Growing Up in the Dodge
Some of my most pivotal moments as a teenager.
I am 15 years and 9 months old. It is the night before I take the test the learner’s permit test so I can start driving. But my mom says something that irritates me while we are cleaning up after dinner and I say something disrespectful. I have never been disrespectful. I have never gotten in trouble. My parents have also never had anything to punish me with if I ever did act out. I didn’t have anything to take away. Until now. I am no longer going to the DMV tomorrow. I have to wait nine whole days until one of my parents is able to take me. Why couldn’t I have waited a day to decide to stand up for my opinions?
I am pulling the family Town and Country mini-van into a McDonald’s parking lot for a bathroom break. I am still learning how to drive and this is my first long trip as a driver. My back is sore from sitting upright for so long and my brain is tired from focusing on the road. I accidentally press the gas instead of the break as I pull into the parking spot and ram into a lamppost. The lightbulb breaks free and flies twenty feet forward into a grassy field. My mom tells me I need to go tell the McDonald’s store manager what I did. Guilt starts eating away at my insides, but before I walk into the store, the manager comes out to investigate the cause of the noise. I explain what happened, looking at his shiny shoes, expecting to have to pay for the damages only to be told that this actually happens all the time and to not worry about it.
We are picking up the new family car from the rental car company. Since my dad works there, we get a discount on cars when they accrue too many miles to be rentals anymore. Almost all of our family cars were bought this way. It has been made clear to me that this is my parents’ car- I just drive it. And that having access to a car also means added responsibilities- like picking my siblings up from after-school activities and dropping them off. I am too nervous to drive the new car home. I didn’t get to test drive it and am much more comfortable making the forty-minute trip in the car I learned how to drive in.
The car is a Dodge Avenger. The Avengers movies are all the rage so I name the car Tony after Tony Stark.
I drive my sister and myself to and from our practices on Saturday mornings. The age gap between a high school freshman and a sixth grader had been a large chasm to overcome and we didn’t feel as close as we had been until I started driving us everywhere. We could stop for ice cream after every practice if we wanted, slowly siphoning a couple of bucks from my gas allowance. We make up songs while we drive around town, creating parodies of the top 40 hits based on our favorite dystopian book series.
After practice, I am looking forward to stopping at McDonald’s and getting an Oreo McFleurry as I put the car in reverse and back straight into my friend’s parent’s SUV. My sister and I look at each other in shock as the rest of our teammates look at us through the car windows. I get out and take pictures like I learned in driver’s education classes and hand over the insurance card. My parents pay to fix the SUV out of pocket to keep our insurance rate low, but don’t repair the large dent on my fender to serve as a reminder of the importance of safe driving.
The boy I have had a crush on for two years approaches me in health class and asks if the car he saw me getting out of this morning was mine and is it a Dodge Charger? I say yes- even though I remember that it is my parents' car that I am allowed to drive- but it’s actually an Avenger, not a charger. He tells me it's a cool car. I say thanks, in disbelief that he noticed me, even if it was only because of the car.
It is the last day of junior year and my friends are celebrating. We only have one more year of high school left. I am the oldest in my friend group by six months which means I am the only one that is allowed to drive non-family members- the rest of our group still has their provisional driver’s licenses. We piled into my car, every seat accounted for, and drove to the movie theatre. We ate at the Chipotle next door before buying tickets for the Fault in Our Stars, the movie adaptation of the book we had all read.
It is late when the movie ends and we are delirious from a sugar-induced craze. We race back to the car, only two of my friends getting in the backseat before I lock the doors, all of us laughing hysterically as the remaining two friends sit on the trunk in protest, and laughing even harder when I put the car into drive and jerk forward a foot and they hop off in a hurry.
I unlock my car doors and let them inside. We return to my parent’s house and spend the night drinking Dr. Pepper, eating Twizzlers, and watching corny rom-com movies from the early 2000s.
I am a senior in college. My parents let me bring Tony to college with me after spending three years apart so I can drive to my internship and because my new apartment has a parking spot in front of my building. Driving down one of Pittsburgh’s many hills, the light on the dash start flashing and the radio goes in and out. I feel like I am about to drive into a science fiction movie and this is the first sign that the world is about to end. My instincts kick in and I turn on my hazard flashers and pull the car onto the sidewalk just in time. Tony shuts down and won’t turn back on.
It’s snowing outside and I am wearing a dress. I am coming home from a social and I’m still a mile from my apartment. I call Triple AAA and they say that a tow truck will be there in forty-five minutes after he completes another pickup.
After two hours, I am freezing. I call again. The tow truck is still en route to the first car. They don’t know when he will get to me. It is now 12:30 AM.
I call my friend who I know is spending time with her family but is also the only friend that also has a car. She pulls up behind my dead car. I grab my bookbag out of my backseat and retreat into the safety of her warm car. I leave my car unlocked on the side of the road and hope that no one hotwires it and drives it away before the tow truck arrives.
The next morning, I walk to the repair shop and am relieved to see Tony sitting in their parking lot. The mechanic tells me that my alternator blew. Five hundred bucks to fix it. Relief turns to displeasure as I fork over my credit card. But at least I still have a car.
