ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Miriam N. Kotzin teaches literature and creative writing at Drexel University where she directs the Certificate Program in Writing and Publishing.  She writes both poetry and fiction, and in 2004 her poetry received two nominations for a Pushcart Prize.  Her fiction has appeared in many publications including The Pedestal Magazine, Carve, Fiction Warehouse, Thieves Jargon, Slow Trains and the Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.  She also writes fiction collaboratively with Bill Turner.  She is a contributing editor of Boulevard.

A few days after she turned sixteen, Penny’s mother took her for driving lessons. The driving school was a one-man operation, with a car set up with controls both on the driver’s side and the on the passenger side.  The teacher, whom everyone called Mr. P was supposed to be pretty good, in that his students all passed the state exam the first time around, even the parallel parking.  He’d go with his students to their test, and all the examiners knew him, and called him Nick, not Mr. P.

Penny’s mom drove her to Mr. P’s house where he kept the car. Mr. P offered the two of them some iced tea, and said, Mrs. P wasn’t home.  Penny had heard that there was no Mrs. P., but her mother didn’t contradict him, and the two of them followed him up two cement steps into a cool dark kitchen.  Penny stared up at the wood paneled wall where one of those black clocks that looked like a cat, swished a tail back and forth.  Mr. P. saw her staring and told her that the eyes used to look from left to right and back again, but they’d stopped working the year before, “Keeps good time, though.”  

He poured two glasses of tea from a yellow pitcher that he took out of the fridge. He put three ice cubes in each of two glasses, one for Penny and one for her mom. He didn’t have any himself.  “I don’t drink and drive,” he said, and he winked.

Penny’s mom laughed, but Penny didn’t see what was funny.

Penny held on to her glass of iced tea.  It didn’t have any sugar in it, but she didn’t want to ask. The glass was wet with condensation.  Her hands were already cold from being nervous.

She tilted the glass back and forth until the ice cubes made clinking sounds, and her mother frowned at her so she stopped.  She shifted her weight from one foot to another, wanting to get to the lesson, but her mom and Mr. P were talking. 

She looked at her legs.  They were just beginning to get tan, and she’d shaved them that morning.  She wore white socks and sneakers instead of sandals. She thought they looked funny with her shorts, but her mom had insisted, no sandals.

When she looked up, she saw Mr. P. staring at her legs.  “Sneakers,” he said, “good. Better than sandals.”

Penny’s mom looked pleased.  She’d finished her iced tea, and stood holding the glass with the melting ice cubes.

“OK, now” Mr. P said, “OK.”  He took Penny’s mom’s glass from her and set it on the table, then held his hand out for Penny’s glass.  “Not much for iced tea, are you? That’s OK.   It’s an acquired taste.” He paused and then he winked at Penny’s mom again.  “Lots of things are, isn't that right Mrs. Ricci?" Penny noticed that her mom din't laugh at this joke. She shrugged, th way she shrugged at home when she didn’t want to talk about something, but she didn’t want to start a fight either.

Mr.P set their glasses on the counter next to the sink.  Penny thought he could just as well have put them in the sink, but she knew it would be rude to say anything.

Mr. P told her mom that when the lesson was over he’d drive Penny home.  And then he stood, leaning against the counter where he’d put the glasses until Penny’s mom offered to pay him.  “OK,” he said, “OK now, that doesn’t have to be now.”

Penny’s mom closed her purse, and he added, “But if you want to, that’s OK.  Now or later it doesn’t matter. Now is good.”

Penny hoped his driving lessons would be easier to understand, but her mom understood and gave him a check, which he put on the table under the sugar bowl, “so it doesn’t blow away.”  Penny knew that was a joke because there was no breeze at all, not in the yard, not in the kitchen.

They all went out into the yard, and Mr. P. showed them both the car, and explained the two sets of controls.  Penny could tell from his voice and the way he went on and on that he was really proud of the car.  The two sets of controls were a big selling point for his lessons.  The car had a big sign on top of the roof, “STUDENT DRIVER.”  Penny remembered her dad joking when they saw that sign.  Now she was the one people would be laughing at.

“OK,” Mr. P said, “OK now, Let’s take this show on the road.”  He laughed at his joke and Penny wondered if he said it before every first lesson.  He opened the door for Penny and made an exaggerated bow.

Before Penny could get into the car her mom put her arms around her and gave her a big hug as though she were moving to Every girl she knew learned how to drive.  Still, she was nervous, and learning to drive was important, but not the sort of important for a hug like the one she was getting.

Mr. P. didn’t say anything, but instead of waiting for Penny to get into the car and closing the door for her, he walked around to the other side and got in, pulling his door shut  pretty hard, just shy of slamming it.  He leaned towards the driver’s side where Penny was still standing outside being hugged, “OK,” he said, “OK now. Let’s take this show on the road.”  This time he didn’t laugh.

Penny got into the car and pulled the door shut.  The window was down, and she waved and smiled at her mother, who was wiping away a tear. 

She wondered who would drive away first.  Then she realized that Mr. P. wasn’t going anywhere until her mom pulled out of the driveway.

The sun felt hot on her bare thighs.  Either Mr. P’s car had no air conditioning or it was broken.  Mr. P reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of chewing gum.  He pulled out a stick and unwrapped it.  “Quit smoking,” he explained.  He held the pack out to her, “Bet you can drive and chew gum at the same time,” he said.  He laughed.  Penny knew this was supposed to be a joke.  She didn’t think it was so funny, but she wanted to be polite, so she smiled.  Still she didn’t want the gum. 

“No thanks, Mr. P,” she said.

“Call me Nick,” he said. “OK, OK now?  Nick.”

As far as Penny knew, the only people who called Mr. P Nick were the men at the Driver’s Examination.  Even with the car windows down she could smell the Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum and an aftershave she knew was English Leather.  There was another smell in the car, too, but she didn’t recognize it.  She was glad the windows were open.

