In the Driver’s Seat

I knew that she was right. My hands were too clammy to hold the wheel properly. In theory, I could make the perfect K-turn and park in one solid maneuver — but in practice, my nerves were in control.

I didn’t even tell my friends about my DMV appointment. The fewer people who’d know I didn’t pass, the fewer people I’d have to answer to.

The next morning, when my instructor was supposed to be outside, my phone pinged with a message from her. Running late. Be there in ten minutes.

I looked for a way to pass the time and settled on a blue leather Hayom Yom, a sefer with a series of short messages. I turned to that day’s page and read the Hebrew text.