Page 41 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
This Jeep is a lot of things—impractical, loud, conspicuous, and likely gas-guzzling. It doesn’t look like me. My environmentally-friendly, top safety rated sedan looks like me, but maybe I don’t want it to. I want to have fun. Maybe I should drive a vehicle that looks like it belongs to someone who has played Seven Minutes in Heaven with a celebrity. My heart skips at the thought.
“I. Love. It. Can we take it out now?” I’m bobbing in my flip flops when I ask. I don’t recognize myself.
Anders chuckles. “Hop in.” He turns to my mom, “We’re going to go out for a little birthday ride. Would you mind keeping an eye on Hairy for us?”
“Sure thing. Have fun, you two. Don’t stay out too late.”
I can tell from her tone that we’ll be having a long conversation later. I cringe, thinking about how I’ll explain the closet incident. Oh well. That’s tomorrow’s problem. It’s still my birthday, and tonight is for Jeeping. I’m not sure that’s a word, but I’m making it one. Anders helps Imogen climb into the back, where a special seat is already strapped in place for her. While he buckles her in, I make crazy eyes at my family and wave goodbye.
I taunt in mock-whisper, “See ya, suckers! I’m going Jeeping with Anders Beck!”
Mercer groans. “You’re a scumbag. Details. I’m getting all of the details tonight when you get home.”
“Ugh! What is your life right now?” Goldie whines.
My other sisters are silent behind their Chesire grins.
“Be safe,” Joe says, with a look to Anders. “Be careful with her—” He is cut off by Indie, who hooks an arm around his neck and leans up to his ear. He looks none too pleased with whatever she says, but it silences him. Man, am I grateful to have her on my side.
My family wanders back toward the house as I make my way to the passenger door—well, there is no door, it’s more like a passenger opening. Or portal. I’m about to climb through the passenger portalwhen Anders slides in front of me, hoisting himself into the seat before I can.
“You’re driving,” he orders.
I climb through the driver’s side portal, buckle in, and turn the key in the ignition. My foot is on the brake and my shaky hand is on the gearshift when I realize I’ve overlooked something critical.
“This thing is a manual?”
“Of course.”
“I—” I fiddle with the thing. “I don’t know how to drive one of these.”
“Oh.” His mouth twists to the side in thought. “I’ll teach you real quick. No biggie.”
I appreciate that almost everything is “no biggie” to this man—no problem is too impossible and no mountain unclimbable. It makes me feel like I can do the things that scare me. I also wonder something: Am I standing in my own way sometimes? If I tried Anders’ method of assuming everything will work out and life will be easy, maybe it will? Maybe instead of assuming worst case scenarios, I can consider what’s thebestthat can happen? But… if I don’t catastrophize, I’ll be unprepared for those eventualities. Catastrophizing is a tough job, butsomeonehas to do it. I shove these thoughts in a mental box to examine later.
Anders clears his throat, dragging me back to the present.
I smile, nervous but willing to try his way of living—at least in this small way. “Okay. What do I do?”
He gives me a quick rundown of how to drive a stick shift and I try my hardest to concentrate. I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of Anders Beck’s Jeep, after all. It's asking a lot.
But he helps me through the tricky parts, Immy giggles every time I stall the engine, and twenty minutes later we’re roaring through the open desert with the rain-scented wind whipping through our hair. Anders' deep voice gently reminds me when to let off the gas, push the clutch, and shift gears until I mostly have thehang of it. Immy zonks out quickly in the back seat, so I don’t feel too bad keeping her out late.
We’re at a four-way stop in the middle of nowhere, with sagebrush on every side, and I’m feeling proud of the fact that I downshifted and stopped without incident. I send up a silent prayer of gratitude for a compassionate transmission, braided hair, and my charmed life in general.
“What are you doing?” Anders asks through a laugh.
“Stopping?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a four-way stop?”
“We’ll be abducted by aliens before we see another car out here.”
“It’s the law,” I scoff. I’m feeling like a mega-nerd at the moment, but I hate losing a debate more than I hate being a nerd. In fact, I’m leaning into it. I push my glasses up my nose to complete the effect. I take my foot off the brake and slowly release the clutch. We’re rolling, but then I press the gas pedal a hair too fast and the Jeep shudders.
“Criminy, Jeeping Beauty,” I mutter. “You big, pink drama queen.” Eventually, we lurch through the intersection, barely avoiding a stalled engine. Poor Jeeping Beauty. She doesn’t deserve this abuse.
