Going Places, Doing Stuff

We named her Hellen. That seemed to be the only appropriate name for the silver Nissan Sentra that had just found its new home in our driveway. WhAt Do YoU mEaN OnLy aPpRopRiaTe NaMe? WhY HeLLeN? Reader, you clearly don’t understand. If you saw Hellen, you too would have unequivocally said, oh yeah, she’s a Hellen. Hellen arrived in our lives just in time for our parents to leave town for the weekend. My older brother, Caleb, and I would be spending the weekend with our friends Tim and Quin. I wasn’t driving Hellen. I was only 14. Caleb, however, was 16 and had his license beyond the six-month family-only restrictive period, so he was clear to drive friends, and the four of us spent as much time as possible in the car. We didn’t do a single thing that weekend unless Hellen was allowed to come too. I’m pretty sure we went through the car wash on three separate occasions that weekend. The car was pretty clean when we got her, and it came out no cleaner after the second and third pas

Thirty-six people sat, crammed into the living room of our small student apartment. To this day, I don’t know that any of us are entirely sure how all 36 people ended up at our place; we didn’t invite all 36 people, we didn’t know all 36 people, nor did we see all 36 people again. I experience a degree of social anxiety, which manifests itself most commonly the form of “silent Tyler.” When I am unfamiliar with people or surroundings, I become incredibly shy and I tend not to engage, even with my friends in the crowd. There were 36 people in my apartment, most of whom I didn’t know. That night, we got “silent Tyler.” I sat silently in the corner and watched as chaos ensued. I’m sure the strangers in the room and the friends-of-15-years alike saw me lurking in the corner and thought, who’s this freak in the corner, and what’s his deal? Well, my deal was that I was uncomfortable, and I never wanted to see 36 people in my apartment ever again. Unfortunately, my roommates did not a