Big Shot | ✓

24 | tubthumping

The headlines following Clemson's 63-13 home opener victory against Wake Forest were...violent. Phrases like Bloodbath in Death Valley and Merciless Tigers Shred Demon Deacons Limb From Limb littered most South Carolina news outlet headlines. The team had "Victory Monday" off, but Reid was right about one thing - it was just one win, and they had to do it all over again this weekend.

Affluent programs like Clemson could afford chartered flights to far away games, piling the team and the staff on a cushy Delta plane just for us, leaving early in the morning the day before the game. That didn't make me personally feel any better, since it felt like if I opened my mouth my stomach would come spilling out onto the tacky blue carpeting of the plane aisle.

Most of the coaching staff were in first class, including Coach Riley and Coach Nix, who were already sat and mulling through a thick folder, no doubt already starting the offensive preparations for Boston College. What I wouldn't give to be as anxiety-free as them right now. Mara and I shuffled along towards the middle back of the plane, and I didn't even have it in me to look for Reid.

On normal flights, I had a system. I took my Dramamine, curled myself up in the window seat, and played After Dark by Mr. Kitty on repeat for the entire duration of the flight. I could not explain the origins of that song being my comfort flight song, but it was, and it was constantly in my Spotify top songs for that reason alone.

But this was not a normal flight. This was the first true away game of the season, and I didn't need to make my freak-outs known to people I spent all day every day with so early.

"Row 23," Mara said as she nodded towards our empty row. "Not too bad."

"It's all bad," I grumbled to myself as I slid my carry-on into the overhead bin. In the brief moment I turned my head to gaze towards the front of the plane, it was easy to spot Reid, headphones on, sliding into the first row in economy - no doubt for the extra leg room.

"Listen, don't take offense to this, but I will literally have my back to you the entire time," I told Mara as I unceremoniously dropped into the window seat and kicked my backpack underneath the seat. Luckily we had an extra seat in between us, since my leg was already shaking up and down about 147 miles per hour. "I just need to look out the window, it makes me feel better."

"Don't worry about it," she shrugged. "Just take your pills, you'll be fine. It's a short flight."

"Two and a half hours is not short," I groaned, but I did what she said and swallowed down two Dramamine before putting my Airpods in. 

Take-off was the worst for me. Every little noise, bump, and stall had me thinking the plane was just going to shut off and fall right out of the sky. I liked looking out the window at the horizon line because it not only eased my vertigo, but helped confirm that we were in fact still flying at the same altitude and not dropping 100s of feet.

The Dramamine made me drowsy, but not enough to fully shut my eyes and shut my anxiety off. Once we were at altitude, the seatbelt sign went off, and everyone seemed to wake up. After all, any halfway normal college kid would revel in traveling and being on a plane with all your closest friends, playing music and socializing like it was one big party.

Mara had gotten up at some point, and while I was sure she might have tried to communicate that with me, I was also sure I just curtly waved her off, focusing on the solemn, droning tones of my song and the sky as streaks of morning sunlight painted the clouds. I stayed in my window seat, curling into myself like an armadillo would to protect its weak underbelly. I avoided looking at my phone or my watch, because I didn't want to be reminded of how little time had passed.