Driving in a Mercury

Driving Stella

I have always generally enjoyed driving an automobile. I drove to West Virginia in January to meet my daughter and grandchildren to go skiing. I love the feeling of setting off early in the morning in “the machine” as my grandmother called out beat up station wagon and driving all day.

I think that may be because I started driving so young, when I was thirteen in fact, that fall right after my father passed away. I had been starting the old Ford beach wagon each day as my mother asked when, one afternoon, she rushed out and got in the passenger side. When she said, “Let’s go”, I explained, as if to a child, that not only didn’t I know how to drive but I also did not have a license.

“That’s alright”, she replied, “The oldest son of a widow can drive as long as the widow is in the car with him”. That sounded suspicious even to me but there wasn’t anyone to check with so I said, “Okay”.

She wanted to go to the market on the upper road but first we had to get out of the driveway. It was a long one that sloped down from the two lane road passing by up above to an old, tiny one car garage. We were actually in the garage.

I had played a bit with the clutch and had a vague notion where reverse was located but I had never worked the clutch so as to move the car. With a modest grinding of gears I got it into reverse and almost immediately stalled out. My mother sat stiffly beside me on the red and white bench seat and said not a single word.

I started the car again, popped the clutch giving it plenty of gas this time and we flew out of the garage and up the driveway like a small rocket. Thinking almost as quickly as the car was traveling I hit the brakes and we were in the middle of the road stalled once more. And we were both suffering mild cases of whiplash. I wanted to get out of the car and go hide somewhere, perhaps for the rest of my life. Luckily, there was not another car to be seen on Riverside Avenue!

My mother saved me from panic when she said, “This car is always doing that! Pay no attention. Let’s just go to the market.”

I started again, found first, let the clutch out slightly more slowly, gave it slightly less gas and, tires screeching, tore off down the road.