Part 1 of 3. 

There are lots of things I’m not good at, of course. But I don’t worry too much about those things. Where possible, I try to surround myself with people who are strong where I’m weak. I’ve found this to be a winning life strategy, and it’s one reason I’m generally a happy person. Worrying too much is bad for your skin, and makes it harder to be arrogant.

Now, driving is something I enjoy and have always been good at. Once again, I have my beloved late Dad to thank. In his youth, he was briefly a semi-pro race driver. When I turned 16, he couldn’t wait to impart the skills, disciplines and thrills to the next generation. And as he was with baseball, boxing, and history, Dad was an excellent coach to a new driver.

All men, naturally, like to think they’re good drivers. I read a survey years ago that found that men would rather be seen as bad lovers than bad drivers – further proof that my gender often gets its priorities screwed up. But the truth is that most men are not good drivers, much as they delude themselves to the contrary. This irritates me. I feel quite strongly that if one is to be self-congratulatory, one should have the chops to back it up.

As expert as I am behind the wheel, I was still more than a little surprised by Beth’s request when she called.

“Is it true you’ve never had a car accident?” she asked, without greeting or preamble.

“Yes, that’s true,” I replied. “I’ve been a passenger in a few accidents, but I’ve never had one myself.”

“What about tickets?” she continued.

“Not for at least 10 years,” I said, reflecting. “I got nabbed for running a stop sign in college.” I didn’t mention the Escort radar detector and laser shifter I’d installed. “And, by the way, hello, Beth. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, brusquely. “Will you teach Kayla to drive?”

***

One of the nice things about being a single man is the opportunity to be the unrelated “uncle” to the children of my older friends. They often impose without hesitation on my time, assuming my non-wedded, offspring-free status means that time to myself is something I have in abundance. And that’s okay, because they’re not wrong.

Kayla is the delightful daughter of Beth and Steve. She’s smart, lovely, energetic and cheerful. She’s a splendid example of young womanhood, and I love her as if she were my own. I’ve been asked to lend a hand, on occasion, in the upbringing of Kayla and her younger brother, since they were little. Mostly it has gone well. Even the rather fraught incident in which I facilitated the medical provision of oral contraceptives to Kayla (who was then 15) had ended reasonably well.

But this latest request puzzled me.

“Why don’t you want to teach Kayla to drive yourself?” I asked Beth. “I would have thought you’d insist on it, given that you’re an insane control freak.”

“Fuck you,” she said kindly. “I tried.”

“And?”

“Too much screaming,” she said.

“Yes, I can believe that,” I said.

“From Kayla too,” she clarified.

“Yes, I can believe that.” Kayla is an apple who fell remarkably close to Beth’s tree. They’re often better at resolving things with just about anyone but each other.

“And Steve? He doesn’t want to do it?” I asked.

“You’ve seen his car,” she chuckled. And she had a point. Steve’s Chrysler, like all the cars he’d owned, boasted dings, dents and smears of paint from other vehicles. “Steve just laughed and said to call you. So? Will you do it?”

“I’d be happy to,” said I, the very soul of magnanimity. “You’d better advise your insurance company I’ll be driving your minivan for awhile.”

“No, I want you to teach her in your car,” Beth insisted.

I sat up, startled, shifting the phone to my other ear. My car? “Beth, that’s a bad idea. A very bad idea. My car’s not right for a new driver.”

“It has a standard transmission,” she continued. “I want Kayla to learn to drive standard. Her boyfriend has an old manual-shift Honda. Lots of her friends drive manuals. She needs to know how to drive their cars in case someone’s been drinking.”

That was a good point. But still…

“Listen, Beth, my car is… well, it’s way too powerful for someone who’s learning. It would be like putting a two-ton weapon in the hands of a 17 year-old.”

“Are you telling me you don’t have the skill to teach my brilliant daughter to drive your macho machine?” she challenged.

“No, I just…”

“Then are you telling me you’re more worried about hurting your fancy dick-on-wheels, than you are about Kayla learning to drive properly?”

“No! That’s not it at all. But, you know… there are…” I trailed off.

Beth then used silence to powerful effect. The silence stretched.

“Shit,” I finally sighed.

“Thank-you,” she sang in a sweet two-note, and I could hear the triumphant smile on her face. The manipulative bitch. We agreed I’d pick Kayla up early the following Sunday and head for an empty parking lot for lesson number one.

“Tell Steve I said Hi, and his wife sucks,” I grumbled.

“Only when he’s been very good,” she shot back cheerfully. “Bye now!”

***

My car and I rolled onto the gravel shoulder and stopped on my favorite ridge, on a two lane highway upstate. I had treated her to an early service, hand wash and interior detailing. She was purring softly, and I knew she was happy.

I switched off, got out and closed the door noiselessly. Took a deep breath and enjoyed the view and the stillness. Not another car in sight. I strolled forward, trailing my hand along the smooth metal of her hood. Stopped in front and considered her sexy face.

I gazed fondly at the gorgeous creature. A supercharged sedan with all her parts and angles and curves in the right places. She could whisper and she could roar. I loved the way she held me, and the way she teased me to give her just a little more.

She was the finest, most exciting thing Detroit had produced since Motown music. And soon, I was to sit by and watch a 17 year-old girl take her first driving steps in my baby.

I let out a long breath and nodded to myself. It was for Kayla. That made it fine. It would be fine.

At the time, however, neither Beth nor I quite realized where this road would take us –and Kayla.

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