Driving Ms. Jaime

I thought I'd be at least fifty years old before I found myself nervously waiting for my baby to finish his driver's test.

But there I was, sitting next to a middle-aged man and his tiny granddaughter while my thirty-year-old husband, who's been driving since the age of 18, circled downtown with a smokin' examiner.

He was waiting for his wife, so we felt each other. The conversation eventually turned to the detention center across the street. "Man, that's a bad, bad place," he said. My white privilege answered, "Yeah, I wouldn't want to work there!" I'm no fool, I watch OTNB. "Well, I wouldn't want to be there again." Dammit. I'm a fool.

Jaime pulled up right as a bunch of former guests were being released out onto the sidewalk. I guess one could describe the atmosphere as euphoric. Jaime's hot cop assumed that he was afraid of them, but he explained to her that he was just startled by the excitement. I think it was because his nerves were totally shot.

For months, we'd been talking about his license, and for weeks, he'd been driving me crazy about it.
"How exactly would you describe this sign?"
Stop.
"Mmm-hmm. And what exactly are they going to ask me at all times?" 
I don't remember. I was 15.
"Unacceptable."

I'd been doing most of the driving for months. He has a Spanish liscense, as well as an international driving permit, but the United States is better than every country combined, so we were worried about him being pulled over with foreign documents.

I was so proud of my giant baby when he happily bounded out of our giant Buick, though I really shouldn't have been because of course the man can drive a damn car. I was also excited that he was going to stop peppering me with questions he already knew the answers to, but I was mostly excited that he'd be driving a lot more.

False.

Now it's, "Oh god! We're in his blind spot! Pass! Pass!" or "This guy is not giving me the proper three seconds! He's eating my ass right up!"

My husband might be a neurotic driver, but he's also a great one. Therefore, I'm happy to splay out in the passenger seat when he lets me because we still argue over who has to drive much to my chagrin.

I am a passenger.  (link)