The only time we cross paths is for lunch or at the end of the day.
The sight of him ties my stomach in knots. Instantaneously, the images of him hanging on those two girls pop into my head. Their bodies against each other, that feeling of betrayal and embarrassment. Angrily, I snap the book shut, sending a few strands of my long hair flying. I leap up and march straight for him. I plant myself right in front of him, arms folded, trying to ignore the barista’s dismayed look. Enough nice-girl Vanessa; I feel the need to make a scene. I summon all my self-control, though, because we’re in a public place. I shoot daggers at him with my gaze. His hazel eyes look back with astonishment and a dash of guilt. “Are you at least going to explain yourself?” I ask, sounding more upset than I wanted.
Travis looks around uncomfortably. “Not here, please.”
“I don’t hear from you for two days and then out of the blue this morning you ask me to come to practice! Oh, wait, actually, you have your sister do it for you! You owe me an explanation at the very least!” I growl through clenched teeth, surprised at myself.
