Welcome to my blog. I'm a writer, photographer, and mom in no particular order.

Drivers Ed

There were four of us in the car, including my cousin. I’m not sure why schools are obsessed with doing things in alphabetical order. I think my cousin would've been happy to escape me or at least avoid being stuck in a car with me as I learned to drive.

We’d gone up to Guthrie that morning. The three of us taking turns as the driving instructor, a laid back coach, sat in the passenger seat armed with clipboard and pen.

The day was almost over and I was last to drive, taking the stretch from Guthrie to Midwest City. The highway had moderate traffic, a mix of semi trucks and cars. I watched the speedometer, the needle held at a careful 60 miles an hour with hands at 10 and 2. The car was quiet; the radio turned low, just a murmur to keep the silence from being uncomfortable.

In front of me a semi truck rolled, white trailer blocking my view. To my left cars passed, one after another, speeding by in a stream that made my palms itch.

I shot a look at Coach, "Can I pass the truck?"

“Sure,” he said, glancing at the mirrors and turning in his seat to check the road behind us. “Just don’t go too fast.”

I waited for an opening, blinker on, foot easing down on the gas. I took the first opportunity and the speedometer began to climb. In the left lane I could see a line of five or six semi trucks. I’d have to pass them all.

I stopped watching the speedometer.

The trucks began to go by, getting passed by a car equipped with a break pedal on the passenger side and full of kids. 

Coach started calling out my speed. It rose from 65 to 70. I checked the rear view, a car bearing down on me and still a few trucks to pass before I could get over into the right hand lane. I pressed the gas.

“Seventy five!” the coach’s voice rose.

“I’ll get over in a minute,” I said, knuckles white.


And from the backseat, “We’re all gonna die!”


Dead Fish

Dead Fish