Complicated

License

7

The whole school seemed to walk on tip-toes around me. Did they all remember? Surely they did. Did they care? By nature, humans are selfish. Why would they be any different now?

I got my Chemistry test back. I made a 94. It pulled my grade up two points. I now had a 78 C. My hope was nonexistent. I ignored the lecture and worksheets. How smart was I now, Josh? I quietly understood Mrs. Orrender’s every word. I never said I drifted—just no participation. It felt like my lips had grown shut.

I took my Precal test in the same manner. Quietly, acing it—hopefully, anyway.

Even during lunch, I refused to participate. I did get lost in the millions of trophies and plaques we had acquired over the thirty years of Gwinnett High.

My eyes settled on her plaque, her monument, her memorial. I hadn’t visited this since the day before spring break of my sophomore year. That day, I had decided to continue on, like she wasn’t gone. I took her place as Queen. I knew that that’s what she would have wanted—for me to succeed. At the time, I had been so rashly sure of myself. I would never follow Amber. But, as I reflected, I realized that that’s all I had ever done. All my life I had faithfully followed Amber.

I didn’t have to read the golden plaque. I already knew what it said:

         Dedicated to Amber Brant
         Class of 2008 Homecoming Queen
         Class of 2008 VIP Soccer Star
         Class of 2008 Salutatorian
         Who tragically lost her life on
         December 23, 2007

She didn’t even graduate. But it wasn’t her life that she lost, just her way.

She took her own life.

It was prohibited to speak the Forbidden Word—parent rule.

I didn’t want to hear or say it anyway.

Was that what I was going to follow her to?

I wouldn’t be awarded a plaque. Come to think of it, no one would really notice. Derek would leave soon, Sarah would be denied of revenge but personally pleased, my parents would probably—no, finally—go to counseling and rebuild their marriage, and Ron would be indifferent. I was a jerk to him.

Then there was Josh. Josh…I didn’t want to think about him or what his response would be.

I drew in a breath. Stop thinking, I told myself.

I visited the front office, checking to see if they had my Driver’s Ed Completion form and school attendance sheet. To get a license in Georgia, too many hoops had to be jumped through. I didn’t mind. They kept me occupied. And resulted in appeasing my wanderlust. I was actually excited about getting my license. Indulging my craving to drift would probably be easier than giving up altogether.

After the front office handed me my papers, I left and meant to return to lunch. The counseling office caught my eye. I stood and stared at the doorway for a long time.

When the bell rang, I hurried off to English. I had three classes to go. Thankfully, they passed with relative speed.

I pretty much figured that the tutoring was off for good. I rode the bus home. Soon, I would be driving myself. I hurried home, eager to complete my homework. I needed to study up for my driving test.

I skillfully avoided my parents and having to tell them about my Amber dream—counting on the fact that my father would bring her up; she was most frequently the reason for their fights—by going to bed an hour earlier than when they arrived home. Of course, going to bed earlier meant that I would wake up earlier.

I slept for ten hours, waking up at four in the morning. It was raining softly outside. I decided to quench my thirst and walk a little. Around five, I returned home, showered, and got ready for school. Only one more day before Saturday school and my driving test.

Today I obeyed all the rules, paid attention to every lecture, took notes on all the chapters I read, and even bought a lunch. I mainly picked at the food, barely tasting the dull mass, but knew I had to be on my best behavior for my driving test.

Being productive as possible always put me in a better mood. The still ongoing rain helped soothe me as well. I could feel my grades take a positive turn. I didn’t bother squelching the feeling of pride. I needed a confidence booster. Earning my license was the doctor’s orders.

When I came home Friday afternoon, I immediately conquered my homework, did several loads of laundry, and made dinner. Tonight’s menu: spaghetti. I hoped my parents would be too surprised to notice if I skipped. I had eaten once already.

