Driving Lessons

She sat in the passenger seat of her dad's car, fear quivering and squirming in the pit of her stomach like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Her father, the driver, had said he wanted to do something with her, but he would not specify what. So, naturally, her mind was coming up with the most horrible scenarios she could think of. Scenarios that involved her getting dropped off in the middle of nowhere or in a hole in the ground. Things like that that kept her on edge and avoiding eye contact with the bald man she called "dad".

But when he pulled into an empty parking lot and parked, her heart sunk. Driving lessons. He was going to try to get her to drive. Her, with the attention span of a gnat, behind the wheel of her dad's car. Oh HELL no! Driving was her phobia, the one part of the teenage life she did not want to partake in in the least. Now she saw why her dad failed to mention what he wanted to do with her. She would have openly refused and run off to hide in the safety of her bedroom. She'd rather ride a bike everywhere then get into the driver's seat of a car. Sure, she could drive the four-wheeler they owned with ease, not even giving a second thought about hopping up and driving as fast as the gear she was in(and her parents) would let her. But DRIVING was another matter entirely. That involved more thought, more attention span that her mind would allow. That involved the safety of someone outside herself, and the idiocy of other people in their own metal death traps. No way she was getting in the driver's seat. No way in hell.

But, somehow, she found herself in the driver's seat, gripping at the steering wheel like it was her life line. She didn't like this, not at all. Her heart was beating wildly and she felt near nausea, the butterfly in a web now a panicked bird flapping around in her queasy stomach. To make matters worse, Dad's car was a stupid stick shift, and that required even MORE thought than usual. It meant she had to be sure to take her foot off the gas and quickly change gears without grinding them or stalling. And making sure to only use her right foot for pressing the gas and brake. And other menial details that her dad went over with her as she sat terrified and shaking in her seat. After going over the general rules, her dad told her to start the car and put it in first gear. She did, reluctantly, and very gently put her foot on the gas.  Her breath quickened, and she felt the desire to cry. She was scared senseless of doing this, of making a mistake and face the wrath of her father(who scared her about as much as driving did) if she messed up his car.

He made her drive in circles around the empty lot, occasionally telling her to pick up speed or try changing gears. Surprisingly, she changed gears without much difficultly, but she had to look down and was slower than one should shift gears when on the road with the crazy drivers that prowled the streets in her town. The increase in speed and gear shifting continued for maybe an hour or so, driving in her own patterns now that she was starting to get the hang of it. That didn't mean she was any less afraid of driving, just that she was getting a little better at the principles of driving a stick shift car. But then he told her she was going to be the one driving them back to the house. Had they not been at a stop already, she would have probably slammed on the brakes and stared at him with a horrified face. Driving by herself in an empty lot was bad enough, but to go on the ROADS with PEOPLE?! He had to be out of his bloody mind! She stubbornly crossed twiggy arms over her chest, her lower lip jutting out in a child-like manner as she furiously shook her head. She wouldn't do it. She refused. She was NOT going to drive the car out of that parking lot.

But, again, she somehow found herself pulling out of the parking lot onto the long road that lead to the main road that would take her home. Again, she was not liking this one little bit. Thankfully, the road only went in a straight line, so she was having an okay driving it. Until she got to the stop sign. She stopped about a foot before she actually got to the sign, only inching forward a little bit when her father laughed and told her she'd stopped to early. Only when cars started lining up behind them did her father relent and let her get out of the driver's seat.

"New driver," he explained with a chuckle, to which the other drivers laughed and nodded understandingly.

She, on the other hand, was out of that car and walking around it to the passenger side like there was fire on her heels and let out a sigh of relief when she was in the passenger seat. She resumed her usual car ride activity at once: staring out the window watching the scenery and clouds roll on by, watching other drivers and praying she never ever had to get back behind the wheel again. It stressed her out far too much.