Driving

Driving

It was nineteen seventy-seven, newly married, we were traveling to Florida by car to visit my husband’s favorite Aunt. We had had some car trouble half way down. He hadn’t wanted to tell Aunt Connie when he spoke to her on the phone, for fear she’d worry. So instead he decided we could drive late that night, before we stopped for the night, to make up the difference.

He had intended to do all the driving, even though I was certainly capable of driving, he just wanted to please me. He knew I wasn’t really fond of driving. I drove out of necessity, not out of joy. But of course, I would be willing to drive some, to make my new husband happy.

Of course, coming from Massachusetts to Florida we were not on the kind of roads I was used to. Matter of fact, what we were driving on wasn’t even called a road, it was called a freeway. I had never driven on a freeway. It was early evening when this idea came up. He was tired already, could I possibly drive for “a little while” while he got a quick nap? Of course!

It was just starting to get light when he finally woke up. I had been driving all night. The story he tells is: There I was, eyes, wide as saucers, staring at the road ahead, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, driving in the middle lane, at thirty miles an hour as all the other cars drove around me! Everyone laughs and laughs.

It would be funnier to me if it wasn’t true. Forty-three years later, and I still don’t like to drive.