Page 27 of Wounded Dance
“Yes. It makes you move.”
“Okay. Wide one brake, skinny one gas. Should I push them both at once?”
“No, no, always use your right foot for everything. You don’t ever want to push them both.”
“Or I’ll self-destruct?” I toss him a saucy expression.
“Let’s go with that,” Blitz says. “So put your right foot on the brake, then use your right hand to push in the little button on the side of the gear and move it into drive.”
I follow his instructions. But I’m so nervous my foot slips off the brake and I hit the other pedal. We shoot forward.
I jerk my foot back. Now my foot isn’t on any pedal, but we’re still moving forward.
“I’m not hitting the gas!” I say. “Why are we going?”
Blitz tries to look relaxed but he’s clutching his seat belt. “You need to hit the brake now. Gently, though, don’t slam it.”
I lean down to look for the pedal again.
“Eyes on the road!” Blitz says.
“It’s too much to do!” I say. We’re still inching across the pavement, aiming for a pole with a parking lot marker at the top.
“You can do it,” Blitz says. “Use your foot to feel for it.”
I move my foot again and manage to hit the gas, shooting us forward.
“Forget the pedals for a minute,” Blitz says. His voice is calmer now. “Just turn the wheel to the right.”
I turn it. It is tighter than I thought it would be and moves slowly. I expected it to spin like a bicycle tire. We shift to the side of the pole.
Blitz lets out a sigh. “Let’s just do this a moment. Feet off the pedals and turn the wheel so you can get a feel for how the car moves.”
We putter around for a while, me moving the wheel one direction or the other. Blitz settles back in his seat.
“Okay, now feel for the pedals but don’t push one or the other down. Just find them with your right foot.”
I move my foot around. “I have the brake,” I say.
“Gently push it down.”
I press my foot on it and we glide to a stop.
“I did it!” I say. I lean over to give Blitz a hug, but my foot slips off and we start moving forward again.
This freaks me out so I stomp on the brake. This time we slam to a stop.
“That works too,” Blitz says.
“I need a break,” I say. “How do I make this thing stop moving?”
“Put the gear in park,” he says.
I shift the lever. This time when I take my foot off the brake, we stay still. I let out a sigh. “This is stressful,” I say.
“Wait until you get into rush hour traffic,” he says.
“Never,” I say. “I’ll take taxis.”