Tonight my mother was home first. I greeted her with a wan smile. Her face flooded with relief when she realized that I had made dinner. She quietly slipped up to her room to get ready for dinner. My father arrived not too much later. He was equally surprised. He didn’t complain about the menu. He seemed pleased to see me participate on the family. For so long, I had separated myself from my parents, living my life in their house.

I dished up two healthy portions of spaghetti, gave each plate a roll, and placed two full salad bowls on the table along with the two plates. I dropped just a few long, limp noodles on my plate, no sauce, and added my plate to the table. I served everyone ice water, lemon optional.

My plan worked. My parents were too surprised to notice I wasn’t joining in on the slurping and cramming. In fact, they were too surprised to fight. They were very complimentary. I smiled—temporary happiness.

I did the dishes, turned on the TV, and settled down to watch Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. I loved the really dirty stuff. My mom always called it depressing. My parents joined me, sitting on opposite ends of our brown couch.

That night, I slept soundlessly and dreamlessly, exhausted from my effort. The rain never stopped.

I’d always been told not to talk to the driving test proctor, unless spoken to first of course. I planned to remain silent but alert the entire time. Prior to the appointment, I had checked all of my tires, headlights, brake lights, and anything else that I could think of. I turned the radio off and the a/c to a comfortable setting. I even practiced the parking lot section—accelerating, breaking, parallel parking, and backing into a space. It was all easy cheesy stuff.

My Saturday school teacher had planned on making me clean out his classroom, but when I nervously told him I had a driving test, he allowed me to practice. He had taught my sister her junior year and didn’t mind letting me direct myself—he minored in psychology. He almost became a school counselor.

Besides, he had said, we had all month to clean his room. I had to remind him that there were only two more Saturdays. I had the Thanksgiving Saturday off. Two weeks to clean a classroom? Piece of cake.

After Saturday school, my dad let me drive to the D.M.V. I was nervous but well prepared. As long as I remained quiet, kept my cool, and did as told, that license would be mine. You know what the worst part was? The wait was killer—two hours. I had gotten insanely nervous twice during the waiting period, hitting a 10 on the anxiety scale both times. I always managed to calm myself back down again. I was glad that I had eaten nothing at lunch. I was also glad that my father could be so calm. I held onto his tranquility like it was a life preserver.

Finally, I was chosen from the mix. I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants before doing anything. Just like I had practiced with Mr. Dunwoody, my Saturday school teacher, I checked everything as directed and followed all the steps—buckle, make sure all passengers are buckled, adjust mirrors/seats/buckles, turn car on, check all items on the dashboard, ignite engine, and idle in park while waiting for instructions.

I accelerated to 20 mph, slammed on my brakes, and waited for my proctor to nod and “hm-hmm.” My instructor, a male probably in his late forties with dark hair and a bald spot and a slight gut, told me to slowly reverse the car without using my mirrors. I did so. I waited for him to scribble down in an annoying hen-scratch.

He quietly told me to parallel park the car. Here was the tricky part. I took my time, shooting for accuracy and not speed. A lot of car wrecks are caused because those involved were just going too damn fast. What’s the rush in life?

Once my little Honda Accord was snugly between the orange cones, I followed my instructor’s directions. I backed up a little, turned my left turn signal on, checked the traffic (which was obviously nonexistent because we were still in the parking lot), and turned the wheel all the way to the left. I swung out of the parallel park and promptly maneuvered into the parking space I was instructed to back into. Overall, my parking lot section took about fifteen minutes. My instructor seemed very pleased.

Now time to hit the road. He directed me through the local roads. I took extra care to drive at the exact speed limit or just a little under. I used my turn signal wherever necessary, making sure to check the mirrors and turn my head. When I stopped at stop signs, I allowed for the rollback to occur before taking off again. The on-road portion took another fifteen minutes. The thirty minutes passed quickly and without a single conversation.

When I arrived back at the D.M.V. with my instructor, I parked the car and exited the Honda after turning off the car and jerking up the emergency brake. My proctor turned to me with a smile.

