August 17

My father was a good driver. And he drove fast. I used to sit in the back seat and observe everything he did. He explained to me how car driving should be done.

- You have to brake before the road turns, and then start to accelerate on the way out of the turn, he said. That makes the driving smooth and comfortable.

- You should always move aside when someone faster wants to pass, and always wait for slower drivers to move aside when you want to pass, he said. And when they do, you should always thank them by waving or flashing the lights.

He showed me how to flash the rear indicator lamps; left, right, left.

I don’t remember ever being afraid. I thought he was the best driver and I felt safe. But my mother was afraid. I remember her holding on to the grip above the door, breathing in and out. Sometimes she screamed a little. Ooh! No! Watch out! I even remember her trying to get out of the car once we were driving on a serpentine road on Gran Canaria.

- What are you doing?! Close the door, he said and stopped the car.

- No , I can’t handle this, she said and opened the door a little more.

- Yes, you can, he said. It’s not dangerous. I’m driving really safely.

Obviously she had to continue inside the car with us and we returned safely to the hotel a couple of hours later. My mother exhausted by fear and my father frustrated by her lack of trust. I never understood why she was so afraid. I thought we were perfectly safe.

I think I got a little from both of them. I learnt how to drive a car fast and safe. Yes, I’m an excellent driver! And I learnt how to be afraid when someone else is driving.

I go to work by bus. It is usually the same driver every day. He is so nice. He is funny and friendly. He stops the bus anywhere someone wants to get on or off the bus. He takes detours to let people walk less when it’s rainy. But he drives as if he had stolen the bus and stuffed it with cocaine. He is known as the Rally-driver.

In his bus I have been a lot like my mother. I hyperventilate and check several times that the seat belt is fastened. I also choose to sit in the bus on the basis of which seat I think is the safest if we would crash. (I vote for those in the center of the bus, next to the aisle.) I don’t scream but once I told him I was afraid. He was just laughing at me and then he drove as fast the next day.

Today he told me and the other passengers that he got a letter from somebody who had driven behind him and measured his speed. That person was very upset and wrote that the Rally-driver was driving dangerously fast, faster than 110 km/h on the small road. The writer had chosen to be anonymous so our bus driver could not respond to him/her or defend himself. He was a bit sad about it, I think. I think he felt sad because someone doesn’t trust him when he himself knows he is driving safe.

Then I suddenly thought about my father and the feeling of being safe there in the back seat when I was a child. And I though that the Rally-driver is driving a lot like my father used to do. It’s the way he drives fast, but manage to keep the bus steady by braking before the turns, and then speeding out of the turns. I never jump around on the seat, my back is always glued to the seats backrest. Actually the feeling is quite familiar and relaxing in a way and reminds me of my childhood. 

Thus, I leaned back and closed my eyes and let the Rally-driver sweep me fastly towards my home.