“Mabel!”
“It’s illegal,” she repeated for the third time.
“And if we get pulled over by one of thefourpolice officers on the island, I will explain things, and I’m sure I’ll just get a slap on the wrist.They’re not going to send me to jail because I let you drive two miles.Can you please just get out of your seat?”
Thankfully, it didn’t result in more of an argument.My daughter climbed out of the seat, and we met around the front grill.She didn’t fight me, but she wasn’t happy about the situation either.
I’d kept the truck running and hopped up into the passenger seat.She adjusted the seat to accommodate her shorter stature so her feet could hit the pedals.
“You know the brake is on the left, gas is on the right?”
“Yes.”
“Just take it out of park, put it into drive, and give it a little gas.”
“This is highly illegal.And unethical.”
“Well, I don’t know about the ethics part.Is it safer for a man who is close to passing out from a sudden migraine to be driving, or for an almost-fourteen-year-old with an IQ of 164?”
“Can’t we call someone?”
“Mabel—”
“Fine.”
“Okay.Take it out of park, shoulder check that nobody is coming behind us, then give it some gas.”
She did as she was told.
“Both hands on the wheel.Ten and two.”We started to move.“A little more gas.”
Now we were trucking along at a decent pace.
“Just keep it steady, in the center of your lane.You might have two stop signs to deal with, but those shouldn’t be an issue.”
I could tell she wasn’t enjoying this at all.Any other kid I knew would jump at the chance for such a rebellious and unique opportunity.Not my kid.Not my rule follower.She was more concerned about the legal aspects of it all.
“What did Dawn have to say?”she asked.
“Just focus on driving, sweetheart,” I said, doing my best to keep my eyes open and help her, even though all I wanted to do was shut them and keep the space dark and quiet.“We can talk about that when we get home.”
She didn’t respond, but she also didn’t speak again.
“You’re doing great, kiddo,” I said, as she put on the indicator to turn left down our long driveway.Rolph Mazurenko and his wife were outside in their yard, and they gave us slightly perplexed looks as we drove past and waved.
“They’re going to call the cops on you,” she said, having slowed her speed to a crawl.
“No, they’re not.”
“I don’t think you’d do well in prison.I heard someone say once that pretty people become bottoms in prison.You’re good looking.What does that mean?Would you become a bottom?”
I raked my fingers through my hair and groaned.I was not in any frame of mind to be discussing tops versus bottoms with my thirteen-year-old child.Maybe not ever.
“What’s a bottom?Is it like the person who is always on the bottom during sex?Are they saying that you’d be having sex in prison a lot—with other men—but always on the bottom?Would that mean you’d be the one always taking another man’s penis into your anus?”
“Yes,” I finally said as we came to a rather abrupt stop in our driveway, and I lurched forward.“That’s basically what it means.But Maz and his wife aren’t going to call the cops on us.You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I drove a vehicle without a license.I’m not legally old enough to drive.”
