My parents begrugingly let me take the car out last week. August 6th to be exact. Almost a month after I got my drivers license. I have around 60 hours of behind-the-wheel experience underneath my belt, but yet I felt very unequipped and new.
Getting behind the wheel by myself at first didn’t feel too weird. Getting across the highway that nestles our driveway…however…that’s always been scary. The driveway is situated at a winding road and has very limited visibility.
It’s a 55mph zone and yet people will easily go over and beyond, with the many collisions or car crashes where people end up in the ravine or even crashing into our fence on one instance as a testament to this. Last year a woman in a white pickup truck crashed into the fence and came onto the ranch. Only problem being that my two years of highschool spanish and having a boyfriend who is bilingual to practice with did not help me one bit when It came to communicating with this woman.
She only spoke spanish.
She looked panicked and shakey and I felt for her. I thought of myself, and how I would have felt in that situation. I couldn’t understand her but I still patted her hand and smiled at her, regardless of the fence having been destroyed.
That day the road was slippery and wet with the first hour of a fresh rain after a long period of dryness. Oils come to the surface of the road…and that’s that.
We had to communicate through her niece and I belive her mother. And my father assumed she would never contact us again after I let her go. I wasn’t familiar with the standards for reporting property damage from a car crash I wasn’t in. What to get, what to do, or how to do it. Neither were my parents.
My parents are the type to be heavily into politics, leaning heaving into their republican lifestyle. Politics consist of their morning, afternoon, and night. It reminded me to never focus on one thing alone, especially if it enrages you. I would not want to be on my deathbed wishing I had spent less time glued to the TV watching politics instead of spending time with family or doing something that actually can make a difference. Maybe not always in big ways, but at least in my own life. Voting makes a difference. Watching a TV all the time everyday…ALL DAY? Not so much.
My father was quick to say that she would never call back and she was likely an illegal immigrant. That she probably wanted the quick way out. Something along those lines. Actually, they were upset at me for not doing more to make sure she either stayed like a hostage or that I got the information needed to make sure that she paid for the fence. I had never been in this position before.
Car crashes on our stretch of the road are very frequent and I think it causes my family to be a little on the ‘desensitized’ side. Maybe desensitized is an understatment. I was the only one there to witness the crash. Later I found out that they had indeed heard it…but just assumed it was in the normal ravine on the other side of the road. For that reason they decided to go back to watching politics instead of getting up to check. Leaving me at the edge of the ranch alone with a woman I could not understand, and very little understanding myself of what to do.
Two days later she texted and asked how much for the gate. In which my father was surprised and told me to tell her that it was okay. The idea that she was willing to pay to fix our fence must have softened him against his own prejudice.
I guess I hoped maybe one day if I were to ever be in a car crash(I hope not), someone would be kind enough to me. To reassure me. Because it’s scary. Someone could have died. And regardless of our fence getting smashed into, I was very glad she was okay.
My brother and father quickly patched the fence up with some extra fencing we had laying around. Both pissed off. My brother was extra pissed off and went off on a tangent where he told me that he wished she had gotten hurt.
I was quick to defend this girl, eventhough she was not my family or my friend. Maybe I overreacted. I don’t know. My father had asked me why I was defending her, seeming offended I was upset that my brother would suggest she deserved to be hurt. I told him because it could have been anyone. It could have been me.
In which he told me to not talk like that.
Everything did work out in the end at least.
When I got in the car by myself I took a deep breath. There were butterflies in my stomach, and I wanted to grip the steering wheel like it was a flotation device and I was in the middle of the pacific ocean with that being the only thing that could save me.
Up and out to the edge of the driveway where it meets the highway I went. And I listened. Because while I can trust my eyes, I could trust my ears also. The sounds or noises of cars approaching. And when I felt secure…well…secure enough…I went.
This solo drive was to the library less than 5 minutes away from our home. The middle of town. I had looked up my destination on google maps to try to identify specific landmarks I could go by to recognize when it was coming up. I had been there more times than I could count since I was a little girl, and yet when driving it felt as if I had never been there before.
Navigating is not my second nature, especially when having to multitask. I had to think about my speed, when to turn the turn signal on, how to get there, all while observing my surroundings at regular intervals to watch for dangers. As a passenger you don’t think of any of these things.
At a light that is always particularly long, I waited and listened. Listened to how quiet it was driving alone. Nobody is there. Nobody is there to save me or to ask questions to when I’m not certain about something.
