Clear The Roads, Say Your Prayers, Sylvia Takes Wheel

Sylvia
By Anne Sullivan

“Get dressed,” Sylvia shouted through the screen door. “Hurry up. It’s late.”
“What’s the rush?” I called from my comfortable chair, not deigning to lower my magazine.
“Today’s the day you’re going to teach me how to drive!” she cried. “Oh joy, oh bliss, oh rapture unforeseen.”
I rose slowly and went to the door. “Are you sure you really want to learn to drive? You can change your mind at any time. It won’t hurt my feelings. I know you don’t even like going for a drive.”
“That’s because you’re driving. I never know what you’re going to do. I find it very unsettling.”
“And you know what you’re going to do?” My skepticism was more than apparent.
“Once I learn a few fundamentals, it will all be under control. Under MY control,” she added with a jaunty toss of the head.
“All right, Miss Smarty Pants, let’s see you get into the pickup. That’s the first step. A giant step.”
“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” Sylvia asked.
“I don’t consider this an occasion for celebratory attire. My sweats will do,” I said after picking up the keys. “Believe me, we’re not driving into town.”
“Suit yourself,” Sylvia said as she lunged at the door handle of Silver Truck.
“Not that one. We’re going in White Truck.”
“I see,” said Sylvia. “You’re teaching me how to drive in the pickup that’s already been totaled – the one the elk hit and the one you hit Brandy with. The one that has 318,000 miles on it.”
“You got it.” I pulled open the door. “Get in.”
After a series of runs and balks, Sylvia finally made a successful leap into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll have to move the seat forward so your hind feet can reach the pedals.” That done, I added, “Now this is the gas pedal and the one next to it is the brake.”
“I don’t need to worry about the brake,” she declared. “Gas is for go. I know that and that’s all I need to know.”
“Fasten your seat belt,” I ordered and helped Sylvia comply before I fastened mine.
Sylvia bounced in her seat. “How do I get this going?”
“Put the key in the ignition and turn it,” I said gritting my teeth and girding my loins (whatever that means.)
With her paws, Sylvia managed to turn the key, something I had hoped she wouldn’t be capable of. When the engine started, Sylvia was both startled and thrilled.
“What now? What now?” she demanded between chortles of joy.
“Foot…er…lower paw on the brake. Put the gear into drive. Then take your foot off the brake and step on the gas slowly.”
“Like this?” Sylvia asked as the pickup shot forward from stop to 50 MPH in one hundredth of a second.
“Slowly,” I said, trying to remain calm.
Sylvia shouted out the window, “Look at me, RingWorm. I’m driving!”
RingWorm took one look and scuttled into the woods as fast as her four paws could take her.
“Slowly!” I screamed. “Slowly. Watch where you’re going.”
“You don’t have to yell at me. It’s very rude.” Sylvia turned to reprimand me.
“Watch the road! Watch the road! Slow down.” All pretense of calmness left me.
Brandy neighed in equal terror as we passed the barn, narrowly missing it. Brandy reached the relative safety of her corral faster than I’d seen her move in years.
“Slow down!” I yelled again. “Use the brake.”
“Only sissies use brakes,” Sylvia countered as we careened down the road to oblivion for White Truck.
End of driving lesson.

Clear The Roads, Say Your Prayers, Sylvia Takes Wheel