The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2010

F S F I C T I O N Mike clapped him on the back. “It’s yours. Of course, I had to register it in my name. And I might need to use it once in a while, like if our car is in the shop.” Paula leaned in and whispered, “Or if he feels too lazy to walk five blocks to the embassy.” “Will we take it to Washington when we move?” Todd asked. Mike shook his head. “No, the department will only ship one car for us, and anyway it would never pass inspec- tion into the U.S. That’s too bad.” “So … how is it mine?” “Well, you get to take care of it, learn how to change the oil and tires, maybe fix it up a little …” Todd eyed his father. “That’s supposed to be fun?” “It’s actually pretty cool. But then comes the really good part: you get to drive it.” “Dad, I’ll get kicked out of the country. The driving age here is even higher than back home.” “I know, but we’ll hit the farm roads outside the city where you can practice. There’s no traffic out there. No one will care.” Todd circled the car warily. The body was a sickly beige, like old soap, spotted here and there with battleship gray and rust. “Is this thing gonna fall apart?” Mike shrugged. “Probably. After all, it’s about twice as old as you. But the mechanics here work cheap, and the parts are easy to get.” “What are these two holes on the back?” “Huh? Oh, I guess that’s where the bumper used to be attached. Go on; hop in.” Todd slid into the driver’s seat and took hold of the wheel, his arms locked in a Speed Racer grip. Mike got in on the passenger side. The boy looked over all the controls and tested the pedals. The unfamiliar logo on the steering wheel caught his eye. “What kind is it?” “It’s a Lada 1300, made in Russia. A real workhorse. It’s amazing how they can load these little things up.” Todd glanced over at the SUV. “I guess you didn’t want me trashing your car.” “That wasn’t really it. Out in the boonies, there’s not much to run into. But there’s another reason it’s better for you to learn on this one.” Paula leaned against the Lada and rolled her eyes. “This you’ve gotta hear.” Mike went on. “The Toyota may look big, but it’s actu- ally kind of wussy because it’s an automatic. This car has a manual transmission. It’s much more demanding, but a stick shift puts you in charge; gives you real mastery over your vehicle.” “Okaaay,” said Paula. “I think we get the symbolism.” “Wha... oh please, get your mind out of the raunchy ro- mance rack, would you? Our innocent son is sitting right here, in case you didn’t notice. Anyway, Todd, as I was say- ing before your mother’s inappropriate comment: once you can drive this car you’ll be a real driver, unlike some peo- ple I could name.” Todd lay back against the seat. “Wow! Thanks. I mean, I didn’t expect a car.” Mike ruffled his son’s hair. “We’ll take it out on Satur- day for your first lesson.” The Lada sat on a ribbon of dusty pavement a short drive outside the capital. Farm plots and scattered houses stretched toward the oil refineries on the horizon. The put- ter of the engine revved up to a whine; the car jumped for- ward a few meters and then lurched to a stop. The engine coughed and died. The starter screeched, and the motor chugged to life again. Once more the car began tomove and just as quickly jerked to a stop. The serene Central Asian sky arced im- possibly high overhead. A third time the car started, stag- gered and died. “Damn it!” Todd slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “I can never do it right.” “No, you were getting the hang of it for a while there. Take it easy and try to do it the way you did before.” “I get worse every time!” “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Mike said. “It just takes a little practice. Remember when you learned to ride a bike? It seemed impossible, right? And the next thing you know, you’re zooming along without even thinking.” “Well at least with the bike I got to have some fun after I learned to ride. What’s the point of me learning to drive this car? Even if I ever do, I can’t use it.” “Tell you what: Once you get good at driving, you can in- vite some of your friends along, and we’ll head up into the mountains for a hike or something. As soon as we get out- side of town, you can drive the rest of the way.” “Yeah, right,” muttered Todd. “Oh wait, I forgot. I don’t have any friends, not since we moved to this stupid hell- hole. My whole class is three eurochicks who think they’re somuchmore mature than any boy their age, one guy who’s a total dork, and another one who can barely say hello in English. My friends back home have forgotten I even exist. J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 1 0 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 35