The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2010

There’s nothing to do here and …” Todd turned his face to the window. Mike sat silently, his fingertips poised on his knees, and pretended not to hear the halting breaths. Finally he said, “Todd, man, I know this move was tough on you, much more than on me and Mom. Two years is a long time at your age. That’s part of why I got the car. I … I thought it would be something fun for you, something we could do together.” “Look, can we just go home now?” Todd said, his voice still stretched thin. He slung the seatbelt off and pushed open the door. A fewweeks later, the Lada cruised down the same farm road, occasionally passing a truck or another rickety old car. Todd shifted smoothly and stayed in his lane, signaling his turns and checking his blind spot even when there were no other cars around. “You’re getting to be an old pro at this.” “Yep, now I can drive around in circles in the middle of nowhere,” Todd said, easing into fourth as the car built up speed on a straight stretch. Mike scanned the horizon from the refineries to the high-rises to the hills. “Let’s turn left up ahead.” “Dad, we tried that way last week, remember? The road dead-ended at a farm just over the hill.” “I know, but I want to show you something.” “What?” “You’ll see.” Todd turned onto the bumpy dirt road and started up the hill. “Stop here for a second.” As the car jounced to a halt, Todd asked, “What’s there to see?” “Sorry, this isn’t it. Go on a little further.” Todd gripped the wheel. His heel pinned the brake to the floor while his toe pivoted to press the gas. He stepped off the brake and quickly released the clutch. The car sagged backwards, then reconsidered and strained up the slope. Todd pressed the revs up before snapping into sec- ond. “That was it,” said Mike. Todd looked around. “Where?” “Not where; how . Starting off uphill. It’s the hardest thing to do with a stick shift, and you nailed it. That was perfect. Um, not so fast on the turn.” Back at the little crossroad at the bottom of the hill, Todd said, “Which way now?” “Up to you.” “How about over there?” Todd pointed down a road that wound into a residential area. “I don’t know. That’s getting into traffic.” “Not much. I’ll be really careful. If it gets too crowded I’ll just come back this way.” Mike smiled. He heard an eagerness in his son’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “Sure, why not?” It wasn’t just any residential street. This was a new, ex- clusive suburb. High walls shielded the grand facades of houses for rich locals and foreign oil executives. “Let’s not scratch any BMWs, shall we?” Mike sug- gested. But Todd was right. There was little traffic, and the residents rated the only unbroken pavement in the city. Two drivers stood smoking next to their bosses’ gleam- ing cars. Their faces panned in unison as Todd and Mike rolled by. A decrepit Lada was a common sight, but not with diplomatic plates and a 14-year-old at the wheel. The car disappeared down the block, and without a word the two men went back to their cigarettes. Todd cautiously dodged parked cars and the few pedes- trians on the street: construction workers unloading bricks, a girl walking a German shepherd, an old woman sweeping litter to the curb. When they stopped at an intersection near the end of the street, Mike said, “Good job. Now hang a right, and let’s head back toward the farms. You can practice some paral- lel parking with the cones, and then I’ll drive us home.” Todd hesitated. “Is it okay if we go back the way we came?” “Back down this street? Yeah, if you want. You can practice a three-point turn.” Mike watched with approval as Todd made the turn in the middle of the quiet street. Again they passed the construction guys and the woman with the broom. The girl and the dog were walking toward them. When they got close, Todd gave a little wave. The girl stopped in her tracks, straining against the pull of the leash as the car rolled to a halt next to her. The dog reared up with its paws against the door and sniffed at Todd through the open window. Todd said, “Hi, Anna.” “Todd, what are you doing? Are you supposed to be driving zis?” Mike couldn’t quite place the accent. French? Ger- man? 36 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 1 0 F S F I C T I O N