1996
Ernest sat in the passenger’s seat, waiting for traffic to clear enough for his daughter, Eliza, to pull out. It was probably a mistake taking her to drive in Kalamazoo so soon after getting her permit, but he thought it ridiculous that her driver’s ed class never had them drive in the city. And Lord knew, Eliza’s mother, Gretchen, wasn’t going to take her. Eliza has been sneaking around with Steve Brody, that no-good redneck tomcat. Gretchen’s words. And Gretchen would be damned if Eliza was going to get her license and a car to aid her in her poor decisions.
“There,” Ernest said. “That was a perfect break.” Traffic was heavy for a Sunday afternoon, but not that heavy. Eliza’s problem was that she didn’t seem to be able to gauge how fast cars were approaching. She sat there, all five feet five inches of her body rigid in her seat, her hands on the wheel at ten and two, her eyes so large that they pushed her eyebrows up into her furrowed forehead. She went long periods without blinking, and then her eyelids would flutter away the tears that were gathering in her drying eyes.
“There. Again,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Eliza said, with enough edge in her voice to let him know she was less sorry and more angry. He didn’t spend a lot of time with her these days, mostly just when she was fed up with her mother. She would get him to take her to the Soda Shoppe on Main Street, or the skating rink. Eliza didn’t seem to want to be in his house with him. A few years ago, she had always wanted to go to the Muylder Museum in Kalamazoo, but she’d outgrown even that when she was twelve. What to do with a sixteen-year-old? He’d thought driving lessons were the perfect way to spend time together.
“Try this,” he said. “Take a deep breath. Relax. Driving’s not that hard.”
In truth, Ernest couldn’t even remember learning to drive. At ten, he’d already been driving tractors in the fields of his parents’ farm, and he’d occasionally driven the truck on the dirt roads when he wanted to buy bait and go fishing. For him, the hardest part of driving had been unlearning the bad habits he’d picked up; he still had a hard time remembering to check his mirrors, and to use one foot for both the gas and the brake.
Eliza took a breath but still didn’t pull the car out of the lot.
His daughter was always nervous, had been ever since she was a child.
“Ready?” Ernest asked.
Eliza nodded, but she still didn’t step on the gas, couldn’t bring herself to join the rest of the driving world. When did she learn that the world was so scary? He first noticed her nervousness when he and Gretchen decided to divorce. Eliza was four. He’d blamed it on the fact that her life was being upended. He’d figured she’d get better when the divorce was over and she’d settled in with her mother, but her problems only grew worse in the years after, and were especially bad whenever she came to visit him. She’d be irritable and jumpy, and always had her fingers in her mouth. He could imagine that being in his house again, the house where they’d all lived as a family, brought up painful memories. He couldn’t help but think that the Section 8 apartments on the edge of town were a bad environment for her. If only he could get custody of Eliza, he could take her away from whatever it was that was bothering her. He’d tried, too. When that failed, he’d tried to get her to stay weekends with him, but she wouldn’t.
When Eliza still didn’t pull the car into traffic, Ernest tried a different tack. “Maybe we should start on something easier, work our way up to city driving.” He’d meant it as a threat, a way to goad her into action. He wanted to prepare Eliza for the world, wanted her to reach this milestone. For as much as he hated to admit it, River Bend wasn’t a place where Eliza would thrive. He knew that. She knew it. He’d heard her lament many times how much she hated this town, how she couldn’t wait to leave. He wanted to soothe her, so she could head off to college in a couple of years.
Part of Ernest didn’t want her to go—he didn’t understand why everyone was always pushing kids to go to college. He himself never graduated, had dropped out after two years, and he turned out fine. Another part of him, though, wondered if getting out in the world would help Eliza see how good she had it in River Bend. Either way, the least he could do for her was make sure she was strong enough to go. Especially because he doubted he’d be able to pay her way. But instead of taking the bait, Eliza put the car in park, right there in the driveway to the bank parking lot. She unfastened her seat belt, got out, and asked her father to drive. In the passenger’s seat, she kept her eyes fixed on her window, refusing to turn and look at him when he tried talking to her. In silence, she let him drive them both home.