The wheel underneath my hands are trembling. The Jeep hasn’t really pushed 65mph before on local streets and is now. Well, not on a local street where a little kid could get ran over by a 1988 Jeep Cherokee. I worry about the brakes cutting out. You hear that happens all the time on the news and in the papers. The helicopters are always hovering above such crashes with their close-ups of the wreckage and the cars traveling at a snail’s pace past the horrific scene with drivers probably looking to see if they could spot blood and dead bodies.
OK. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. I should concentrate. I want to put on the radio, but I’m afraid to remove one hand off of the steering wheel to find a station that doesn’t play music that will rupture my ear drums and make me want to wreck my vehicle.
I pass exits way too fast to actually read them. What city was that? I couldn’t have possibly passed Union’s exit? Apparently, not only am I afraid of removing any body part from their positions that they are currently in, I’m sure if I shift my eyes to the side view mirror to check out the exit on the other side, I’ll rear end the car in front of me which is at least 50ft in front of me.
But before I could really paralyze myself into further fear, Union’s exit rises in front of me like a Boston Cream donut of amazement. I flip the signal switch with my left pinky and slow down to make the turn which is filled with twists that if you were into racing cars, you’ll probably make this road one of your points to hold a drag race on.
As soon as the last two tires leave the exit ramp, my eyes are revealed to a sight that is slightly familiar. This was not where I was expecting to arrive at. My hand loosens its death grip and grapples for my phone tucked somewhere in the Black Hole that is my book bag. My thumb hits the button that gives me my brother’s voice.
“Hey, I have no idea where I am – wait, wait, I think I do, the street sounds kinda familiar – oh! I see something I remember! A Catholic school! Maybe I should stop.”
My brother, who knows that when I say ‘I’m going to stop’ means I’m going to stop right in the middle of the street and probably be one of those messed up cars on the 5 o’clock news, promptly yelled out, “No!”
I think I know where I want to this piece to go. I want to link it to the Provisional License driving rules that New Jersey has. Two of the main rules is that you CAN NOT talk on the cell phone while driving and can not drive between the hours of 12am to 5am. The rules leave room for 'in case' of emergency situations, but if one had a job in which they had to drive between those set hours or had to just go out between the hours - it can cause problems. Sure you can constantly drive around with your notice from your employer stating that you can drive these hours in your glove comparment, for just in case a cop or two pulls you over within your journey, but it might become tiring. I'm going to work with those two issues. Hopefully it sounds okay so far...does it?
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First of all: "Union’s exit rises in front of me like a Boston Cream donut of amazement." Simply brilliant!
I'm going to quote you all over the place with that. I think you've got a great idea going with your story. Going into it, I felt that it was really easy to read and equally as easy to get wrapped up in. It kept me on my toes and wondering if you'd end up as tire flavored Nadia Jerky on the wayside. (No offense!) I'm looking forward to more!
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