Drive, She Said
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider on Jan 29th, 2008
It was a dark and stormy night. Cue creepy music. Bring on spooky sound effects. Crashing thunder and lightening will do just fine.
Hang on. Scratch that. I can’t lie to you. It wasn’t night at all. It could have been night. The mood was ominous enough for night. And yet, it was day. The sun was shining, a mere prank to make us think everything was happy in suburbia.
Oh, but it wasn’t. You can trust me on that.
So keep the creepy music. That stays put. Go ahead and lose the thunder and lightening, even though it lends a lovely sense of foreboding.
Bring on the eerie Santa Ana winds, instead. Maybe you know these winds. Maybe you don’t. They mess with your brain. They disrupt your sinuses. They settle deep in your bones. They make you feel irrational … especially in intersections. Proceed with caution. That’s my advice.
When the Santa Anas strike, it’s a known fact. Folks turn to murder. These winds have a nasty rep out here on the Coast. They signal that something bad is about to happen. It’s just a matter of when.
The setting: Thousand Oaks, a sprawling, pristine community straight out of “Poltergeist.” The pretty homes may be two-story, but who really knows what tales lurk within those dry, Spielbergian walls. Ghosts that refused to leave after an ugly bank foreclosure? Or a force far more sinister?
Yes, Thousand Oaks is a scary place full of sickening speed traps and hidden chaos. Especially for unknowing, 16-year-old boys. Boys who travel the haunted Valley hills with only one thing in mind. A thing so difficult to obtain, they may have to return a second time. Or even, God forbid, a third.
That thing is a driver’s license. And these days, it’s hard to come by. Turns out the DMV is cursed. The DMV is an evil place, a Hellmouth of despair. And it’s run by demons who feast on failure. I didn’t know that when we first walked in. Everyone was so polite. Too polite, for my taste. At this stage, I can tolerate a “ma’am” or two.
“We need proof of insurance, ma’am,” a young woman said, flatly. I took in her Zombie-like presence, but kept it to myself. I handed her the card. She looked at it, coldly. “It’s expired, ma’am,” she said.
My hand started to shake. Scotty eyed me with freakish alarm. He hadn’t even taken the test and I’d already blown it for him. Nice work, Mom.
“Oh, whoops,” I apologized, downplaying my panic. I fished through my wallet until I located the new card. I handed it over. My son slowly regained consciousness.
“Pull the car up to lane two, and wait for the instructor,” said Zombie girl.
As I got out of the car, I glanced at my son, trying to hide my concern. “Good luck, honey. You’re going to do great,” I lied.
He nodded, his left knee quaking uncontrollably. I turned my head away and saw her, the DMV devil dead set on swiping my son’s soul.
Clipboard in hand, her face devoid of expression, her hair pulled back tightly in a silver bun, she approached the terrified young driver in the vehicle.
“Hello, sir,” she said.
Scotty’s vacant stare indicated, at least to me that fear had robbed him of his ability to speak. I could only assume his ability to drive was also on the endangered list.
What followed were a series of “sirs” that threw him into a state of utter confusion. “All right, sir, show me your hand signals… show me the headlights, sir.”
Whereupon a cloud of doom descended on the ’98 Volvo and never lifted. We’d gone over everything in the car. Everything but the headlights. They were always on. I thought he knew that. Apparently not.
He froze. After that, it went from bad to worse, punctuated by more and more “sirs” as his errors mounted. Her instruction to “turn left at the intersection,” in Scotty’s mind, seemed open to interpretation. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he made an unsafe stop when it was green. She failed him on the spot. Her exact words: “You could have gotten us killed, sir!”
Thousand Oaks was angry that day, my friend. It did my son no favors. Like all good movie heroes, he took on the monster and lost round one. But this story isn’t over yet. He’s gearing up for battle. He’ll be back for round two. And next time, God willing, he’ll be ready.
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