He said, “Michelle, you did everything perfectly. I’m proud to say you have earned your license. I can also say that the roads won’t increase in danger because of you, especially if you drive like you drove today. You are a very conscientious driver.”

I smiled widely. “Thank you.”

He sighed and rubbed his bald spot. “How’s your sister doing? I was her Drivers Ed instructor. You drive as excellently as she did. Did she teach you?”

I cringed. “Amber died last year, sir. My parents taught me.”

“Oh,” he replied, “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t surprise me that he didn’t know. We tried to keep it fairly quiet.

I nodded. “Me, too.”

“Well,” he smiled, “chin up! You’ve got your license! Go celebrate. I’m sure Amber is proud.”

I felt tears gather at the corners of my eyes. “Thank you, and I’m sure she is, too.”

I took off across the parking lot, looking for my father.

“Michelle!” My instructor called.

I turned.

“Your paperwork!”

I took the handful of sheets from him. “Thank you, sir.”

My father approached us, anxiety present in his eyes. “How’d it go, Micky?”

My instructor glanced at me when my father said my nickname. I could have sworn that he snickered. “Michelle,” he emphasized, “drove perfectly. You must be proud of her.”

My father smiled. “Micky can do anything when she sets her mind to it.”

I cringed. I wished that he hadn’t said that. At least he was proud of my driving skills.

“So,” my father started, “are you going to get your license or just stand there like you’re about to pass out?”

Embarrassment flooded my cheeks. I shuffled off for my picture and signature. Excellent—more waiting. In another fifteen minutes, we were out of the D.M.V. and on our way home, me driving.

When we arrived at the house, my mom showered me with hugs and kisses. She had made her homemade macaroni and cheese for me. In a surprisingly good mood, I ate a little. Apparently, my stomach had forgotten how to digest food; I immediately got sick and rushed off to the bathroom.

My worried parents wanted to make a fuss over me, rushing to get a cool compress and pepto bismol. Unfortunately, we were all out. My mom grabbed her keys and offered to pick up some more at the CVS pharmacy. I hauled my puking carcass out of the bathroom, confiscated her keys, and told her I’d do it. After all, I could drive myself now.

My parents reluctantly agreed. They made me wait twenty minutes before I could leave—making sure that I didn’t get sick again. It reminded me of whenever there was lightning when I went swimming. Every time there was lightning, I had to wait thirty minutes.

Nonetheless, twenty minutes later, I was driving to CVS. The clouds that had been threatening to pour suddenly gave way, managing to drench the world in just a few minutes. I flicked my headlights on. Visibility is important when driving. I took the curves extra slowly. When I pulled out of the winding portion, I entered a nice straight section. I noticed a small silver car sitting just right off the road. No one seemed to be in it, so I didn’t bother stopping.

Several minutes later, I made out a hooded but rain-soaked figure walking in the downpour. As I neared, I realized that the figure was all too familiar. I checked my rearview mirror for any traffic before I pulled over and rolled down the passenger’s side windows. Rain immediately dotted the Honda’s upholstery.

“Hey!” I called out the window.

Even in the dark and rainy evening, I could see his blue eyes. Josh just stared at me.

“Need a ride?” I offered.

A grin broke across his rain-streaked face. “That would be lovely.”

I suddenly realized that I hadn’t heard his voice in a long time—too long. I rolled up the window while he hopped in, dripping water everywhere.

We sat in the car a moment, rain pounding on the roof. I looked at him and nodded. “Yup,” I said, confirming a diagnosis, “You’re a very wet boy.”

Josh laughed.

“Why aren’t you driving?” I inquired.

He turned warm, blue eyes in me. “Did you see the silver car back a mile or so? Well, that’s my car.”

“Your KIA?!” I asked incredulously.

“Yep, she ran out of gas, so instead of sitting in my car doing nothing, I started walking to the nearest gas station.”

