Learning to Drive
I am learning to drive for the second time. On Sundays, I take classes at “Learn-Rite,” a school in Flushing. The school boasts a neon blue sign illustrating a yellow car and red stop sign. The graphics’ cheap branding displays cartoon-like pictures as if to reassure students that this endeavor is simple, achievable, and above all, happy. The whole ordeal takes three hours door to door from my home. I drive from Cobble Hill in my parents’ Subaru and during the lesson, my mother kills time at a nursery nearby. When we return to Brooklyn, the car is overgrown with fresh flowers, which I nestle in between my legs, the dirt getting on my shorts. Going is faster than returning. So far, I have clocked almost thirty hours of driving... Read more...
