June flash #2 - "Backseat Driver"

It’s all worked out. I graduated high school two weeks ago, and I’m spending the summer getting ready for college.

Get a summer job, buy a car, pick my first semester classes, find a place to live, get a part-time job I can fit around my college schedule. I keep a list on my phone of all the steps, so when I start to think it’s too much, that I can’t cope, I look at the list and remember, it’s one step at a time.

Oh. And first step is my driver’s license.

I booked the first available slot. Monday morning, half after eight. I get to the Drivers Services Center with twenty minutes to spare. I’m using Dad’s Subaru for the test.

He smiles at me in the passenger seat and says, “If you pass, Debbie, you can drive us to IHOP for a celebratory breakfast.”

I smile back. I don’t love pancakes like I used to, but what’s better than the promise of a stack of buttermilk pancakes? Getting my father to co-sign on a car loan.

To be honest, it’s my father who needs to buy a new car. He’s had the Subaru Forester since just before I was born. Mom likes to tell me how excited he was getting that car with his baby girl on the way.

Well, it’s time for a change. I’m moving out, and Dad can get a new car. He can buy me one at the same time, if he’s feeling extra-generous, ha-ha.

“Ready?” asks Dad.

I nod. “Guess so.”

He reaches into the glovebox and pulls out a pack of antibacterial wipes.

I wonder briefly, trivially, if he’s turning into a germaphobe, but before I can tease him, he reaches over and wipes at my face.

“Hey,” I protest.

“You got something on ya,” says Dad.

Maybe I do, but the wipe is cold, it’s wet, and I don’t appreciate being treated like a…

Like a…

I’m not here. I’m somewhere else. Somewhere floaty. Dad tells me that I’m sleepy, that I need to take a nap, and so I do. I close my eyes and even as I float, I can feel him hold me, pick me out of the drivers seat. And I’m not stupid. I do wonder how he picks me up so easily, like I weigh next to nothing.

I open my eyes and Dad’s driving. I look at the back of his head.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

But I sound weird. Weh wee goan?

Dad understands. He’s not stupid. He’s smart.

He looks at me in the rearview, grins. “Silly girl. We’re going to IHOP, like Daddy promised! Gonna fill you up with pannycakes!”

I kick my legs. I love pancakes. But it’s weird; I’m wearing sandals, and that’s not good for…

Not good for what? For the summer? Sandals are perfect for the summer.

Not good for something.

I put a finger in my mouth and immediately feel better. There. I can focus. I look down at my legs. They’re so skinny. I’m wearing pink shorts. Shorts that are too short. But it’s okay; if it weren’t okay, Dad would say so. He never lets me leave the house wearing inap…ina…bad clothes.

“Dad, I got pink shorts,” I say, the finger still in my mouth. Dah-dee, uh goh pink shohs.

Dad nods. “You sure do. You look so pretty, I bet maybe the IHOP folks will want to give you free pannycakes!”

I giggle, kick my legs some more. Dad’s just kidding. Pancakes aren’t free. Whenever we go there, when we’re done eating, Daddy goes to the counter and takes out his brown wallet and pays the lady.

That all makes sense. But when I see the buckle between my legs, I suck on my finger extra hard. Because my seatbelt is the kind little kids have, and I see that I’m in a car seat for little kids. Because I’m…

I pout. “Daddy, I wanna drive.”

Daddy laughs. “Silly girl, you’re not allowed! Only grown-ups get to drive the car.”

I frown. This isn’t right. I’m not calling Daddy a liar, but it’s not right. I pull at the buckle and then push at the red button. It should let me out, but I can’t push it right.

Because I’m not smart. Because I’m just a little kid.

I shake my head, and my hair swishes back and forth. Daddy likes putting my hair in pigtails. Piggytails. He says they’re perfect for pretty little girls. He says I should say this size forever, because I’m perfect, because I’m…

“Daddy!” I swing my legs extra hard.

“What, honey?”

I suck on my finger and then it slips from my mouth as I shout, “I gotta take a test! So I can drive!” Which is true. Which will fix everything. I just have to take my special test and then I’ll be right back where I-

“You can’t drive, sweetheart, not for a long time. But you can keep an eye out for the IHOP sign. You can be my special backseat driver.” The car slows down and Daddy points towards the strip of stores on my side. “Can you do that, Debbie? Can you be Daddy’s backseat driver?”

I look out the window and see a blue sign with a red curly thing underneath, like a happy red smile.

“Daddy! I see it, Daddy!”

Daddy turns his head, and he nods. “You sure do!” He turns the car into the lot. “You’re such a smart girl.”

It’s true. I’m such a smart girl. And I wait for Daddy to fix my buckle so we can go have pannycakes.

THE END

"It's time for Deb's driving test - so what is she doing in the back sitting on her old booster seat?” - Sebtomato