Tall Guy in a Little Car
Sibley Hall, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY: January, 1995
Vasya tucked the last of the day's mail into the slot at the end of the hallway, then hesitated. Might as well soak up what warmth he could in here. He felt like a lazy cat as he stretched his arms next to the hallway radiator. The winters here in New York could be as brutal as those back in Kharkiv, and he shivered despite the multiple layers he wore. He wasn't looking forward to the long walk to his dorm; the sun had gone down and the campus shuttle was erratic on Fridays.
The forecast called for snow.
Upon returning to campus, he'd barely had time to unpack before plunging back into his coursework: advanced structural engineering techniques, a continuation of design history, and work on his thesis. He and Kolya had parted ways almost immediately, the coyote going back to his own den and, presumably, more experiments with the lab rats.
"You'll see me. I'll be around," Kolya had assured him.
But he hadn't, not all week. They did study in different departments, and lived in separate dorms, but for Kolya to be silent this long, without even a phone call, was unusual.
Vasya tried not to let it bother him. From what he'd heard, graduate school was even more of a gauntlet, and Kolya was probably busy working on his projects. Vasya would be there himself in another year…if he did in fact decide, which he still hadn't. Upon his arrival, there'd been two letters from his faculty advisor jammed into the mail slot.
So many situations to conveniently ignore. Though his parents had left half a dozen messages, he had only returned a call once, to let them know he'd arrived safely and to ask how his mother was doing.
"Fine, no thanks to you," Alexei had responded acerbically before hanging up.
As he stepped outside, Vasya wasn't sure what stung more: the frigid gust of wind that met his face, or the memory of his father's words. Growing up in Alexei's shadow had never been easy; it seemed that no matter what he did, it was never enough to please his father's exacting standards. Even now that he was here, at the best architecture school in America, near the top of his class…something Alexei was never able to accomplish.
He pulled over his balaclava to cover the lower part of his face, and began thinking about someplace much warmer, without stern fathers and endless winters. As he walked along the road back to his dorm, the sound of an engine behind him barely registered. When he heard the driver honking, he was milliseconds from giving whoever it was a piece of his mind in Russian…until he saw the familiar knit cap and smirk.
"Kolya! Where have you been?" Vasya almost dropped his mail satchel in surprise. The coyote sat behind the wheel of one of those curiously old-fashioned little cars from England…what were those called, anyway?
"Ah, taking care of business. You know me." As Kolya rolled the window down, Vasya couldn't help but notice a few changes in his friend's appearance: a plum-colored bruise gracing his entire left cheek and a thick brace encasing his right forearm.
"What happened to you? Some kind of accident?"
Kolya's wince was so brief, Vasya thought he might have imagined it. "Nothing to worry about, my friend. Your dear Koly'enka was clumsy in the lab this week." He winked cheekily.
He's lying…I don't know why, but he's lying. "So what's with this car?" Vasya asked, deciding not to press the issue. It seemed that every time Kolya showed up in a vehicle, it was a different one…like he had some kind of fantasy car lot somewhere Vasya didn't know about. Like all his other "acquisitions" that were never explained, it seemed pointless to ask, since the coyote was a master at dodging direct questions.
"Oh, yeah. Borrowed it for the night. There's a party over on Greek Row tonight and you and I are going to attend. Get in."
"But it's Thursday," Vasya protested, as if parties could only be held on designated nights. He had a deep stack of reading awaiting him back at the dorm and didn't feel up to riding shotgun with Kolya at the moment.
Kolya gave his best impression of a wounded puppy. "You are young, single, and virile, my friend, and if you stay in your room studying dead architects all the time, you and your prodigious manhood are slowly going to turn into stone," he said, gesturing to the passenger car door. "Get in. We're going to a party."
Vasya looked over the little vehicle…Mini Cooper? Is that what they're called?…and immediately saw a problem. "I have homework, Kolya. Besides, how am I going to fit in there? You're hunched over and you're a lot shorter than I am."
