Pushing the Limits
Late one Friday night in the fall of 1995, while I was hanging out with the girls, my laughter stopped short as Jenny Williams’ large grandfather clock struck one time loudly throughout the old farmhouse. Our laughter and fun came to a halt. My parents’ curfew as well as my school driver’s permit curfew had long expired. Curfew would not have been an issue that night because most fifteen-year-olds would have been at home in bed. Because of my right to drive, my pride in being one of the few freshmen with their school permit came with its own benefits as well as consequences. The privilege to drive to school and back was a privilege easily taken ...view middle of the document...
The thought crossed my mind to turn back, but the tires had already begun to spin hopelessly like a hamster’s wheel. I realized that turning back towards a possible cop was not an option. This road was not about to let me maneuver a three-point-turn-about either. I decided to take the plunge and plow right through the mud with Junior.
I started in low gear and gradually increased speed the depth of mud also. My tires were slowly becoming mired in quicksand. In a split second, my wheels grabbed hold of solid ground and took off like a track star at the sound of a gun. With little control, I swerved from bank to bank of the water-and mud-mixed road, overcorrecting the steering wheel each time. I gripped the wheel and straightened it out just in time for a large water hole to suck me in again. The challenge of dodging mud holes repeated itself over and over.
I was trying to focus on driving, but thoughts about my parents’ reactions were splashing through my mind as loud and as violent as ocean waves against the shoreline rocks. And a new fear had developed. I was afraid I was soon to be stuck in the mud and would have to walk all the way home or else knock on someone’s door at 1:15 in the morning. If I could just make it home my parents wouldn’t have to be rudely awakened by the loud ring of the phone. At that point, my efforts to break school permit privileges were backfiring like a fully loaded gun. I was going to obey curfew rules from that point on.
I looked at the edge of my brightly lit lights in front of me. I could see gravel, but before the end of the mud came a nice stretch of water-filled trenches. They were waiting to capture a frightened, inexperienced, and untrained demolition derby driver. I continuously swerved back and forth and spun my wheels until they were dizzy, through the deepest mud hole of all. I prayed to make it out as the musical beat of mud spraying on my car continued.
I made it home alive and clean, but Junior was unrecognizable. My hubcaps were invisible to the eye. Mud was caked under, over, and on all sides of the car. I now had to wait for question and answers in the morning about the...