or when you take a drive(ing lesson).
it'd been three months since i had last taken to the road for a lesson. such a long time that for a few moments, i forgot which pedal did what.
we drove for about an hour, my anxiety running high from my stepfather's strange means of teaching. he'd yell "STOP" at the top of my lungs so i would slam on the brake, would tell me i was hitting the cars (despite being alone in the lot) in the parking spots.
and then he told me to park next to one of the only cars in the massive parking lots around the church.
"no no no," i repeated over and over to myself. "it's a no from me."
i knew i had to figure it out eventually, and that this was my best shot.
i was freaking the fuck out the entire time, maneuvering the truck so that i 1. didn't hit the car, and 2. didn't screw up the parking job.
thirty seconds of racing heart syndrome later, i was sitting straight in a parking spot, neither car harmed, and i was LIVING.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
