Stop

I could see the blue lights behind me as I sped across the parking lot, I slowed to a stop in a random parking spot.

"You in a hurry?" The cliche cop in mirrored sun glasses asked me as he stood next to the driver window.

"Sorta, I am late for work." I lied, I was actually not working that day, but picking up my check. It seemed like I needed an excuse to drive this fast. 

"Oh yeah, you supposed to be there at 11:00?" He lifted his sunglasses and stared at his Timex watch.

"Yessir." I was taught at a young age to always address a police officer with respect - real or not.

"Looks like you're not going to make it." He turned his watch in my direction while simultaneously tapping the face to show me the digital readout 11:05. He followed it up with a smile.

"Yeah, I don't need another tardy on my schedule." I feigned fear and then worried tardy was only for school and not job-related, should I have said occurrence or late?

"Well, I put your license plate on the list." He tapped a piece of paper in his hand and then I notice the security guard uniform, he worked for the fairgrounds. I wondered if I could tell him to fuck off as he had no gun.

"Thank you, I'm sorry." I kept up the act while thinking what kind of authority this person actually had.

"Good and slow down!" He turned and returned to his security vehicle, is that what it was called? His car? Not-the-police car?

I slowly drove away and parked at the entrance on the side of the stadium. There was nobody here, so I quickly retrieve my check - I knew it was mostly earmarked for bills, but it felt good to have my own money.

I sped away towards the exit, looking everywhere for my security guy but no sight of him. I loved driving the silver camaro - I still could not believe dad allowed me to drive it. I hit the highway and raced towards his house.

He stood in front of the garage as I pulled down the driveway, he did not look happy.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"I got my check." I held it up as it flapped in the wind.

"I told you that I was putting these seat covers on, I don't have all day to wait for you. Remember, it is not your car."

"Sorry, I forgot." He actually did have all day as it was Saturday and he never went anywhere. I then notice the empty beer cans.

"It's not your car." He repeated himself while stepping in my direction.

"I know."

"Don't get smart boy."

"I am sorry that I forgot." I took a step back and suddenly felt trapped, I did not want to spend another minute with him in this condition.

"Sorry, everybody is always sorry, that doesn't help me, does it?"

"I guess not."

"You need to get that piece of shit out of my garage anyway." He pointed towards the rusted, orange Volkswagen Beetle. I had bought if for $50 with no knowledge of driving a manual transmission. Dad had helped me install a new starter the previous week, so I had it working.

"I know, I told you I will as soon as I get insurance and learn how to drive a stick."

"Learn how to drive? You're twenty-three fucking years old, nobody ever taught me anything, I learned it myself. I remember my 63 Falcon, shifter on the column, I learned myself."

"Yeah, I just need some practice and I will be good to go." The knot returned to my stomach, I hated being around him when he was drinking.

"Practice? You think this is funny?"

"No, just need to learn a stick."

"So many excuses, just like every fucking body, goddamn excuses."

I stood quietly, trying to weave my way through this unprovoked confrontation. I wish I had the backstory on what had put him in this condition.

"You shouldn't be driving that German piece of shit anyway, get an Merican ride - be a man."

"It was cheap, I always liked them."

"You like them? You're just like your fucking mother, don't listen and stupid."

"Leave her out of it, she has nothing to do with this."

"Keep on, that needs to be outta here."

"Fine."

I don't know what came over me, I opened the door and plopped into the front seat with spring jabbing me in the thigh. I fished the key from under the floor mat - pushed it into the ignition. I turned but to my horror there was nothing, I turned it again and then sat staring out the window. I remembered and pushed down the clutch pedal and the engine sputtered to life. 

"What are you doing?" He was apparently shocked.

"You said get it outta here." I desperately wanted him to stop me, reach inside and turn off the ignition, tell me it's okay, or plop down in the passenger seat and explain how to drive this rust bucket.

"Well, go then hotshot." He leaned against the Camaro and opened another beer, sipping and shooting me a grin.

"Fuck you." The car leapt forward as I turned the wheel to the right to keep it on the driveway. I pushed in the pedal again and the car stopped next to the house - I could see my stepmom in the kitchen, she said nothing.

"What did you say to me, you little bastard!" He approached from the rear with anger spewing, it like Michael Myers was after me. 

I removed my foot from the pedal and the tires screeched as it took another leap forward. I quickly turned right again out of the driveway. It was exhilarating, I shot him the finger as I rolled down the street. I saw him standing in the middle of the driveway watching me disappear.

I slammed the brake pedal at the stop sign at the end of his road and the car sputtered and died. I pushed the clutch and lurched forward as I took another right onto the main road of the subdivision. This repeated all the way home, dying at every stop sign and bouncing away as I restarted. I was shaking as I pulled in front of my home.

"What the fuck is that doing here?" My brother Bill shot out of the trailer and surveyed me as I opened the door. 

"He wanted it out of his driveway, so here I am. Not sure what is wrong though, it died everytime I stopped." I could feel my hands shaking and my legs ached.

"Stopped? I thought you wanted me to teach you how to drive it?"

"No time, had to get it here while he freaked out. I hate when he drinks."

"Fuck him, he's just as bad sober, well maybe not as vocal."

"Maybe."

"Stopped? You push down both pedals like I told you?" He leaned against the front fender.

"There is only one brake pedal."

"You have to push the clutch too, disengage it so it can idle when you stop, jesus, you bounce every time you stopped?" He laughed, it always felt like he loved pointing out my mistakes.

"Fuck, I forgot about that, yeah it was a bumpy ride."