Driving Class Part Two: A Dream Come True

Being the good best friend that I am, I loaned my more practical, gas efficient car to my buddy Jason while he’s looking for another car (he crashed his), so I’ve been left to drive the Mustang everywhere, which is a blast, because I love driving it, and also a blast in the wallet with gas at $3,000 a gallon (roughly).

On our Saturday lunch break from driving class, I had decided to just sit in my car, roll down the windows, and listen to some tunes while eating a sandwich while all the others went out to nearby restaurants and ate out. When they returned, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw one of them look at my car and then say something in an excited tone to his passenger. I wasn’t sure what, but as I got out and headed back in, I saw one of my ‘classmates’ (if you can even call him that–this is already proving itself to be a joke of a ‘class’) standing by the door, who was quick to say, “That’s a nice car,” along with an agreement from his passenger, another classmate who’s smoking a cigar.

This young guy, who’s an 18 year old senior in high school, proceeds to tell me about how the Mustang is his and his father’s absolute dream car and he’s always wanted to drive one, and that he even got excited when at his day job (he’s one of the tire guys at Discount Tires) he got to move one of the old boxy falling apart 1980’s Mustangs into the bay, saying that, “A Mustang’s a Mustang, and I was just happy to be in one.”

I told him about my car, and we both surprised each other with the knowledge we had of the cars, and he was completely enthralled by the fact that it was a fully option V8 with manual transmission–the gold mine of Mustangs, I suppose. He completely surprised me by asking, “When class is over, even if it’s just down the block and back, can I drive it?”

In retrospect I was at a driving class where people had been pulled over for reckless driving and speeding (his was only speeding like 10 over–I do worse on the drive to work every day), but the glimmer in his eyes said just how much of a dream come true this really would be to him and without a second thought I said, “yeah, sure.”

Sure enough after class I’m on my way to my car and he comes up beside me and asks, “Can I still take it for a drive?” I’m not sure if he thought I would actually let him do it, but I threw him the keys, hopped in the passenger seat, and said ‘Get in.’

He was nervous. I mean, nervous to the point of shaking, like he was in some super car, which oddly made me thankful for what I had when I considered this was my daily driver that I just liked to use to even cruise to King Soopers to pick up a loaf of bread on a nice day. He told me he wasn’t very good at stick shift and I told him not to worry about it. I had him roll down the windows before he started the car and when it did–when the V8 rumbled to life and the Violator Axleback mufflers in the rear grumbled like a giant–I saw his hand shaking a little on the shiftknob.

He backed out slowly and pulled from the parking lot at a slow, creeping speed. This was not a kid who wanted an excuse to tear around in a fast car just to dick around, this was a guy who truly respected not just the vehicle but the name and the history of the car. Then, as he looped around toward the deserted side street, he gave it just the slightest amount of gas and the engine gave a resontant rumble, and we crept down the street at all of 10 mph.

He went up the block, went into another parking lot, and took the corner a little fast. He apologized immediately and told me he didn’t mean to do it, but I just smiled and said, “It handles great, doesn’t it? It’s not just great in a straight line, it’ll handle good around curves, too.” He started to reach the end of the parking lot, and I said, “flip around fast.” He gave it a little gas, turned the wheel, and was in absolute awe when the car slid around in a perfect half circle like it was being held on rails. Now, I’ve taken turns faster than that going onto a side street coming home, but to him it was like a feat of near impossibility. Again, made me realize what I really have.
When we came around the last corner and headed toward the parking lot, I told him, “Go ahead, give this thing some gas. That’s what Ford made these for.” He punched the gas only briefly–the engine snarled to life and the car lurched forward–before he shifted at about 20 mph and slowed down again. He seemed really worried about overdoing it, like it was too much car to handle, and yet as we crept back he told me how it was about the coolest thing anyone’s ever let him do.

We got back to the parking lot by his old, beat up truck, and he asked if he could take pictures of it to put on his Myspace. I told him, “how about I take your camera and take some pictures of you sitting in it, looking like you’re driving it?” I might as well have asked him if he wanted a million dollars and three playboy bunnies; he gave me his camera and I took a couple pics of him inside with the hugest grin on his face. Then he got outside, and proceeded to take pictures of every angle–the front, the back, the side–he took pictures of the interior, even popped the hood and took pictures of the engine, which we chatted about briefly.

Afterwards he thanked me, and really surprised me when he said, “You really made my dream come true. I know it seems stupid, but in my family, Mustangs are like god.”

I know, I know, I’d be lying if I didn’t say my ego swelled up a little bit, but I also was reminded of how grateful I am for everything I have, how hard I worked to earn that car that this young guy was fawning over, and that even if it’s something as small as letting a nervous teenager drive your brand new sports car–not just baby it, but drive it the way it was meant to be driven–making someone’s dream come true has a huge impact on the way you look at things.

When I get home I’ll see if I can find his Myspace and the pics, because I never did get to see how they turned out.