Simply put, I had not touched the steering wheel of a car since December of 2014 when I made my 2003 Mazda 6 nonexistent. Fortunately, the car was already crumbling and nothing happened to me aside from a mild shock, lots of tears, and a few insults coming from the owner of the Jaguar I hit. However, after that incident I completely lost all faith in my abilities to correctly operate any type of moving vehicle. Given my past experience, I trembled as I entered and sat on the driver’s seat of my boyfriend’s box looking car. I felt the stern and uninviting leather seat and the air conditioner blew ice cold wind sharply against my skin. The scent inside the car was a perfect mixture of expensive cologne and that typical new-car smell. As I extended my feet, I felt the hard touch of both pedals. I contemplated for a few minutes which was the break and which was the gas, and regretted asking my boyfriend for clarification as soon as I saw the alarmed look on his face. With much apprehension, I inserted the key and carefully twisted it until a mild tremor warned me the car had turned on. Worry took over my body and fear my soul. I feared history would repeat itself, except this time on a more expensive car and an already traumatized me.
By implementing deep breaths and sincere prayers, I managed to go out on the highway and begin what seemed to be the greatest odyssey of my life. The sky—crowded with chalky colorless clouds—gave off a foreboding atmosphere. There was no hint of blue, no ray of light. Rain was definitely coming and I just wished my fate wouldn’t be as gloomy. The soaring skyscrapers hovered over me as I made my way through the Financial District. A multitude of cars surrounded me in every direction possible. I felt swallowed by the congested roadway, trapped in an unescapable obstacle. Patience escaped me as I waited, continually switching my feet from the gas pedal to the break, going through faint heart attacks every time I found myself too close to another vehicle. When traffic finally started to move once again, I discovered I would have to switch lanes in order to arrive at my destination. My driving skills were anything but daring and as a result I was not able to invade my neighboring lane. The other cars were impatient and kept honking loudly at my lack of experience, confirming the typical characteristics I had previously heard about drivers in New York. At that moment, I immediately stopped the car, forced my boyfriend to switch seats with me and calmly told him my trial would resume on another day.
Hi Vitoria,
As someone who has more or less given up driving in the city, my initial reaction to this piece was alarm (driving in the Financial district?! No!). As a reader, though, I appreciated the construction of the piece, toggling between the exterior world and your own interior anxieties. The description of the chalky clouds stands out, in particular; they function as an emblem of the particular emotions at work here–nothing so dark as anguish or terror, but something milder, “chalkier”: foreboding, anxiety, self-doubt.
Good work.
Prof Kolb