One Special Memory

One Special Memory

By, Gina Hill

1989ish

Based upon true events, well most of it.

Dedicated to my mom.

“Mom, are you ready to go for my driving lesson?” asked Nina.

“Just a minute, sweetie. I’ll be coming,” I replied.

I remembered the day I went to get my own driver’s license.

I wanted the freedom that came with owning my own wheels. But first I had to pass the very difficult written exam and driving test. I remember being very anxious that day and having studied very diligently that whole previous week for the written exam.

As I entered the Department of Motor Vehicles, I sensed a strange atmosphere and I suddenly lost the courage I had just a few minutes before. The first woman I encountered was a DMV clerk who was in her mid-40’s; she wore her glasses on the tip of her nose and her bluish gray hair was pulled back in a severe bun. The woman looked very old fashioned and out of style. The light blue jacket and matching modest length skirt she wore made her look like she had just stepped out of the 60’s.

My mother and I waited in line for a good ten minutes, with all the correct papers in hand, until she called me. Her shrill voice cried out “Next!” I walked up to the desk, relieved that I was finally there, but I did not know what was in store for me. She asked for the papers I was holding and everything seemed fine until she type the information I had given her into her little computer.

“I’m sorry, Miss Miller,” she said, “but the computer says you already got your driver’s license last July.”

My mother quickly replied, “She doesn’t have her license; she just turned 16 in June.”

After about five minutes we had that cleared up. It turned out that someone in California had the exact same name as I and had been born on the same day. So I had to add my mother’s maiden name onto my name, making it, Nine Louise Smith Miller. The secretary handed me an application that I had to fill out. At first I was agitated by the fact that I had to go through another process in the long chain of steps.

After I got the application, I read it carefully. The application asked all sorts of interesting and strange questions. Some of the questions were as follows: Are you an American citizen? I answered “Yes.” Are you male or female? I answered “Female.” Do you have children? I said “No.” How much do you weigh? This, in truth, to me was the hardest question of all. To any girl this is an embarrassing question. So I lied; I said I weighed 93 pounds when in fact I weighed 95 pounds.

            When I had finished the application, I was given the test. Boy, was I nervous! I read all of the questions carefully and tried not to get thrown off with the tricky questions like: When should you be most careful while driving: 1) After it has been raining all day 2) ½ hour after a rain 3) during ½ hour of rain. I picked number 2. When I was through with the test, I was told to go wait in the “D” line. I kept wondering what the “D” stood for. Dummy? Delirious?

Finally, I got to the front of the line and encountered the test corrector. She was approximately 35 years old; she wore her reddish brown hair in a short bob. She flattered her slight figure by wearing a tight, bright red dress. I could tell that the woman did not enjoy her job. She grabbed my test abruptly and started marking away. At the time I was imagining myself in a red convertible with the top rolled down, with my hair blowing through the air as I sang along with my favorite song playing on the radio.

But suddenly my dream world was shattered, vanished into think air, when the test corrector said, “I’m sorry, you flunked.” I thought I must be hearing things. I had to have passed. I knew everything on the test by heart. No more freedom. No red convertible for me. Lucky me. Back to Mom and the station wagon and my little brother screaming in the back seat.

The test corrector handed the test to me and told me not to come back before next Friday. A whole week more of being chauffeured in a station wagon. I told my mother the sad story as we drove home. While I was in the car, I decided to look over the test. To my astonishment, I saw I had only missed by only one point. The written exam stated that seven could be missed; I missed eight. I quickly skimmed over the test to find that one “ittie bittie” mistake that could have been corrected. But it was too late; the test was over with, finished. As I tried to hold back the tears on the way home, my mom kept telling me I would pass next time and be able to drive. These words of encouragement made me feel better in bad times.

When we finally got home, my mom called the DMV and made an appointment for the next week. My sarcastic little brother entered the kitchen and said, “Did you flunk?”

My mother quickly protected me and said, “She only missed it by one and the questions were very difficult.”

The next week is very vague to me now, but I do remember going to the DMV with a new pencil in hand. I was ready for the test; I had been through this before. I had all the preliminaries down.

The same cleark was there. She still wore her bluish gray hair pulled back in a severe bun and her mannerisms were the same. She gave me test number 2, and I went to the table and started reading. It took me approximately 30 minutes to finish the test and about 20 minutes in the “D” line. When I got to the front of the line, I noticed a new and compassionate face, not like the others at the DMV.

She was different; her visage was old and wrinkled, but she had a great sense of compassion about her. She wore glasses and had curly gray hair. Her gray hair was alive and full of body. She asked to see my test very politely. There was nothing harsh about this lady. I gave her the test. This time I wasn’t nervous or anxious; I was very calm.

When she finished correcting the test, she said, “You did very well. All 100% correct.”

I was excited to hear those words!

“You passed,” she said. “You can start driving tomorrow with a temporary license.”

When I told my mom the news, she was proud and all the time while we were driving home, I realized that some people can make a big difference. Nice people are more helpful and make people feel at ease.

That night I wrote in my diary that I now knew what the “D” line stood for: diligent workers. While I was writing in my diary, I heard a horn honking outside. I went outside and there was my dream-a shiny, new, red convertible. I was so happy and so was Mom.

“Mom, are you ready to go for my driving lesson yet?” asked Nina. “It’s getting dark.”

“I’m coming, sweetie”, she replied.