driver's license
like an angel out the sky mami irma came into my life
i feel a soft hand caress my arm. i remember where i am: my godmother, irma’s house, for the test. she paid and booked the appointment. she’s already made breakfast so i can shower, eat, brush my teeth, and then be driven to the test. i know this routine. my brother did it last year because mami irma doesn’t want us to be like our uncles.
stunted men who never left the nest, adults without employment, education, a drivers license. i won’t be like them because i’ve prepared. i’ve memorized all the laws and regulations and, i’m even wearing a tie to the drivers exam. last night i practiced on my godmother’s vehicle how to parallel park and synchronized my good day playlist to my ipod because after i get the license, i’m driving my friends to chilis to celebrate! i can’t wait to be an adult!
the written part the drivers test is easy because my dad knows the owner of the driving school. and he told me to mark b for all responses and he’d give me a passing score.. this is the blessing of having my dad, either by charm, personality, or just his condition, but we get people to simply life for us.
it’d be a travesty if i hadn’t passed. my dad taught me how to drive early.
he’s in a wheelchair. for most if not all my childhood, there were barely ramps let alone handicap parking spots. this is the 90s. don’t let this cute face fool ya, i am 36. so i’d have to move the car back and forth when we’d get to the pharmacy. and sometimes the gas tank is on the other side. it’s 11 pm. there’s no one around and it takes my dad so much time and energy to get in and out of the car so hey luisito, i’ll tell what to do. you’ll be fine. and i was! always! because when i crashed the side mirror or got into a little bender fender with a parked car, my dad didn’t say anything.
on the way to the test all the preparation goes out the window and i become anxious and nervous because in this section of san juan, the power’s out for now so no street lights. plus morning traffic. plus… puerto ricans… who are always late which means. we drive. like maniacs. we don’t respect street signs so at an interception a guy would be like NO ME VAS A DAR PASO CABRONA?! and a woman would respond like LA CHOCHA MIA HIJOEPUTA
i’m every woman, it’s all in me sings whitney houston when we park at the dmv. mami irma gives me a kiss, money, and reminds me to keep both hands on the wheel. in about 20 mins, i’m going to be the sexiest almost 18 year old with a drivers license and plans for the night..
i’m the first one at the dmv and immediately i’m taken by yolanda, the drivers examiner, into the provided toyota for the exam. i say hello and extend my hand. she’s tall for a puerto rican so about 5’3. likely in her 40s. she smells like caramel donuts and a second cup of coffee.
i get into the blue toyota and enact all the regulations i’ve memorized:
i do not turn on the radio first thing! instead, i adjust the drivers seat to make sure i’m the right distance from the petals. i put on the seatbelt and adjust the rearview mirror instead of starring at my beautiful reflection. i ask ms. yolanda if she’s ready and she doesn’t say anything. instead she pouts her dry lips and points the finger at the road as if to mean go.
i take off and she’s assorting papers, trying to find the grading sheet, without letting go of the coffee in her hands.
we drive into a red light. dead silence. i’m doing great!
i know this is part of the test so i’m doing all the things i learned yesterday like maintaining a safe distance and yielding to other vehicles.
second red light. dead silence. and now i’m in my head questioning if i’m driving too fast?? am i driving too slow? and i realize i’m anxious and why am i anxious? i don’t know but here’s what i know, my hands are sweaty and i’m holding onto the wheel like she’s the mother i’ve always needed.
third light, she tells me to turn left after the next one. let’s hope it’s green!!!!!! i say with a lot of enthusiasm and still, nothing from yolanda. now i’m panicking. does she not like me? have i failed? i hear my dad’s voice in my head saying, “luisito, vas a estar bien.” and so i return to my body, my sweaty hands, dead silence.
we get to an empty street where the challenging part of the exam is to take place. paralel parking. i wish i could tell you i was nervous about it. but. i get in smoothly into tight spots like cocoa butter after a great shower. babyyyy. did i tell you my dad’s in a wheelchair? i’ve been driving since i was 7. i can drive with my knees. with my eyes closed. i can drive without using my feet! piece of cake.
there’s orange cones in rectangular shapes simulating the cars i gotta park in between and this bitch aces! i’m ecstatic and see yolanda taking notes, surely writing how effortless i’d done. but what she tells me is,
“it’s all good. let’s drive back. make a u-turn here.”
so i do… and in the process… we are struck… by the sidewalk i crash into when making said u-turn. immediately i turn into my father and pretend it didn’t happen.
but yolanda tells me to pull over. she tells me i’m not qualified to be driving anymore.
i feel my chest fall to my feet. my sweaty hands are shaking. my eyes are watering. my heart is breaking.
i start crying and forget how to operate my ligaments to move my joints and get out of the car. tears, snot, is dripping down my face like my name is viola davis and now it’s intensifying. it, the realization of fear. failing this exam. failing college, failing my life! oh. my god. i've become a failure, like everybody in my family.
yolanda hands me a tissue and asks why i’m not taking it and tell her I CANT TAKE MY HANDS OFF THE WHEEL I’LL FAIL. BUT I ALREADY DID SO WHAT AM I DOING?
i start laughing hysterically at my dramatic emotional breakdown and so does yolanda.
she tells me to calm down. i get a 70. i pass.
