ONE WAY STREET

Seventeen and holding the wheel, elated to be driving underage and finally feeling in control of something, little did I know I was about to surrender control for many decades to come. You trust your driving 'instructor', right? Yet, the signs were all there, a clandestine drive at three am was only that because I was underage, or so I thought. Actually, it was that AND a sign of many years to come of my being kept a secret, or, more precisely, my 'special friendship' with my instructor being kept a secret, by him.

As he directed me to turn into a narrow, dimly lit, one-way street I noted the fifteen miles per hour speed limit sign, quickly checking my speed limit to be thirteen miles per hour, precisely the years younger I was than he. I remarked the eerie emptiness of the street, perfect 'we' wouldn't be seen. I threw in a gear change...just because I could, you know. Cue Instructor grumbling, because 'he' hadn't told me to do that. Cue ignored, the plan was to do it again asap, just because I could!

The spattering of parked cars defied me to scrape their shiny paint jobs, I ignored their challenge, noting only that they were all parked there where stood yellow No Parking markings. It wasn't those law breakers who would dictate to me! No Parking should have meant something to them, and to me, as in, 'this' is not a place to remain. Years later it did dawn on me that 'there' was not a place to have remained.

A cat suddenly bolted from behind the trash bins and past my advancing thirteen-ish miles per hour, no panic, no braking, I figured it knew what it was doing. Instructor berated me for a full minute, then switched that to calling the cat everything but a cat. Why all the venom, I thought, wasn't it only a cat doing cat? Another missed cue.

We slowly began a downward slope, the seventeen year old in me couldn't help but to begin braking use the gear stick, you know, like they do in the action movies. Oops...Instructor crisis, again, 'he' hadn't told me to do that, either! Crisis ignored, I slowly began applying the brakes, with every intention of stopping front wheels precisely ON the white line...I was determined to show that I was good at this driving thingy. Nailed it...ANOTHER Instructor crisis, "the white line is the limit to where the car should extend!". Fair point, but I didn't feel moved to reverse a few inconsequential feet...

Then there was that BIG, red STOP sign, another clue! Not placing any metaphorical meaning to it, after checking that there was no on-coming traffic, I advanced directly across the boulevard into the continuing one-way street. As I noticed a few groupings of 'night ladies', I hear Instructor issue a loud sigh, "you should have turned onto the boulevard" he says. Ah, that's right, we were to avoid being seen at all cost...too late. As I inch past the night ladies, Instructor leans out of his window and greets them with a warm and smiling, yet formal, "good evening", and immediately beyond their earshot Instructor begins a tirade of moralising concerning their presence, and the reason for it. I was too busy verifying my speedometer to have noted both the hypocrisy and judgement going on there. But I should have...

Feeling a well-deserved boost of superiority, Instructor begins to loudly talk about, well, him. I quietly mention to him that he should wind his window up, I having noted the Quiet Zone signage. A quick flick of the hand and Instructor has dismissed rules as being for other people, certainly not for him! He continues rambling...more missed signs.

Instructor then advised me to take a left at the end of the road followed by an immediate right turn, he is "hungry" and wants to "grab a bite" at KFC. I love KFC, I knew where KFC was, I knew that second right turn was not the most direct route to KFC. I pointed this out to Instructor, crisis again, certain that I was incorrect and that 'he' knew' best. Okay, I eventually took that right turn, placating as always. Instructor is now in a sulk, I "dared" question his word? The Children Playing sign was glaring at me! A sulk, however, which was not impeded by his careful scrutiny of EVERY car parked along that street, which I quietly noted. It was only years later that I would realise that stalking, of which I was to be subject too, was not beyond his capacities, he 'knew' someone who lived on that street, hence the detour, and therein the manipulation. Sigh.

We come to the end of the street and Instructor informs me that he is no longer hungry, "but I am" I say. He responds, "you can eat something once you are back at home". Okay!

Total silence until I pull up "a few streets away" from my parents home. We say goodnight and I, feeling totally deflated, yet unsure why, made my way home. And this pattern of behaviour was to continue for the next forty-five years, because 'damaged' is willing to accept "damaging" as normal behaviour. Now I pay attention to the signs, ALL of them!