Part 2 of 3.

Please read Part 1.  

Kayla was examining the exterior of my car, an exquisite beast that proves Detroit can match its German counterparts at every turn. “Looks kind of like a stealth fighter jet,” she said.

“I know,” I replied, grinning.

“So… pretty fast?” she asked, holding her hair out of her face in the wind, as we did a walk-around in an empty parking lot.

“Really fast,” I said, taking a deep breath to launch into my proud spiel. “Zero to 60 in four seconds. Twelve seconds to a quarter mile. Top speed is electronically limited to 175 miles per hour. And she brakes 60 to zero in about 110 feet.”

Then I remembered to whom I was talking, cleared my throat and added, “But that’s not important now. No. What we have to focus on is teaching you to drive carefully and safely.” I shot a quick, nervous sideways glance at her. “So just forget about all that performance… stuff.”

This wasn’t a great start. My friends Beth and Steve had entrusted me with teaching their “little girl”, 17 year-old Kayla, to drive. I shouldn’t be bragging about how fast my car can go.

“You shouldn’t be bragging about how fast your car can go,” Kayla informed me.

“Mmm, yes, that’s true,” I admitted. “Let’s not mention it to Mom and Dad, shall we?”

“I mean… why don’t you drive a hybrid? Or one of those electric cars? Don’t you care about the planet?” she said, turning and squinting up at me.

Oh, good. I knew the answer to this one. “Well, obviously, because I’m a selfish and self-indulgent man, Kayla.”

She chuckled at that.

“And besides, I salve my eco-guilt by taking the subway to work most days. Truth is, I mostly drive it on weekends to the cottage, and so on.”

She made a sound indicating eloquently that she was only partly satisfied with my excuse.

“And I don’t care what anyone says,” I added. “A Prius is a fine car, but it wouldn’t exactly… put my dates…” Warning klaxons began howling again. “Hey! Let’s talk about the basics of how a car works, okay?”

And the first lesson began with the young woman laughing at her instructor.

***

We began with how to work a clutch in deft coordination with the accelerator, something that was new to Kayla. The first step, often a very tough one, was learning to ease off the clutch with a light touch, without pressing the gas pedal at all. If you can work that out, shifting eventually becomes quite easy and nearly automatic.

She did very well with first gear, and with transitioning to second and third, as well. We were slaloming the parking lot light standards slowly and smoothly, no grinding gears or sudden jerks, and my car had yet to utter a single complaint.

“Kayla, you’re doing really great,” I said from the passenger seat, and meant it. She was very attentive, asked smart questions, then did exactly as directed. I hadn’t expected a newbie to pick everything up so quickly.

“You’re surprised?” she said, smiling proudly. I wasn’t, actually, not too much. Kayla is good at pretty much everything she puts her mind to.

“Very surprised,” I said, straight-faced. “Driving isn’t a natural thing for girls to do. Generally, they’re better at cheerleading and gossip. Poetry. Baking. Preparing for motherhood. You know…”

She shot me an arch look, jerked the wheel a little and opened her mouth to retort.

“Eyes on the road, please, Kayla,” I said evenly.

“Oh, right,” she said, turning back to face forward. “You did that on purpose.”

“You think?”

“Okay, I get it,” she nodded. “No distractions.”

***

On the road, Kayla was equally impressive. We practiced stops and turns at four-way intersections and traffic lights. She was particularly good at moving quickly and confidently to clear intersections, knowing which vehicles were at each position.

After one 10 minute stretch, during which I’d remained silent but for a few route directions, we pulled over.

“How’d I do?” Kayla asked.

“Very well,” I said. “Now do you want to hear what you did wrong?”

“Yes.”

“When we turned left at that last light, you switched to the far lane, rather than staying in the near lane…”

“My parents do that all the time!” she objected.

“Sure they do, but technically that’s an infraction, and you could get a ticket. In a driving test, you could fail for doing that.”

“Oh. Okay, what else?”

“Three times you changed lanes without checking your blind spots. And the whole time, you only checked your rear view mirror once,” I summed up. “So let’s try it again.”

“Let’s do it,” she said, with a determined look in her eye.

***

The rest of the day and the following Sunday were more than just successful driving lessons. They were a lot of fun. Kayla updated me on everything important in her life. Her boyfriend of two years, with whom she was still very much in love. Her sports and her hopes for a swimming scholarship. The colleges she’d like to attend, and the subjects she wanted to study.

This was a very pleasant favor to do for Beth and Steve, and I was enjoying watching Kayla develop some extremely sharp and precise driving skills. And only a few times did I have to remind her of the posted speed limit, and the fact that she was drifting somewhat beyond it.

“Oops! Sorry,” she said once. “It’s just kind of easy to forget in this car. I really like it, though.”

“Her,” I said.

“What?” said Kayla.

“You really like her,” I corrected. “She’s a she, my car is.”

“She is? Why?”

“I don’t really know. She just is.”

Kayla thought about that. “Okay. That’s fair. Your car, your call.”

When we pulled into the driveway from the latest lesson, Beth was pulling weeds in the front garden. She stood and smiled.

“Still doing well?” Beth asked me as we got out.

“No kidding, Beth, this girl is going to be a terrific driver. Next week, we’ll get out of town and do some highway driving,” I said.

“And she’s not having any trouble driving your… that thing?” Beth continued.

“Mmm, no,” I replied. “Kayla’s shown tremendous maturity and restraint with my car.”

Beth looked very happy. “And you were so worried she’d hurt it.”

Kayla grinned mischievously. “He was so worried I’d hurt her, you mean. She’s a she, Mom,” said Kayla, tossing me the key fob.

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