May 18, 1996
Mom and I went out driving again, with me behind the wheel. I’d been driving her little Hyundai for a few weeks, learning for my driver’s license since I’d turned sixteen. She was surprised at how well I could drive, telling me I was a natural.
We wouldn’t have any money to buy me a car until after I got a job. Even then, that was unlikely to happen anytime soon, but at least I could get my license. Mike had already gotten his, and Laura was practicing like I was though only Mike would have a car. It wasn’t actually his but his brother’s, who’d left it while stationed over in Korea, but he was letting Mike drive it. It was a cool ride, an eighties Firebird with a T-top and a good stereo—perfect for cruising in the summertime when the weather was nice. Finals were next week, then I’d be home free for the summer.
The thing that bothered me about driving Mom’s Hyundai was the car itself—it gave me a sense of dread about my accident approaching in roughly seven months. Most of the events of the other timelines had ghosted out, so I could barely remember them, or if I did recall something, I got confused about what had actually happened. But the accident was one thing carved in stone—I always remembered that as clear as day, at least up until the crash. After that, everything got hazy for a few months.