(27) Driving Ambition

It is a frigid Sunday afternoon. The roads are ominously slick and towers of snow are stacked on either side of the streets. It is the kind of day where you stay inside where it is warm, with your hand grasping a mug of scalding hot chocolate as you stare into the blazes of a cozy fireplace and think of what you should be doing, but aren’t doing. My father and I aren’t resting comfortably in front of the fire though, lost in the pages of our usual newspaper and novel because we are out of our safety zone. We have journeyed into the harsh outside world to share the terrifying and life-threatening experience almost all teenagers have to go through with their parents. My dad has finally handed me that radiant silver ring of keys.

We are in the backcountry of Greenwich, dropping off something for my dad’s business. I stare ahead of me with vast determination, gripping the leather of the steering wheel and tenderly pressing down the pedal. It seems that when I just think about making a turn, the car jabs to the left or the right. I bore my eyes into the double yellow line; almost feeling the road’s every twist and turn. My foot is ready to fly to the brake with any sudden threat on the road. My permit is in the glove compartment, my heart is hammering inside my jacket, and my dad’s grip on the edge of the passenger seat constricts with each stop and sharp turn. My fifth driving lesson is going quite smoothly.

"Turn onto John Street." Father tells me. I glide the vehicle to a gentle stop, switch on my signal, check for any coming cars, and turn into the next street. "Perfect, Daria!" My father says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, as I wonder if it really was perfect, or if my dad was just trying to end the intimidating silence that has passed between us. I press my foot with a little more force on the pedal with my newly regained confidence. I let out a sigh of content and ease more comfortably in the driver’s seat. For once I begin to look at my surroundings, noticing a large white house with light blue shutters and a large black bear in the yard? I peer closely at the mound of fur in the back of the house hidden by tall stalks of grass. It has to be one of the largest dogs I have ever seen! It is a wonder how much that beast must eat! I consider what kind of name you would give a dog like that. Big Bertha? Chubbs? Free Willy? Surely you can’t just name that kind of a creature Snookums or Poochy. I turn my head as we pass their property.

"Daria, you’re going WAY to fast, concentrate! Remember what I told you last time; when you find mailboxes are plenty, make SURE you’re going twenty. All right? Now just try and watch what you’re doing more carefully."

"Sorry." I mumble, slowing down to almost a crawl.

"Well you can go a little faster than that, honey." My dad chuckles.

All of a sudden a big Mac truck comes barreling in front of me. My heart starts hammering again and I force myself to focus. The road is too narrow for just one car let a lone one car and huge truck so I quickly pull to the left, tree branches scraping the windows as I pass not one, but two colossal green trucks. I look over at my dad after they pass who is little short of being plastered to the side of the car with his eyes bulging. I immediately start making apologies.

"No, Daria," he interrupts, " that’s uh...all right. Large trucks don’t normally drive down this private street. They must be renovating a house or something." My dad shifts in his chair, and I can feel his burning desire to once again be the master of his machine. I wait for him to tell me that I have driven enough for today, but he doesn’t. Watching every movement in front of me, I begin to coast down the street again, stopping only to glide gently over sudden speed bumps.

"Wait, now stop." My dad searches parts of the dividing streets. I clamp my foot on the brake and wait for further directions. "I can’t remember where we go from here now, do we head on Porchuck or Round Hill..." My dad struggles to remember and finally decides on Round Hill. I signal and turn into the next street and after minutes my dad realizes his mistake.
"Sorry, you know it’s so much different when you’re not driving." My dad laughs uneasily.

"Should I turn around?" I question nervously.

"Yes, just pull into this driveway, SLOWLY."

I creep onto the concrete, petrified of the new challenge of turning around out of someone else’s driveway but wanting the knowledge and experience. "Now, dad, you’re going to have to help me, I’ve never done this before." I utter, trying to sound calm.

"Yes, I know, don’t worry it’s a piece of cake. Just go, and go quickly because there’s a car coming.” I begin to panic as I pull the gear down to reverse. I forget everything I’ve learned and hit the pedal blindly and try my best to make a somewhat successful turn around. "Daria! Dar-ia! DARIA!" My dad hollers and grabs the wheel desperately. I am helpless and rip my foot off the pedal as I let him take over. "Pull back in!" He bellows and I follow his order as a large black suburban rockets behind us.

"Daria, let me drive for a little while, all right?" I nod sadly, angry with myself for being able to learn how to parallel park instantly, but not able to do a simple turn around. I put the car into park, step out from behind the wheel and back into the passenger seat. As soon as my dad and I have closed the doors, he is automatically careening out of the driveway and ripping through streets. I watch the speedometer uneasily, watching the needle go from twenty to forty to sixty. I glance at blurry mailboxes, thinking about reminding my father of his favorite saying worthy of being needle pointed, but I keep my mouth shut as the engine revs. It’s like my dad and the Beemer are loyal companions, and with each throaty groan and sharp turn, my father and the car reminds me gently of who its real master is.

It seems like ages until my dad and the car finally come to a halt on the side of the street. I look at my dad, wondering what the cause is for the sudden stop. My dad looks lovingly back at me. "Do you want to drive the rest of the way, Daria?" I look into my dad’s eyes, and a battle rages inside of me, a war between intimidation, confusion, and anxiety and the amazing feeling of maturity, trust, and freedom. I smile and nod my head. My dad switches places with me, I adjust the position of the steering wheel and seat, and once again take control as we breeze down a world of side roads, winds howling, with random joggers running for cover as the keys jingle in the ignition, reflecting the bright light of the dazzling sun.