Highway stretched behind me, winding up the coast in meandering curves. If one traced the path I’d gone, it would be through a tunnel, onwards through a small town that seemed frozen in time, and to a small emergency room that seemed like it rarely saw emergencies. Behind me was Washington, and on this bridge, I couldn’t quite be sure if I was in Oregon yet, but even if I was, it would still be 20 minutes until I got back to the campground. Well, it would have been 20 minutes if I’d actually known how to drive.
November 2016. My mother invited me to go on a camping trip to the most northwestern point of Oregon. I’d been living in Colorado for over two years at that point, and it would be good to see her and my little sister. Also, the Oregon …show more content…
If there had been anyone else who could drive, I would never have agreed. I was 22, and had only driven a car five times in my life: once at 12, I’d driven 20 feet in my uncle’s beater; once at 15 I’d driven back roads in a Ford Bronco; and thrice, recently, I’d practiced in parking lots and backroads using my grandmother’s old Toyota Sienna minivan. I had gotten a learner's permit a few months before, but finding someone to teach me had proved difficult. Four years before (three years, 11 months, 18 days), on my 19th birthday, my mother had her license revoked. I’d been sitting at the dinner table, surrounded by cake, friends, and Hungarian mushroom soup when she’d called me. She was over an hour late. “Mum!” I said, smiling. “Are you on your way?” “Mousie,” she said, and I could tell by her tone that she was about to deliver bad news. “I am at the police station.” “What did you do?” I said, with dread. My guests noticed, so I stood up and walked to the kitchen. “Well, I was visiting Joe,” she said, making her voice small, “and the nosy neighbors knew your Sissy and I were going to your birthday party afterward. They called the cops on me, and when I pulled out of the RV park, they were already there. They’ve charged me with child endangerment.” “That doesn’t just happen,” I said. “What did you do?” “Joe must have put alcohol in my soda,” she …show more content…
My mother ended up having to go to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, and her license was revoked for five years. She had a year left to go, that night at the cabin, and I knew that I would have to drive Paul home. He and I piled into his red Jeep. We left my mother and four-year-old sister at the cabin to try to sleep. On the drive there, I drilled Paul about not only how to drive, but also how to drive a Jeep. He mentioned that Jeeps weren’t good on sharp turns. We drove onto the Astoria-Megler Bridge, which is just over four miles long. I kept my eyes on the road, trying to memorize the road, and how Paul drove. I knew the bridge would be the easiest part of the drive. Once we were across the Columbia River, Highway 101 wound with the coastline, through the dark. While I’d only driven during the day, I was relieved to see the road was nearly empty, and maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult to drive back. I would have been enthralled with the towering trees, and beautiful estuary, if I wasn’t trying so hard to make sure I knew enough to drive us back
November 2016. My mother invited me to go on a camping trip to the most northwestern point of Oregon. I’d been living in Colorado for over two years at that point, and it would be good to see her and my little sister. Also, the Oregon …show more content…
If there had been anyone else who could drive, I would never have agreed. I was 22, and had only driven a car five times in my life: once at 12, I’d driven 20 feet in my uncle’s beater; once at 15 I’d driven back roads in a Ford Bronco; and thrice, recently, I’d practiced in parking lots and backroads using my grandmother’s old Toyota Sienna minivan. I had gotten a learner's permit a few months before, but finding someone to teach me had proved difficult. Four years before (three years, 11 months, 18 days), on my 19th birthday, my mother had her license revoked. I’d been sitting at the dinner table, surrounded by cake, friends, and Hungarian mushroom soup when she’d called me. She was over an hour late. “Mum!” I said, smiling. “Are you on your way?” “Mousie,” she said, and I could tell by her tone that she was about to deliver bad news. “I am at the police station.” “What did you do?” I said, with dread. My guests noticed, so I stood up and walked to the kitchen. “Well, I was visiting Joe,” she said, making her voice small, “and the nosy neighbors knew your Sissy and I were going to your birthday party afterward. They called the cops on me, and when I pulled out of the RV park, they were already there. They’ve charged me with child endangerment.” “That doesn’t just happen,” I said. “What did you do?” “Joe must have put alcohol in my soda,” she …show more content…
My mother ended up having to go to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, and her license was revoked for five years. She had a year left to go, that night at the cabin, and I knew that I would have to drive Paul home. He and I piled into his red Jeep. We left my mother and four-year-old sister at the cabin to try to sleep. On the drive there, I drilled Paul about not only how to drive, but also how to drive a Jeep. He mentioned that Jeeps weren’t good on sharp turns. We drove onto the Astoria-Megler Bridge, which is just over four miles long. I kept my eyes on the road, trying to memorize the road, and how Paul drove. I knew the bridge would be the easiest part of the drive. Once we were across the Columbia River, Highway 101 wound with the coastline, through the dark. While I’d only driven during the day, I was relieved to see the road was nearly empty, and maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult to drive back. I would have been enthralled with the towering trees, and beautiful estuary, if I wasn’t trying so hard to make sure I knew enough to drive us back