Personal Narrative Not-So-Rough Draft

Sydney Branom

Personal Narrative Not-So-Rough Draft

I turned my gaze to my dad, and quirked a questioning brow. "You didn't tell me we needed to stop at Target."

He shifted our clunky, grey SUV into park for what must have been the millionth time in his life. A grin fought its way through his usually stoic composure. "Wanna drive?" he suddenly asked.

Dozens of responses came to mind at once, riding a wave of shock. There were plenty of things I could have said to him. Dad, are you crazy? Dad, I don't even have my permit yet. Dad, I really don't want to, that sounds scary. Dad, don't you think my first time driving should be in a remote location, and not in a busy parking lot flooded with pedestrians? I had plenty of choices, but I settled on an eloquent, "Umm... Okay."

It was a Target parking lot at six in the afternoon. There was nothing special about it, I'm sure you can imagine it yourself. The parking lot was about half full, the sun had just set, the mood was melancholy with a side of I-want-to-go-home-but-first-I-have-to-get-groceries. For every car that departed the parking lot, another lazily rolled in, keeping a constant stream of customers filing in and out of the large automatic doors. Miscellaneous car horns and distressed children made themselves heard from every corner of the property.

He smiled and opened his door, stepping out of the car. I subconsciously did the same. As I climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling the door shut behind me, I immediately felt out of place. I grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, with the false confidence of a child riding a bike for the first time.

Now in the passenger seat, my dad waited for me to do something. We sat in silence for a long moment while I stalled. Eventually, I heaved a sigh of defeat, and keeping my gaze locked between my hands on the steering wheel, said, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Adjust your seat first,” I heard him instruct, “So you can reach all the pedals and buttons easily.”

I nodded my head in response and watched my hands grip tighter around the leather on the wheel. Other than that, I stayed completely still. More silence.

“…It’s the lever on the left side of your seat,” he explained slowly.

“Right,” I said quickly, the word barely out of my mouth before I started feeling the side of the seat for the evasive lever. Once I felt it, I pushed it in a random direction and hoped for the best. My chair inched forward with a mechanical whhrrrrrr. Forgetting my surroundings, I giggled like a child who heard an especially funny fart joke. I pulled the lever in the opposite direction, and my chair crept backwards, away from the wheel, with an identical robotic groan. More giggling. I felt like I was on the Enterprise.

Now might be a good time to mention that I not only have never driven a car before, but I’ve never sat in the driver’s seat for more than a few seconds. I avoid both of the front seats whenever I can. Ever since I was in a car crash back in middle school, sitting in the front of a car has given me the heebie-jeebies in the same way that some people are unsettled by snakes or spiders.

My unfamiliarity with the advanced technology of the driver’s chair is my excuse for being so amused by it. My dad’s voice was a mix of annoyance and amusement when he deadpanned, “Yeah, I think you found it.”

I cleared my throat and pressed the lever a final time into the forward position, the seat crawling forward with it. Buckling my seatbelt and adjusting the mirrors was pretty easy, but obviously that’s all that could be easy.

“Okay, take it out of park,” Dad instructed, then quickly followed up with, “It’s the lever by your right hand. Pull it towards you and then down.”

There were at least four different levers next to my right hand. With all this gadgetry, I might as well be on the Enterprise. My face hardened into a concrete resolve, not wanting to give away my how clueless I felt, and I grabbed the lever nearest to my hand and pulled it toward me briskly.

A loud squeak made me jump, and I let go of the wheel, placing my hands behind my head in an attempt to not mess up anything further. The windshield wipers shrieked as they scraped across the dry window. My dad calmly reached over, pushed the lever back into place, and sat back in his seat quietly.

Another silence stretched on, and as it did I felt like my nerves were being stretched too.

Finally, my dad spoke up. “That one’s for the windshield wipers.”

My hands stayed at rest on the back of my neck. “Seems like it.” I exhaled. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“Everyone takes differently to driving,” my dad said, his voice level. “You’re just nervous. It’ll be second nature in no time.”

“But what if it isn’t?” I ask, sounding whinier than I intended. “What if I just don’t get used to it? I’d have to walk everywhere. Or I could be forced to ride the bus my entire life.” I pouted at the cars passing through my view. None of them seemed to be having any trouble. Why were they so special? Maybe I was the odd one, incapable of tasks most people don’t even give a second thought.

“You’re having trouble because it’s a lot different from anything you’ve ever done before,” he explained, sensing the downward turn in my mood. “Go-karts and video games don’t count. This is a rolling hunk of metal and glass and gasoline. There’s a lot of responsibility that comes with controlling it. You’re in charge of your life, the lives of your passengers, and everyone on the road that you pass. It seems overwhelming, and it is. But I know people a lot less capable than you that are acceptable drivers.”

I looked at him, caught off guard by the strangely profound words. He usually doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s startling and intelligent.

“You’re growing up, and there are going to be a lot more things you’re going to have to get used to,” he continued, sounding somber, eyes fixed on something straight ahead. “But you’ll do fine, you always have. Just relax. “

I returned my gaze to the passing traffic in front of me and thought about what he said.

“Besides,” he added, “You need to learn how to drive to get a job. Like hell I’m going to drive you around after you turn sixteen.”

I smiled an uneasy but genuine smile and nodded, thankful that my dad’s the patient kind of teacher and not the shout-y kind. Taking a long inhale and exhale, I studied the levers near my right hand closely. I found one labeled gear shift, and carefully tugged it toward me and down. The car’s engine hummed at a different frequency as it readied itself for motion. I put both hands on the wheel, worked hard on not holding my breath, and pressed the gas pedal down generously.

The car lurched forward before settling into a more sensible pace. I flinched and gritted my teeth, but stayed calm and focused. I let the car take a pace barely above a crawl as I navigated it around the first icy corner. My dad was silent, which I took as a sign that I hadn’t done anything terribly wrong yet.

In the calmly bustling parking lot, every corner was just like the last. I pressed the gas pedal. I turned the wheel. I braked for pedestrians. I pressed the gas pedal again. I started to realize how much I had really psyched myself out for this experience. All I was doing was learning new motions to go through, not learning a new way of life completely.

I became more and more comfortable behind the wheel, and I actually must have enjoyed it, because when my dad told me to pull into one of the parking spots and stop, I felt a faint disappointment. But I did what he said, and when he requested we change seats again, I did so without question.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked rhetorically, a smile curving up the corners of his mouth.

A small smile similar to his spread across my face. “No,” I said contently, “No, it wasn’t.”

The significance of this typical driving lesson may seem unusual to some people, but it’s the most unusual to me. During those few minutes, I realized how frightened I was of the new experiences I’ll encounter as I age. I’d never even given it a second thought, but it all hit me when I was put in control of a death trap on wheels. I was so unsure of myself that I didn’t even think to relax and focus. But my dad gave me a talk so meaningful that he probably doesn’t even know it left an impact on me. If someone as cool and successful as my dad believes in me, than I can believe in myself too. I’m no longer bracing myself for the future as much as letting time take its course and enjoying the mandatory ride downstream. Life’s going to take its course, things are going to change, and I’m ready for it. It’s strange I realized all this while learning to drive illegally in a Target parking lot, but looking back on it I’m really glad it all happened like it did.