Driving Lessons

I learned to drive in England. I had a maroon, two door Ford Escort. I can't remember what year the car was, but it didn't have power anything so it was old. I had two driving instructors. My first instructor David, was planning on retiring fairly soon. I kid you not when I say that after giving me a handful of lessons he told my mother that I needed way more help then he had the patience to offer. Can you guess why? I was the kind of teenage driver that every parent prays they will not have. I WAS AWFUL and I terrified anyone who got in the car with me. My next teacher was a tall, soft spoken, patient man named Nigel.

Nigel was wonderful. He didn't yell at me when I came close to hitting cars. He didn't brace himself against the dash when I would slam on the breaks at every traffic stop and he didn't clench his jaw. Instead, he would make me laugh and that relaxed me, since I white knuckled the wheel at every lesson.

"Colleen, I'll give you 20 points if you can hit that old lady." He would say in his lovely English accent. I thought that was so funny, that he would make light of such a stressful situation for me. I started taking my driving lessons in April when I turned 17. I was one of the first of my friends to start lessons because I was older than most everyone else. It was embarrassing when months later, many of my friends caught up to me, passed me and received their license before me. After the third time I failed my driving test, I was officially humiliated. Nigel, the ever good teacher that he was, was always encouraging, sympathetic and kind to me. I looked at him with glassy eyes and a stinging red nose. "I don't think I'll ever be able to pass." I said. "Nonsense. You're a good driver now, it's just that tests make you nervous." He was actually right. I had had so many lessons by this point, that I was comfortable behind the wheel, even a bit cocky. (Yikes!) I just would collapse under the pressure of testing.

Things got the slightest bit awkward for me when after so many lessons and so much time together, Nigel commented on how he liked the smell of my perfume and he kinda started looking at me funny. Not so much like a dad anymore, but maybe a little bit like an admirer. I remember thinking to myself after that lesson, "He's like, 35! He's like, old!"

I laugh now, because I don't think 35 is that old to me anymore. But I remember determining that I would pass very soon. Thankfully by the time I took the test for the 4th time, I was pretty relaxed about the whole routine and I passed. Thankfully Nigel never said another word about my perfume and once we got home we shook hands and said what was to be good-bye forever.

I miss the winding roads of England now. I miss the terribly narrow neighborhoods and all the round-abouts. I even miss that silly Ford Escort. But I will never forget the feeling that I felt the first time I got into my car all by myself and drove off to pick up my best friend. I had the windows down and was singing along to my built in cassett playing, no doubt playing something from the Indigo Girls or Natalie Merchant. Although I was singing the words to the song, in my heart I was singing of my independence and I was singing of my Freedom.

The Boy, The Christmas Present (and the ungreatful Girl who received it)

(Note: Once again, I changed the names of those involved)

The year was 1992. The place was Thorpe, in Surrey England and I was 15 years old. It was the last day of school before the Christmas holiday and I was anxious. The word around school was that Jon The Canadian was looking to give me a present and I was looking to hide. Sweet, handsome, shy Jon. He's good looks and quiet demeanor intimated the heck out of me as a young girl. He was desperate to attempt to win my heart though.

All throughout the day my girlfriends kept looking for me saying "Jon's looking for you. He has something for you." Then his friends started coming up to me. "He's looking for you, Colleen." They said. "Yeah, uh huh, I know." Was all I could awkwardly muster.

I didn't see him all day but sunk onto the school bus anyway. We were just about to take off when a blond head popped into the school bus and climbed the stairs. The next thing I knew the tall, shy Canadian was smiling and making his way to the back of the bus where I was sitting with butterflies in my stomach.

"Hello Colleen, Merry Christmas." He said in his smooth, deep voice and held out his big hand. In it was a tiny box wrapped in Christmas paper. I sat there in my seat and looked up at him. All the children on the bus were watching us. I took the present from his hand. "Thanks Jon. Merry Christmas to you too." I said and smiled weakly up at him. "Okay, well, I'll see ya." He said cheerily. And turned around and walked off the bus. I sat there with the little wrapped box in my hand. I didn't want to open it. Next thing I knew there was a tap at the window. It was Jon and he was smiling. Then like something out of an old Molly Ringwald movie, he blew on the window. It created a fog and he wrote backwards so I could read it properly "Call me" with his finger. "Okay?" I could hear him say. All I could do was nod. Then he walked off.

Just then our mean bus driver who we mockingly named "Skippy" shouted in his thick Scottish brogue. "Siiiii dooowwwn! We're leeeavin'!" The bus lurched and off we went.
I was sitting there with the little box in my hand and his very good friend who road the bus with me. "Well open it!" Greg said. All the girls were watching me. They thought I was so cool that an upperclassmen gave me Freshman, a Christmas present.

Nothing like this had ever happened to me in my life. No guy had ever paid attention to me until now, not like this. Maybe it was because I was insecure about my looks. Maybe it was because I was immature and inexperienced. I don't really know. But as much as I enjoyed being liked, I was not emotionally ready for dating just yet.