"You wedge in, Vasya. Move the seat back. You flew on Aeroflot before, didn't you?"
He thought about pointing out that Aeroflot's planes were hundreds of times more capacious than this thing, which looked as if it might be hard-pressed to squeeze in a Labrador. "I don't know, Kolya," he began. His limbs ached from the cold and getting in and out of this car might turn him into a Ukrainian frozen pretzel. "Do you really think we should?"
"I know you should. Ever since I met you, it's been 'I have to study, I can't stay out late, I have to do well on this test.' You're going to do just fine, Vasya! I've seen your grades! Live a little bit. You're only young and free once, you know."
The truth genuinely hurt. Vasya knew he wasn't the outgoing, party-boy type and never would be…that was Kolya's line of work. But he also saw his father's stern face, heard the disapproval in his voice. Alexei wasn't happy with his only son's choices in life; he never had been. Nothing is ever good enough. Last term I brought home my grades, and the best Da can say to that is 'I see you only received an A-minus in trigonometry?'
"Shit, Vasya, you're doing it again. Do you always turn into a brooding hen when you're making up your mind? Someone has to break the stereotype about Russians being so dour…and it's going to be you. Now get in."
Damn it. "You sure there's enough room?"
"I've had six guys in this car. No problem. Roll down the window if you need some extra room; I'll crank up the heater. Besides, we're not going far."
Vasya tucked himself into the front seat; it felt like crawling inside a walnut shell. "I can't get my head all the way up," he moaned.
"For fuck's sake, Vasya. Stick your damn head out the window. Nobody is going to notice."
As they drove along, Vasya felt a little like a wolfhound enjoying the air out the window on a summer day, only he wasn't a wolfhound, and the temperature was below freezing and dropping rapidly. The car's middling heat did little to improve his mood. At this rate, he'd be a frozen sculpture when they got wherever they were going. They passed a gaggle of sorority girls who pointed and, of course, giggled madly. He tried to wave at them, act casual, as he'd seen Kolya do dozens of times. This made them laugh even harder.
"I look like an idiot, Kolya," he said.
"You look like a very tall man in a car that is, well, not designed for tall man. Stop complaining and be a man."
"What happened to that Ford you had, the one we came here in?" asked Vasya, guessing maybe it had something to do with the coyote's mysterious injuries. "I fit just fine in that."
Kolya snorted. "That thing was a piece of shit American car. Now, this? Great gas mileage. Stylish. A real chick magnet," he said smoothly.
Always the salesman. "At least you probably got a good price on it," Vasya said dryly, every word coming out as a staccato puff of vapor. Even the Volga his family had owned back home had probably cost more than this toy. Idly, he wondered if his running nose would start to freeze, and he'd show up at this party with icicles above his mouth. He would have laughed if he weren't so cold and uncomfortable.
"By the way, you're gonna need to change at some point. I took the liberty of finding you clothes that don't make you look like you're fifty. In that plastic bag at your feet. Oh, yeah, you probably can't reach it right now, can you?"
Vasya wondered what might be inside…knowing Kolya, he'd probably picked out something flashy and impractical. Even now, the coyote wore his track jacket over an outfit that seemed stolen from the set of an MTV rap music video. "How far is this place, anyway?" he said. This was an area of campus he'd rarely explored.
"Eh, just a few. Got to find a place to park first."
They heard it before they saw it; thumping bass music coming from one of the fraternity houses. Vasya was so relieved at the prospect of warmth and restored dignity that he almost didn't care that he was being dragged into a party against his will. By the time Kolya fit the Mini into a spot and Vasya managed to extricate himself, he was oddly reminded of that old movie where the tin man had needed oil to restore his full range of motion. "Promise me I never have to do that again," he muttered, rubbing at his joints to thaw them. The ride had maybe lasted ten minutes but felt like an eternity.
"I promise nothing. Now, come on, my friend. It's time you learn to party like real American."
