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March 08, 2005
Coming Home From School Pt 1
I can't really pinpoint a reason, or any exact pattern other than sometimes
in spring for about a week, but I'm occassionally afflicted by seasonal
allergies. I can get them one year but not the next even living in the same
place. In college these allergies of mine came on strong two years in a row
right at the end of the school year.
My freshman year I was fine until I got into a physics final. As soon as I
started on the first question my nose started running. Then my eyes started
itching. Soon I couldn't concentrate on the test because I constantly had a
hand in front of my face either to wipe my eyes or to keep my nose from
dripping everywhere. Every few minutes I had to make another trip to the
bathroom to get more tissue despite taking what I thought was a lifetime
supply every time.
The next year the allergy attack waited a couple more days. It gave me until
the night I was packing up my stuff for the trip home.
My parents lived in Wisconsin and I was going to school in Chicago, so it
wasn't too far a drive for them to pick me up. Thankfully, however, the
drive was far enough to keep them from ever visiting me during the school
year. One or the other of them was going to pick me up in the morning and I
had to get my stuff together, so I toughed it out. I sniffled and rubbed my
itchy eyes and packed up my stuff. It took longer than normal because I had
to keep blowing my nose and what not, but with unceasing effort I got
everything packed up by around 2am.
At about 8am my dad called me up, "Brian. I'm downstairs. Come on." So I got
out of bed and went to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
As soon as I got back from the bathroom I heard the phone ringing. "Hello?"
"Come on. What the hell are you doing? We've been waiting down here for five
minutes."
"Hold on. I'll be right down there."
I gathered up a the first load of stuff and headed out to meet my parents at
the front door. When I got to the door instead of finding my mom and dad I
found my dad and a friend of his waiting by the curb. "I thought you said
mom was here."
"No. She had to work this weekend."
"Where'd you park?"
"Here."
"Where?" I looked but didn't see either of my parents' cars anywhere in
sight.
"This one."
"Whose is that?"
"It belongs to a friend of mine." my dad's friend said.
"Dad. Why didn't you drive your car? It has a lot more room than this one."
My dad and his friend showed up in some old jaguar. "I've got a lot of
stuff."
"There's no way in hell I'm driving in this god damned city." For some
reason he was already agitated.
"Well, why didn't you two just drive your car down here instead of driving
this one. I don't think all my stuff will fit in here."
"It better fit. If it doesn't you're just leaving the shit here. I'm sick of
driving in this city already."
"But you didn't drive --"
"Just go get your shit. I'm sick of waiting."
We loaded up the car. When we filled up the trunk we moved on to the back
seat. I ended up sitting on a pile of my stuff in a small area of the car
not packed to the ceiling, but I couldn't close the door when it came time
to leave - there wasn't enough room to manuver. "Peter, could you close the
door for me? I can't move."
Smashed between the door and my junk we drove away and my allergies started
up again.
"What the hell is wrong with you back there?"
"My eyes itch. My nose is running. I think I have allergies or something."
"Keep it down."
"Can we stop somewhere to get something for this?"
"When we get to Peter's house."
But before we got to Peter's house we got hit by another car. We were in bad traffic and Peter is the kind of guy that doesn't mind blocking interstections. So while stopped in an interstection, between tending to my drippy nose I looked up to see a car whose driver, apparently tired of waiting for Peter to move in order to make a left turn, drive straight into the side of our car.
Posted by calculatoronfire at March 8, 2005 05:53 PM