[[Still A Girly Girl: C'est La Vie]]

Apr 16, 2005

C'est La Vie

"See? I'm not a terrible driver, am I?"

"No, except for that first turn."

I swatted at him and he kissed me. I had parked perfectly between the lines at the supermarket and I'm almost positive that I could hear my sister's V6 Grand Prix whispering, "Let's go somewhere that I can really show you how it feels to be free."

Having two of my favorite people at my dinner table I was on an emotional high. I just felt good, happy. The steaks were great, but my sister wanted to get 'fucked up'. I volunteered to be designated driver, eager for more time behind the wheel of the nicest vehicle I will drive for probably a number of years.

"Turn the wheel hard," she said.

As I followed her direction, my steering was blocked by my wallet, which I had forgotten was in the front pouch of my sweatshirt. I took my foot off of the accelerator and tugged at my pocket, forgetting to move my foot to the brake.

"Go," she said, grabbing the steering wheel and cranking it toward her.

Distracted by my wallet, bombarded by her instruction, I pressed down on the pedal. My intention was to stop the car and clear my lap.

"Whoa. Whoa!" He shouted from the back seat. I didn't even feel the car reversing, or see the darkened street speeding past my window. The 25 feet of road between us and the other side slipped beneath the tires in an instant before the sound of metal scraping metal made my foot find the brake.

We were jammed up against the neighbor's Mercury Sable and I crawled over the console, all of my good mood dropped out with the bottom of my stomach.

The neighbor's fender was scraped and dented, but my sister's car was heartier and came away with only a few scratches, transferred silver paint, and a cracked taillight.

I was frozen, with my hands over my mouth, as I watched them inspect the damage and decide to not wake the elderly couple at 11:30, but leave a note instead.

I cried in the bathroom until he came to comfort me, and my sister wanted more than ever to get fucked up on $2 rum and cokes. Still dazed I climbed into the back seat of the car, only to open the door again as she started the engine.

"I'm just going to stay here," I choked, starting to cry again, and feeling stupid for having crashed the car my sister bought only a month ago.

He comforted me some more and I went to bed. My first instinct when I feel bad is to go to sleep and hope that I will be better when I wake up.

When my phone rang, her name on the display, I almost silenced the ringer and ignored the call, but I decided that feeling sorry for myself wouldn't do me any good, and she probably only wanted to see if I was okay.

"Did I ever tell you about when I did almost the same thing to Grandpa's truck?" She asked over the din of the bar crowd.

"When I was 14 or 15 Grandma let me drive Grandpa's truck. This was when it was still brand new.

"She had me drive down the driveway and back twice before she told me to pull into her neighbor's carport. I got confused, and instead of pressing on the clutch, I pressed on the gas. I hit a 4"x4" support beam. Grandpa freaked out."

I started sniffling again, amazed and thankful that she was being so gracious and understanding, hoping the neighbors would be so nice.

"Don't worry about it; it happens to everyone. Do you remember when I hit that Mustang on Capitol Hill?"

I remembered. She was only 19 or so, and she was mortified when she backed into it. It was the newest model, and my sister has always had a certain reverence for Mustangs. To her, hitting one was devastating. The woman was nice and never called her about the scrape.

"Don't stress about it," she said. I could hear mom in the background, laughing at someone.

"It happens to everyone."

Posted by erynthenerd @ 12:05 PM

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