Courtney says, We can turn this around. In April the snow melts and Noah gets a 90 on his vocabulary test. Courtney says, You see? He’s gonna be okay. Everything will be fine and more than that, it will be great. Also, choose joy. Sam looks at her, like Make me.
Then Courtney says, “I’ve had enough out of you.”
“What did I do?”
“That’s the whole point. You don’t do anything!”
A lot of times after work, Courtney just lies down on the couch, but if Sam lies down, her mom says, What are you hoping to do with your life? What’s your plan? Please tell me.
Saturday, when Courtney and Noah come home from hockey, Courtney looks at Sam, who is just sitting in a chair. “It’s a beautiful day, Sam. What are you doing?” Then when Sam doesn’t answer, her mom says, “Okay, come with me.”
“Where?” Sam says distrustfully.
“Nowhere,” Courtney says. “I’m teaching you to drive.”
“What?” shouts Noah, because Sam doesn’t have a learner’s permit, even though she’s seventeen. The reason is her mom has been too stressed to teach her.
But now Sam hurries after Courtney and her brother is jumping around the living room and cheering. It’s like the old days; he thinks she’s a celebrity.
Even when they get down to the parking lot beneath the building, Sam can’t believe her mom is letting her sit in the driver’s seat. Courtney hands her the keys.
“First lesson. A car is a lethal weapon. One false move. One. Just one second you don’t pay attention, and you’ve murdered someone, or you’re dead. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Second of all, this is the brake. Put your foot on it. Go ahead. Now turn the key.”
Sam inserts the car key and turns it gently, so the old car sputters.
“No, turn it like you mean it!”
Sam turns the key and the engine roars, extra loud in the belowground parking area. “Now what?”
“Turn it off.”
It takes Sam a second to realize it, but the lesson is over. No way is her mom going to let her pull out, because she would hit the other parked cars and they would all need body work.
For Sam’s next lesson, they go to a big empty parking lot by the old middle school where she can’t hit anything. Then Sam inches forward slowly and backs up while she’s looking behind her. It’s weird and scary and amazing, operating a lethal weapon, even if her mom barely lets her move. “Slowly, slowly, turn the wheel hand over hand. Little movements, Sam. WHOA! Be GRADUAL.”
“Are you okay?” Sam asks her mom.
Every weekend, her mom takes her out and sometimes during the week as well. In May, Courtney lets Sam ease onto the road, where Sam learns to wait for traffic and then turn.
“This is a stop sign, that means STOP,” her mom yells as Sam hits the brakes. “Jesus, Sam. Never do that! You stop gradually.”
“I didn’t see the sign.”
“You always have to see the sign!”
“Okay, okay.”
“Now, here’s what you do if you want to turn. Full stop and then you creep forward a tiny bit, so you can see cars coming. You know why I’m teaching you all this?”
“Why?” Sam asks as she drives slowly, slowly up Washington Street.
“Because driving is freedom. Turn on Cabot AFTER the stop.”
Even though Sam practices for hours, she pisses off the guy testing her. His badge says Trent Dickson, and he is small with glasses, and he fastens his seatbelt and adjusts his chair like he’s in the cockpit of a fighter jet and he might not come back alive. He says, “When it’s safe, pull out and merge.”
He’s got a Staples clipboard in his lap, and Sam says, “That’s the exact same one my mom has.” She is just nervous, thinking aloud. Big mistake.
“It’s not the exact same,” Dickson explodes. “Either it’s the same or it’s different. It’s not the exact same.”
Sam grips the wheel.
“It’s an absolute, so don’t try to augment it! The same or not. The exact same is incorrect. Unique or not. Very unique is incorrect. When it’s safe, turn left onto Rantoul.”
Instantly, Sam turns left.
“STOP,” screams Dickson.
They are in the intersection and oncoming cars are honking.
“I said when it’s safe. Left turn yields.”
Sam knew that! She knew it perfectly, but he scared her.
They return to testing headquarters.
“You would have caused an accident,” Dickson informs her as he fills out her test report FAILED.
After the test, Sam won’t drive home. She lets her mom take her.
When they get there Noah nearly jumps on them as they open the door. “Did you get it?”
Sam doesn’t answer.
“He’s just an asshole,” Courtney tells Sam on the couch that night. “He looked like a pervert. Seriously. Even his name. Dickson? People like that correct everybody’s grammar, but they’re always watching porn. We’ll go to Salem next time, so you won’t get him.”
“Noooo.”
“Oh, stop,” her mom says. “Get back on the horse! Take a good look at all the morons on the road. At some point they passed their road test.”