12. Then
Then: October 24th
W hen I’d first turned fifteen Dad had been quick to offer to teach me how to drive. Mom wanted to be the one to practice with me, but eventually gave in, as if she understood how little time Dad and I spent with one another. So on my fifteenth birthday, a year ago, Dad took me out for my first drive.
I’d been nervous but eager to get behind the wheel. Several people at school already had cars just “waiting” to legally drive them. I’m pretty sure most of my classmates were already driving around our small, rocky town of Atlas Creek.
Driving came easily for me. Which was a relief to both parents, because learning to drive around curving roads and thick snow in the winter isn’t for everyone. None of it seems to phase me. Mom never practices with me, it's always been Dad. It’s the one thing we do together, and I enjoy it. He promised as soon as I pass my driver’s test that he’ll get me a car of my own. Mom never says much whenever I mention it, so I mostly just discuss it with Dad.
It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but it’d be a lot safer than Mom’s little red Coupe that she’s had since she’d turned sixteen. Needless to say, it’s a bit dated. Whenever Dad is home, we always go out in his 4-wheel drive Jeep Wrangler. I have a feeling he plans to get me something similar.
But he’s the last person I want to think about right now. I want to think about anything else. College, cute boys in my class (there aren’t many), books, or puppies. I am not an animal person, but right now thinking about puppies sounds nice.
Today though, I don’t have the option to choose a vehicle. Despite being sixteen, I don’t have my license yet. There is only Mom’s car, and despite the warning flags that my brain is trying to signal my way, I ignore them and pull out onto the street. I don’t plan to drive very far, just long enough to blow off some steam, and then I’ll circle back home.
I drive slowly, not because I don’t feel comfortable in her tiny car, but because the color red on a Mini Coupe doesn’t exactly “blend in.” Especially around here. Nobody around here has a car like this. Mom’s too proud to give it up, and frankly, I’m not sure we can afford to own new cars.
I’m not sure which way Dad comes home, but I’ll do my best to avoid him and try not to worry about it too much. Maybe I’ll even beat him home and won’t have anything to worry about. Mom can just tell him what she told me, and he’ll understand why I needed to get out. After all, he’s the one to blame. If I’m late for dinner, I can just eat the leftovers in my room. Mom always makes plenty.
I stop at the stop sign and turn left this time. Every other street I go right, then I make a left, then another right. I know every single street and recognize a handful of our neighbors, so I won’t have any trouble making my way back home. I didn’t think to check the forecast, but there’s not currently any snow on the ground. Besides, the skies appear to be clear—not a cloud in sight.
I’m nearing the next street when I notice someone coming outside towards me. It’s a young girl heading to the mailbox to check the mail. She sees me paused in the road and smiles a crooked, questioning grin at me, asking “do I know you” with her expression alone.
She’s not anyone I recognize. She walks over to her mailbox, it’s bright red and matches the car I’m driving. I shouldn’t be so mesmerized by this stranger, yet I can’t seem to put my foot on the gas to move. Nobody is behind me yet, and I bring my hand up slowly to wave to her. She surprises me by waving back, the other hand full of today’s mail. Then, in the blink of an eye, she’s gone. She vanishes into the house full of lights, and from the tiny sliver of my cracked open window, I can hear talking and laughter.
She didn’t close the front door all the way, and I eased my foot on the gas, slowly inching forward. Before I head back home, I notice a guy appear in the doorway. He’s older than the girl but doesn’t look old enough to be her dad. He sees me staring from across the street, and before I can duck my head down and drive away, he smiles the same smile as the girl. He slowly closes the front door, cutting me off from the warmth within.
My heart aches with a longing to hear echoes of laughter sneaking out the cracks of an open front door. Our front door. But I don’t return home to illuminated windows or laughter creeping beneath the cracks. I return to silence. Which I suppose is better than my parents fighting again, but the silence does something to me.
It leaves me feeling hollow, like broken promises and unsigned papers titled Divorce .
With Mom’s car parked next to Dad’s in the garage, I make my way through the stillness of our home. I don’t pass either parent on my way to my room, and I go to bed without eating dinner.
I close my eyes and dream about the family I wish were mine.