Penny smiled and nodded, but she didn’t use his name.  “Let’s get this show on the road,” she said, hoping he would like it if she used his words.  She didn’t want to make him mad when they were just starting.

Mr. P turned toward her.  “OK, OK now, you look at me and see how my hands are on the steering wheel. “We call this position, ten and two, like the hands on a clock.”

Penny saw his hands gripping the wheel.  He wore a yellow polo shirt, and his arms were covered with curly dark hair.  Even his fingers had hair on the knuckles. Dark hair curled out of the V of his open collar.  She hadn’t noticed before.

“Put your hands on the steering wheel, ten and two,” he said. 

Penny followed his instruction, but he shook his head, and placed his hand over her right hand and moved it down the wheel. “Not at one, at two.”

For a moment she was afraid he was going to reach across her body and move her other hand, too. He couldn’t do that without brushing against her chest.  But he just said, “Move your left hand down a couple of inches, kiddo.”

He told her how to use the pedals, went on about signals, mirrors, all the things she’d studied in driver’s ed.  He even gave her “the instrument of death” speech about driving.  Penny wondered who’d started that speech, thinking that it was a pretty stupid idea.

“OK, OK now.  Let’s get this show on the road,” he said.  “Check your gear, turn the key, give it some gas, and don’t forget to steer.”

The rolled slowly out of his driveway.   Penny was glad he lived in the country and that there wasn’t much traffic here, and she was glad that she didn’t have to start by backing out into the road.  He must have read her mind because he said that next time they’d practice backing.  She thought his saying “we’ll practice” instead of “you’ll practice” was right out of the driving teacher’s handbook.

He explained how one principle was to keep your eyes where you want to go, not where you don’t want to go.  It sounded like he was telling her how to live, not how to drive, but she knew he was just talking about the road.  He sounded like the preacher when he said it, as though it was the most important thing in the world.

She thought it was kind of tricky, too, like telling you not to think about a purple cow. 

The road was deserted at this time of day so Penny didn’t have to worry about traffic, just maintaining a steady speed and staying in lane.  After a while she glanced over at him and saw he was staring at her.  She was surprised, because she thought with his controls and all, he’d be watching the road, not her. His hands weren’t on his steering wheel either. 

“Keep your eyes on the road, OK,” he said.  “On the road, OK now, and where you want to go, not where you don’t.  Look at the road, not at the big trees along side the road.”

His right arm rested on his door in the space of the open window.  His left arm stretched out so that it was on the top of her seat.

Even though while they were moving, a breeze came in the window, Penny could still smell his aftershave and that other smell she didn’t know.

“Your hair is in your eyes,” he said.

It was, too, the wind had blown it there.  She hadn’t thought of that when she combed her hair. She could have put it in a ponytail. A lock of hair fell over her eyebrow into her eye.

“That’s a distraction from driving, kiddo,” he said. 

She lifted her hand from the wheel.  “Keep your hands on the wheel.”  He leaned over and brushed his finger tips, over her face, tucking the stray lock behind her ear. “That’s better, isn’t it?”  he asked.  His voice was soft.  It didn’t sound anything like the driving instructions he’d been giving her.

Before she could answer, she saw a yellow jacket flying around in the front of the car.  It flew up and bumped against the inside of the windshield.  Penny didn’t mind honeybees, but she didn’t like yellow jackets. They were mean, she thought. 

She tried to keep her eyes on the road, but she also watched the yellow jacket.  She wondered what Mr. P would do about the yellow jacket.  Mr. P kept his hand on the back of her seat.  She thought she felt his fingers on the side of her neck.  The yellow jacket circled down and landed on her thigh.  She was still driving, but slower.

She kept her eyes on the road, the yellow jacket on her thigh, so light that if she hadn’t seen it land she might not have felt the slightest tickle of its feet landing.  And Mr. P hadn’t moved his hand, she was sure. It was probably her imagination, thinking his hand was on her neck. He probably hadn’t noticed the yellowjacket on her thigh.  She didn’t want his hand on her thigh. And she kept her eyes mostly on the road, knowing that she was going to be stung.  And she was.  It hurt, but she knew she had to keep control of the car, no matter what.  Eyes where she wanted to go, not where she didn’t.

Slowly she pulled over onto the sandy shoulder of the road and stopped.  She smacked the yellowjacket, squishing it dead, her open palm slapping her thigh with a sharp sound. Mr. P gave a long low whistle.  His breath still smelled like the sweet gum, and with the car stopped, his aftershave and that other smell made Penny dizzy.  Or maybe it was the heat.  She flicked the dead insect off her thigh. It hit the ashtray and fell to the floor.  Her hands were shaking, but she felt strong.

“I think it’s time to go home,” she said, “I think this lesson is over.”  She leaned forward and turned on the radio to the rock station she liked.   It was news, now, and she didn’t want to sit through it so she turned it off.    She knew she was being rude and she didn’t care.  He wouldn’t dare say anything bad to her mother. If she felt like it later, maybe she’d tell on him. Her leg hurt where she’d been stung.

“Let’s take this show on the road,” she said, not wanting to please him, but for the fun of it.  She’d put on baking soda or something on the sting when she got home. 

Mr. P looked at his watch and at the dashboard clock.  “OK,” he said, “OK now. Let’s take this show on the road.”  She wondered if he’d heard her, whether he knew what he was saying or whether it was all habit, even his arm across the back of her seat. Then he added,  “Think you can do a U turn here? Penny nodded, looked both ways, and turned the car.  She leaned on the gas pedal, and as she drove, the air from the pine woods filled the car. She drove the limit all the way home, never looking again even once at all the places she knew she didn’t want to go.