The Pubscriber Vol. 1 Summer 2012

“You don’t need help. You are doing it.”

By the time I pulled into the driveway, my forearms hurt from squeezing the wheel.

Salt and snot had dried all over my face and my clothes were soaked with sweat. I looked at him and he looked at the garage, reached up and pushed the red button attached the visor above me. The door creaked open. I looked at him. He looked at the wheel and then at the open garage.

“No.” I said.

“Then we’ll just leave it outside,” he said, starting to open the door.

“No!” I said, leaning over him to swat his hand away.

I crawled forward in the Explorer, making myself dizzy as I turned my head from side to side to make sure I didn’t hack off a mirror in the process. I turned off the ignition, opened the door and breathed a full sigh of cold winter garage air into my lungs. I handed him the keys. I ran into the house and straight into the bathroom to wash my face off, the sweat, tears and the entire experience. When had I started this relationship with bathroom escapes?

“Janna, John? Where have you been?” my mom asked, padding into the hallway in a pair of her puffy slippers.

“Dad taught me how to drive,” I said through the bathroom door, over the running water.

I never even went to the bathroom. I would just sit, or run water or look in the mirror.

“John, what?”

“I taught Janna how to drive.”