Just Drive

Just Drive

I drove for the first time the other day.

My hands felt small on the steering wheel.

My foot felt heavy on the pedal.

Mom was in the passenger seat,

her knuckles turning white

and I heard her breath quicken.

It was a rough round around the parking lot,

but we survived.

I drove on El Camino the other day.

It was traffic hour.

The brakes were screaming,

and so was mom.

“BRAKE EARLIER!”

“LOOK OUT!”

“Mom I got this-“

“THAT CAR’S CHANGING LANES!”

She never really stops yelling, does she?

I drove on the highway the other day.

Cars zoomed by at 70 miles an hour

while my speedometer read 60.

I checked the rearview mirror,

I checked the side mirror,

I checked my blindspot,

and I switched into the next lane over.

“You’re doing it wrong!”

“Speed up next time.”

“Why are you driving so slow?”

Sometimes I wish my mom could slow down

to my pace

and see what could

possibly be going

through

my head,

and feel how fast

my heart

thumps in my chest.

Sometimes my mom would take control.

I’d be cruising and then she’d lean over

and grab the wheel

and she would be the one driving.

“Mom I got this.”

“No you don’t,

let me do it.”

Except

it wasn’t a choice

that I let her,

She just

did it.

Who’s really learning how to drive?

Me

Or you?

Did I ask for you to just

take over like that?

How do you expect me

to learn from

my mistakes

if you’re the one controlling the wheel?

When I need help,

I’ll ask.

Please just let me drive.