The car has become a secular sanctuary for the individual, his shrine to the self, his mobile Walden Pond. ~Edward McDonagh
You can't see anything from a car; you've got to get out of the goddamn contraption and walk, better yet crawl, on hands and knees, over the sandstone and through the thornbrush and cactus. When traces of blood begin to mark your trail, you'll see something, maybe. ~Edward Abbey
Your arms are water.
And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.
You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt. --Gwendolyn Brooks
my poppy bought my first car well before i turned 16. it was a 1982 vw rabbit convertible, and it ate a quart of oil every two weeks. i loved this car--psychotically loved it the way only a teenager can love something. that car represented such freedom to me. trouble was, i had no idea how to drive it. like a bunch of other kids who grew up in rural america, i'd been driving for years (on the hunting lease, backroads on Sundays when my parents were too tired to argue with me and we all needed to get out of the house), but all those cars had been automatic transmissions. this thing with three pedals and six gears was WAY out of my depth.
it was a good thing we had a huge backyard. and by "huge backyard", i meant we had an entire acre of wide open space, in the middle of town, and already had a driveway running down the middle of it. mom and dad decided i could learn to drive on the lots, and so, for the summer before i turned 16, that's exactly what i did. and my dad didn't have to mow all summer. and i think i only bought three tanks of gas, because i never got above second gear...
the first afternoon lesson did not go well. it ended with my mother rolling her eyes and going back inside the house, and my dad looking at me from the passenger seat, shaking his head in frustration and moderate disgust that this fruit of his loins was incapable of figuring out the mystical relationship between the clutch and gas pedal. the harder i tried to get it right, the worse i did, and the more frustrated he got. i vividly remember trying my best not to cry, when the car died ONE MORE TIME, and i came to the cold and clear understanding that i was never going to understand how to drive this car, my parents would make me sell it, and i'd end up living at home, never go to college, and die of shame because i couldn't learn to drive this car.
i put my head down on the steering wheel, heard my father mutter something under his breath about hysterical teenage girls, felt him very lightly pat the top of my head, and exited the vehicle. and OH HELL NO, YOU'RE LEAVING ME OUT HERE?? i remember actually yelling that at him, and him looking back at me, and giving me the face he always gave me when it was time to put me in my place, "queenie, would it really matter if i stayed? you've got to do this on your own, because nothing i'm saying or trying is working. you know what you need to do, and kind of how to do it. now, you've got all afternoon, and mom and i will be right inside. it's just not worth you being this upset, honey. you don't have to do this. you don't have to master this in one afternoon. you've got the whole summer to learn how to do this. you can do this." that made me cry even harder, because now, i had not only failed learning to drive my car, but i felt like i'd worn my pops down so much that he left me in the back yard. i went from bereft to totally pissed off in about two point five seconds. that's a lot of pick-up...
flash forward to forty-five minutes later, and my parents come bursting out the door because i've figured out the magical ratio of gas-to-clutch, and am driving about thirty miles an hour in a half-mile loop, kicking up dust and degraded granite for all i'm worth. my face was still blotchy from crying, but omg...was i livid and thrilled at the same time...and DRIVING...AND I TOLD YOU I COULD DO IT and i really didn't want to allow my parents the satisfaction of telling them they were right, and i was wrong, but i did deign to slow down, and heard them whooping and hollering from the porch.
i'm sure i would have eventually learned to drive the car, with mom in the backseat and dad in the passenger seat, simultaneously trying to explain to me the art and science of vehicular operation. it would have been a much longer summer. there would have been lots more yelling, and i probably would have ended up saying "fuck" in front of them a lot earlier than i actually did.
it was a lesson i had to learn on my own, once someone had given me the basic outline, because no one, not even if they've driven my car or one just like it seventy-five thousand times, can tell me how the clutch feels under my feet, once it engages. no one can tell me exactly what it feels like to know the engine is about to choke, because i've just barely missed the magical recipe for shifting gears. it's a thing i have to feel under my own feet, and understand that feeling all the way up my legs, all the way to my brain. people can give me practical advice, watch my feet, listen to the engine, and shout orders at me all day long. but until i put my feet on the pedals, and try to make the magic happen, it's all just a bunch of theory and nonsense.
the first time i actually drove the car, for real, on the streets and in broad daylight, i was terrified. i was shaking like a leaf, and it was bad enough that my mother noticed. she told me it was ok if i didn't feel ready yet, that she was more than happy to drive us to sonic in her car. i knew if i didn't just get in and go, and do this thing, no matter how scared i was, i'd never be able to look myself in the eye, again. being afraid is nothing to be ashamed of, but being frozen by my fear is. so, we jumped in my little rattle-trap, and i stalled out twice in the sonic parking lot (i managed not to die from embarrassment, but just barely...), but i had done this thing, even though i was scared out of my mind the whole time i was doing it.
i rarely think about learning to drive, anymore. that little girl seems so far away, sometimes. i see pictures of her, read her old journal entries, remember saying things out of her mouth, and i wonder how much of her is left at the bottom of my deepest self. because the truth of the matter is that she was a brave girl who knew exactly who she was, even on days when she wasn't. i like to believe that the fifteen year old who taught herself the art of manual transmission driving is still a little bit around, and is much more a part of who i still am than i imagine...not because i need her drivel or flights of fancy, you understand. it's just that she's young enough to understand that it's ok to be afraid, and barely old enough to know she's got some serious moxy (with which she already knows she must use great care...), and that now that the hard part of actually learning to drive is over, she's got the whole summer to leave the top down, perfect left turns, and get a killer tan. she's a world beater, that one...and when i see her, peaking through my eyes, when i have to look in the mirror, and get my nerve up, ask myself hard questions, dare myself to be the girl i know i am, she reminds me that i am, too.
mil besos,
rmg
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