“You ran out of gas? Really?” I said, shaking my head, “How do you do that in Suburbia?”

He shrugged. “Forgot, I guess.”

I laughed. “Nice.”

He smiled. “Yeah…What about you?”

I frowned. “What about me?”

“You’re driving, now? I didn’t know that you had your license.”

“Just got it today,” I said proudly.

“Ah,” he said, “then you’re breaking the rules. I’m not family.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. I’m driving you to the nearest gas station then you’ll be on your own.”

“Rules will still be broken.” He reminded.

“You wanna walk?” I asked threateningly.

He shrugged. “Do you have an umbrella?”

I looked at him. “You don’t have an umbrella?”

He smiled sheepishly and pointed at his soaked clothes. “Obviously.”

“Okay, well, I’m driving to the CVS Pharmacy. You can buy an umbrella there and then you’ll be on your own. How’s that? Two birds with one stone—gas and an umbrella for your car.”

He gazed at me. “Or you could give me your umbrella and you wouldn’t break any rules.”

“What if I want to break rules?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to turn you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He shrugged.

I smiled and locked the doors. “I’ll take my chances.”

He leaned back against the seat. “Suit yourself.”

I shook my head and returned to the road, carrying on toward the CVS.

“Are your really that reluctant to loan me your umbrella? I’d return it on Monday.” He debated.

“My umbrella is at home. The only umbrella in this car is my mom’s, and she’d have a fit if it wasn’t here when I returned the car.”

“And you’d rather lose your license than face your mom?”

“Oh my goodness, Josh! I’ll buy you a freakin’ umbrella! Just chill!”

He looked at me. “You’re the one freaking out.”

I exclaimed in frustration. “Sheesh!”

He laughed.

“Do find torturing me fun?”

He suddenly turned serious. “Nothing wrong with a little harmless teasing—especially if I get an umbrella out of it.”

I laughed. “You’re insane.”

He gazed out the window.

We didn’t speak the rest of the way. When I parked in the parking lot at CVS, we made a mad dash inside. Although I’m pretty sure my mom’s umbrella would have worked just fine. But whatever—it made Life interesting.

I told Josh to pick out an umbrella while I found the pepto bismol. No one else was in line, but I wasn’t eager to check out. Instead I stood looking at the different medicines, wondering if we needed anything else at home.

Josh came over, a bright blue umbrella in his hand. He looked at the pink bottle’s box.

“Aw, does Micky have a tummy ache?” He asked, sticking his lower lip out in a pout.

I smiled. “Not anymore. I did but when my mom went to give me some, she realized that we were all out. She almost came, but I was able to convince my parents to let me get this myself, with my newly acquired license and all.”

He nodded. “I see.”

I stood, looking at the medicine, for another minute.

“Shall we?” He asked. I nodded.

We walked to the check-out counter. We placed our items on the counter top simultaneously, but I was quicker on the draw, pulling out a ten dollar bill out of my wallet. I smiled at the cashier. I’m sure we were an odd sight—him dripping wet, me paying for an umbrella and medicine. The cashier said nothing.

I took the change and the pepto bismol. Josh took his umbrella. I gave him a couple minutes to make his umbrella useable. Together we hunkered under the blue umbrella’s reach.

Josh walked me to my car, holding the umbrella while I dug out my keys.

“So,” I began, gripping my keys tightly, “we okay now?”

His soft smile melted any contempt I may have felt toward him. He nodded. “We’re okay, Micky.”

I smiled. “Good. Thanks again for the tutoring.”

“No problem. Thanks for the umbrella.” He held the car door open as I got in my mom’s Honda.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, “Now every time you use that umbrella, you’ll thank me for keeping you dry.”

He laughed. “True. See you Monday, Micky.”

“See you Monday, Josh.”

He shut my door and watched me start the car and drive away. I kept grinning like an idiot all the ride home—life was starting to look brighter.