-
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Test
- Red Hen Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
124 Chapter Thirty-seven The Test It’s a ’66 Bonneville. Big fenders. Virtually impossible to squeeze into a reasonably sized parking space. Something I know I’ll have to do before I pass this exam. Smiling nervously at the police officer, I turn the key in the ignition. “Is it your birthday?” he asks, trying to strike up a conversation which he hopes will put me at ease so he can be at ease. “Yep, today’s the day I get my license,” I say, stepping on the gas a little too much, wondering where it is he wants me to take him on this test drive. I remembered to wear tennis shoes, not sandals, and I have my hands placed at the two and ten o’clock positions on the steering wheel. I’m ready to go, but don’t know where it is I am to drive. “Are you forgetting anything?” he asks. I’m sure this is a trick question and begin to panic. I have my driver’s permit, a car, and am sixteen; what could I possibly be forgetting? I’m even wearing my glasses. “I don’t think so,” I say less convincingly than I want to sound today. “Good, then let’s go,” he says. “Just pull out and we’ll take a short drive through town.” Just this summer, our city has turned our streets into one-way roads. All my life I’ve lived near downtown, and suddenly I panic, uncertain which streets head which direction since I never follow the street rules when I’m on my bike. Slowly I pull out of the parking lot, wondering if a quick prayer would do me any good. The way my prayers have backfired on me lately, I decide to rely on my glasses and hope for the best. Mom is waiting at the police station, relieved I’ll finally have my license since she’s been letting me take joy rides with her since I was thirteen. She hates driving and has been waiting for this day as much as I have. Tomorrow morning I’ll drive my mom, my aunt, and sister to the mall in Grand Rapids. Tonight I’ll be picking up my friends and cruising at the beach. Diane Payne 125 As I think of my plans, I forget about using my glasses, and begin to go straight into a one-way road filled with cars heading our way. Before I can figure out what to do, I see the policeman grasping the dashboard, eyeballs hanging from his sockets in fear. I quickly step on the brakes and say, “We can’t go this way. Are you sure you don’t want to go another way?” “What?” he shouts. “I didn’t tell you to go here!” “Oh, I’m sorry,” I sort of lie. “When I think of downtown, I always mean 8th Street. We can’t go that way anymore. I’ll have to take another street.” “I know that. Do you know which way to go?” he asks rather gruffly. “Why don’t we just turn here at the corner and swing around by the windmill?” I suggest, as if that had been my original plan. “You’re very lucky you stopped in a nick of time or you wouldn’t be getting your license today.” Hearing this, I don’t know what to say, and fear I may cry, but end up laughing hysterically instead. I begin to babble. “I’ve lived here all my life. Wouldn’t you know they’d change the streets to one-way two weeks before I get my license? I could have done this with my eyes closed three weeks ago, not that I would have, but I could have,” I say between spurts of hideous laughter. “Are you all right?” he asks. Now he’s looking worried. It’s a simple question, a harmless, direct question, but suddenly it’s the question that almost brings me to tears. All right? At this very odd moment , I wonder if I should have prayed, if then I would have remembered the street was one-way, if I would have seen the warning signs? All right? Nothing is all right. I know my mother’s dying. I’ve given up on prayer. Given up on quitting high school because it will hurt Mom too much. Given up on trying to find a counselor to talk about Dad. “This...