So with trembling hands, I unwrapped the present. It was a cut glass box that you could see through, and in it was a dainty pair of gold looking flower earrings. They were very pretty, and I was speechless.

That night, I kept thinking about the fact that he wanted me to call him. But I didn't know what to say. So I didn't. I felt bad about that. It was never like me to agree to something and not follow through, but I just couldn't.

I can't remember if I ever thanked him. All I know is that those dainty earring sat in my jewelry box. And every once in awhile I would take them out and look at them and then secretly tuck them back away. They were probably the most thoughtful Christmas present I received that year and I never let him know it.

Now I am a grown-up but somewhere in the attic of my parents house, in an old white leather jewelry box there lies a pair of dainty flower earrings, that have still yet to be worn, but are to precious to throw away.

I was Fifteen going on Sixteen...

Note: Some of the names have been changed to protect the privacy of those mentioned.

The month was February. I was two months shy of my sixteenth birthday and terrified that I would be "Sweet Sixteen and Never Been Kissed". I was as skinny as a rail with no figure. I had metal braces with elastic bands that attached from top to bottom, so that when I opened my mouth, it looked like strands of saliva were always hanging down. Lovely. I was also growing out my super short hair cut from the previous year. Now it almost reached the bottom of my earlobes.

That is how I looked when I met Derek and Jon. They were both Juniors and I was a Freshman. Jon was tall, blond, Canadian and shy. Derek was short, blond, crass and obnoxious. They were best friends. We all met at the international school we were attending whilst living in England. For reasons I will never know, Jon took a liking to me. Derek then made it his business to become my friend and learn all about me with the intention of pulling Jon in, since Jon was too shy to befriend me himself.

The problem was, Jon talked to Derek about me all the time and eventually Derek began to like me too. Oh the drama of teenage love triangles! Now I, being an immature 15 year old who's never been kissed, was terrified of shy, handsome, Jon. Those were my reasons for being terrified of him... shy, tall and handsome. And YES, I was the stupidest girl in the world!

Derek on the other hand was not at all shy. He always found an excuse to find me and talk to me. He also wasn't as cute as Jon. For some reason though, his candidness and average looks put me at ease and I suppose that's why I began to like him. That and the fact that he started sending me love letters between classes. My friends and I would laugh in shock in the girls locker room at the rude things he would say in his letters. Thankfully though, I can't remember what those things were, nor would I even want to try recalling them.

Eventually, to Jon's terrible dismay, Derek and I began dating. If you could call it that. We just liked knowing that we were "together". This all took place just before our school's winter break. Derek and I were going on the same school ski trip to the Austrian Alps. I was very excited. I had never been away from my parents before, let alone going to Europe and my new boyfriend was going too.

We took a plane from Heathrow Airport and flew to Munich. Then we all boarded a bus and drove another three hours into Austria. I was a nervous wreck on that bus ride. Up until this point, Derek never made a move on me. I don't even think we held hands. I wasn't even sure if he wanted to sit next to me. He was just so goofy all the time, cracking jokes and shooting his loud mouth off and talking to everyone but me.

But we did sit together. In the back. Not the way way back, that was for the maker-outters and I was not that kind of girl. That kind of stuff scared me because although I was slowly becoming a woman, I was still very much a girl inside. I could see that Derek was also very much a boy, so even though he didn't always talk to me, I knew I wouldn't get man-handled. So I felt safe.

By the time our bus headed off towards Austria it was growing late into the night. Our merry band of high schoolers and chaperons were fading in their personalities and everyone was growing sleepy. Our bus wound it's way past dark snowy meadows, and slowly headed into the Alps. As I looked out the window watching the snow fall, I could see Derek's reflection staring at me. I was too nervous to turn my head. So he kindly put his arm around me. I leaned in to rest my head on his shoulder and could smell the scent of Obsession for Men on his ski sweater. For the rest of my life, whenever I catch that sent, I am reminded of his wispy blond hair and 16 year old face.

All was quiet then and no one was watching. He tilted my chin up to his face with his hand and warmly kissed me. It was the kiss of someone who had done it before. But I didn't mind. And then he kissed me again. And just as I was feeling myself begin to melt and relish in the sweetness of the moment, I felt like someone was watching us. Before I had a chance to open my eyes, the kid in the seat in front of us was leaning over the back of his seat and proclaimed "Hey look you guys, they're kissing! Eeeoooouuu!". I broke away from Derek at that point and tried to bury my face into his chest. Everyone turned to look at us and I was mortified and terribly red in the face. I wanted to punch Charlie all the way back to Brussels where he was from. Derek told him to shut up and that the show was over. Which I thought was very protective of him. But for the rest of the ride people kept looking at us, to see if it might happen again.

We snuggled down under a small blanket that he pulled out and even though I tried to fall asleep, it was impossible. I was too excited inside. I had been kissed! Finally. I didn't see him much the rest of the week. We were in different ski groups because he was a better skiier than I was.
A few weeks later, we broke up. The idiot had conquered me and he developed a crush on some other girl. I wasn't too hurt, though. It was just a puppy-love relationship. But still, Derek was my first kiss, and you never forget your first.