My biggest fear with driving is running across an intersection or a situation that absolutely blows my mind, one where I have no idea what to do. Then who am I going to ask if I am driving alone? No one.
My parents have always been the extra eyes, and ears. And the guidance. Now I was alone. And it felt lonely. Maybe this was why my parents oftentimes took someone with even if it was to the grocery store. My mother was oftentimes the passenger princess no matter the occasion.
I was alone with my sweaty hands that made the wheel slippery. Every light I had to stop to wipe them on the dress I decided to wear. Bright red with pretty white flowers adorned on it. I had brushed my hair and wore a giant chiffon bow on the back of my head to secure it. I felt pretty, and maybe I was hoping if I felt pretty…well then maybe I would feel more confident driving myself.
At the very least I tried to remind myself that the road has rules, lights have rules, everything has rules. If I were to run into a intersection that really was hard to figure out(though it has yet to happen) then I could follow the rules of the road and right of way. And then pray.
I found the edge of the giant library building and put my turn signal on. The parking lot was even more anxiety-inducing because it was packed. I parked at the far end of the parking lot which was deserted apart from the few suspicious looking vehicles. I call them suspicious because most park up front, even if they have to squeeze between two cars or search for a spot a few times over.
I texted my father to let him know I got there safely, a favor he asked of me before I left so he wouldn’t worry.
I have a reason for parking out in the deserted side because I’m scared I will hit a car trying to park or leave a parking space. These people? Who knows what they’re up to. I mean that in a joking way though. Maybe they are just like me and would rather walk than cram their vehicle into tight parking spaces.
Maybe they’re not trading drugs or looking to kidnap someone like my mother always assumes. And maybe they aren’t carrying twenty illegal immigrants in their minivan like my father says. Sometimes when I was kid I would wonder how they could hide so many people in a vehicle if they were really smuggling people across the border. Did they stick them underneath the car and strap them? Did they hide them under the seats?
When I got into the library it was another thing all together. I quickly realized I had to adust to something else besides driving solo. There’s always this feeling that I look awkward or weird. Something I never grew out of I guess. I feel out of my element a lot of the time even with someone with me. The security guard was right by the front door and I felt like he was eyeing me. Of course he eyes everyone. But at that moment I wanted to look as harmless as possible.
I fumbled with my purse, the straps, my dress. Eyed the wall like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Anything to not look suspicious. And yet because I go out of my way to NOT act suspicious, I feel like I look even more suspicious. Which I know is not the case. In the moment I felt that way though.
I had returned my book and went to the normal shelves I browse. There were a lot of people and I felt…again…awkward. Something else I’m hoping will eventually go away.
My friend told my it’s because I don’t feel I belong. Which is true. Everyone has just as much right to be there. But I always feel out of sorts when in public. Why? I don’t know.
I had found a romance book, one with an embarassing cover and checked out at the desk because I wanted to ask a question.
“Are your study rooms soundproof?” A quirk of the eyebrow, a questioning look.
It was like I asked her if they would make good rooms to torture someone in because they might scream.
I elaborated.
“I do voiceovers, so..”
Her facial expression changed into one with understanding and she asked her co-worker. They didn’t seem to really know. I don’t know why I assumed they would. I just remember the rooms being pen-drop quiet. They’re made of glass and visible to everyone. Because I do voiceovers I thought well…maybe it would be a perfect spot to avoid traffic noise.
She told me they are quiet, but not seperate. I understood. I quickly left, remembering the way she looked at me when I asked if the room was soundproof. I thought her expression of confusion was funny.
The drive back home was uneventful. Apart from the dirt road I took to avoid having to make a right turn where the “right turn only” sign was. It would take me into town, and I didn’t want to go to town. I wanted to go home. So I took the back roads.
As soon as I got onto the gravel the car shook violently. It shook so much from the gravel that the dashboard cover started to dance off the dashboard and towards me. My hands were doing two things. Steering, and trying to get the cover back onto the dashboard where it belonged. It’s a short stretch of backroad that is always quiet and desolate. People fly through very fast anyways.
I went slow.
The car in front of me was going 45 in the 55 zone when we got onto solid road. And therefore I went even slower to maintain a good distance. Maybe they thought I was following them. We took the same route for ten minutes, taking a lot longer than normal because they were super slow. I didn’t mind…I kind of preferred it.
And I made it home…my first solo flight.
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