fear_of_driving epitome of incomprehensibility When I think of a name that is not Eliezer but that starts with the same letter, I think: Fear of driving. My fear, not the name's owner's (then, at least; now, it's more likely) and it's not like fear of flying. It's no metaphor for fucking, or making money, or anything. It's that I'm literally afraid of steering a vehicle as big and unwieldy as a car because of the danger of hurting other people and being responsible. I trust most people I know who are drivers to drive safely. I don't trust myself to do that, and so I'm scared to learn. I was reminded of that a few months ago when the story about Not-Eliezer came out. I went to high school with her. We weren't serious friends, but I'd often play cards with her and two other people at lunch. In many ways she was more emotionally and critically advanced than me. She was practical and, mostly, friendly. She and her boyfriend, whom we'd only heard of, seemed to have an enviably close and honest relationship, even if she did bore me sometimes by talking about him. More relevantly, once, when we were in English class, I made what seemed to me a worthy devil's-advocate-type comment on the effectiveness of the Take Back the Night march: "What's the use of just raising awareness when you're not giving money to anything?" She replied sharply with something like, "How can you give money in a way that stops women from being killed?" (Context: the event in Montreal, or at least the essay we were reading about it, was tied to remembrance of the 1989 École Polytechnique murders, in which a man, evidently bitter about not being accepted into the tech college and blaming all his problems on feminists, killed 14 people there, all women.) That shut me up. Perhaps it was harsh, but it was a justified rebuke. Anyway, a few months ago I learned that this same person was being put on trial for being involved in two people's deaths. Not on purpose! She'd stopped her car on a highway because she saw ducklings crossing the road and wanted to get them off the road, and then an older man and his daughter on a motorcycle evidently had hit her door, which she'd left open, and been killed in the fall. There was discussion of those two people not being road-smart either: speeding, going helmetless... but why assign blame in a tragedy like this? And yes, it is a tragedy, because it's like a story. The tragic irony, after I registered only dismay at the shock of seeing that girl's name and recognizing it, kind of made me giggle. I mean, ducklings! "I wanted to save the babies," or whatever dazed statement was gotten out of her at the time. It'd be harmless dark humour, and a rather neat narrative trick, if it'd occurred in a story. But in real life it's horrible and senseless. I don't want her to be loaded down with guilt. Or the consequences of having her license revoked for ten years. Ten! Make that one or two, perhaps, but don't pile guilt of law on guilt of feeling. There was no criminal intent, and if everybody is less likely to do dangerous and/or dumb things, there's at least something learned. Grr. Montreal is a pretty fucked-up place sometimes. That's all. And I'm afraid of driving. 141230 ... raze i think "young drivers of canada" was the name of the place. i can't remember. she paid for the classes. it was her idea of an early birthday present. my teacher was a guy with a ponytail and a neat beard. he looked like the wisecracking hero of a television show that got cancelled after its first season but built up a passionate cult following in syndication. he was friendly in a low-key, disarming way. he sounded more canadian than i did. his name was steve. steve told a story about a bunch of guys he went to college with filling someone's jockstrap with icy hot as a locker room joke. when some of the students laughed, he said it wasn't funny. the guy they did it to had to go to the hospital. i didn't know what that had to do with driving, but at least i learned what not to use as lube. he complimented the way someone parked once. he said it was smart how they pulled into the parking lot so they wouldn't have to back out. i turned around and saw it was my dad's car. steve had us take turns using a laser pointer to show the route we would take on an illustration projected onto the wall. the white spaces between the black lines were roads. the red light was a car. when it was my turn, my hand shook so hard the light flew all over the place. i couldn't keep it on the road. if it had been a real car, i would have killed myself and everyone else around me. i went home and stared at blood dripping from the letters on a cd cover. i listened to alan vega sing my name to me. he told me i was cruising the night, looking for love. he said i was looking so mean. feeling so tough. he didn't know me at all. the classroom was as far as i got. i couldn't get behind the wheel. i passed the written test and used my learner's permit to drink in bars once i was old enough to get drunk in public. it didn't change much. the only places that ever carded me were bars i didn't want to drink in anyway. i can still feel the thick heat of that summer pressing down on me, heavy enough to slow down time. back then i thought the days would never end. i didn't know i would live long enough to want that feeling back again. 211215 ... e_o_i I'm still not sure it's the best idea of all time, but if I'm not taking a class in May and June, maybe I can take driver's lessons. Or so I mused to Dad, who seemed neither to approve nor especially discourage. He says "cars are not the way of the future." Get me my hovercraft, then? I mean the actual flying kind. Electric-powered, with recyclable batteries. David drove us from Toronto to Montreal and afterwards his neck hurt. It'd be easier in circumstances like that to take turns. 211231 ... e_o_i Take turns driving, that is, not take turns having sore necks (if it can be helped). 211231 ... e_o_i And David drove him and me from Toronto. He didn't drive my father. My mind is all over the place today. A new year, decisions about classes to make, and David's leaving for England on Jan. 8th ...so what is all this driving talk? as if I can drive there? ...see, I want the transatlantic hyperwarp hovercraft. With a harpsichord. 211231 what's it to you? who go blather from