by Focus
© 2000 Focus, all rights reserved
Sixteen years old, she sits proud behind the
wheel.
Mom in front seat, Dad and Sis in back,
Driving toward home,
Home from vacation.
Asphalt highway stretches tight across the
desert.
Salt scenery shimmering with mirages.
Cars buzzing past like angry bees.
Map rustles as Mom navigates.
"Left turn soon," she proclaims. "Yes! There is our sign!"
Into the left turn lane,
Watching oncoming traffic,
Oncoming, oncoming, oncoming traffic.
Thick oncoming traffic.
"Go!" says Dad, from the back seat, "go!"
She can't get through, she knows it.
The cars are too thick, too fast!
"I can't!" she wails.
And the cars zoom past like angry bees.
"Of course you can," says Dad. "Never say
'can't'."
Cars are lining up behind them.
"Go when I say 'now'."
"You do it!" she implores. "I can't! I can't!"
For the cars whip past like angry bees.
A car from behind honks.
"Go!" he shouts! "NOW!"
She sees the space she must get through.
It doesn't look big enough, but she tries.
Her reactions are too slow, too uncertain, too
unskilled.
She is too new to driving.
Brakes squeal!
Cars swerve!
Horns blare!
Her mother screams!
They miss her by inches.
The car wobbles across the highway.
She pulls over to the shoulder,
Puts her head on the steering wheel,
And cries.
While cars buzz past like angry bees.
A burly policeman appears at her window.
"That was stupid, you know.
You could have killed your whole family! In fact,
You nearly did - and other motorists as well!"
He can see that she knows.
He can see no further lesson is needed.
He leaves.
And she drives home.
As cars buzz past.