"Hey, future drivers!" Paul and Hank's father approached them after dinner that night, jingling the car keys in his hands. "Who wants to come along and do a little practising?"
Paul, who had been reading a music magazine on the couch, and Hank, who had been watching a movie with a lot of explosions on the TV nearby, both sat up. "I do!"
Soon, the three of them sat in the car in a mostly empty parking lot. "Who's going first?" their dad asked.
"Let Paul go first." This answer surprised Paul. Normally his brother was more than eager to be first at everything.
"You feeling okay, buddy?" Their father was only half-teasing as he looked back at Hank with some concern. "Okay, then. Up you come, Paul, into the driver's seat."
Paul's hands were tense as he took the wheel, his father in the passenger side and Hank still in the back. He felt his fingers moving almost without his being aware of it as his father showed him how to turn the key.
And then Paul was driving. The car glided forward across the parking lot, sometimes too fast or too slow, his father occasionally pointing out something he had forgotten. Mostly, there was nothing but him and the car, and soon Paul fell into a rhythm, almost sensing what the car needed from him next.
Eventually, his father directed him into a parking spot, and while Paul came a little close to the lines on one side, and the car was just a little crooked, he managed to park the car. "Nice job, Paul," his father said.
"Yeah, you were great." Hank sounded a little distracted.
"Well, Hank?" their father prompted. "Ready to become the world's other best driver?"
His words were playful, but Paul couldn't help but notice Hank looked a little pale as they switched places.
As soon as Hank started driving, Paul could feel the difference. Hank spent almost a full two minutes adjusting the mirrors and seat before he even got going, even though Paul had been driving last and he and Hank were exactly the same height. Once he got going, he paused for a full second or three before every turn, before doing almost anything. His hands were tight on the wheel, his face tense with concentration. The car crept along in a fit of stops and starts.
"Uh, Hank," Paul ventured, "maybe you should try...."
Hank's eyes never left the windshield. "Don't bother me, Paul. I'm driving."
"You need to go a little faster than that, buddy," their father advised. "If you go that slow on the road, it's as bad as driving too fast."
Hanks's shoulders tensed. "I know what I'm doing, Dad."
Hank finished his turn by taking three minutes to finally ease the car into a parking space, where he pulled it in so cautiously it ended up sticking out too far into the roadway. Hank muttered to himself, tried to fix it, and ended up sticking halfway into the space behind him.
Paul didn't know what to say. He mostly wanted to say something helpful, but he doubted even that would be received well.
"Well," Paul and Hank's father said at last, breaking the silence, "that was a good practise round, you two. I'm sure your driving instructor will help you with whatever else you need to learn."
He tactfully didn't direct this any more at Hank than at Paul.
All the way home, Hank said nothing. But Paul noticed him sweating as he scrutinized every move their father made while driving the car.
Paul, who had been reading a music magazine on the couch, and Hank, who had been watching a movie with a lot of explosions on the TV nearby, both sat up. "I do!"
Soon, the three of them sat in the car in a mostly empty parking lot. "Who's going first?" their dad asked.
"Let Paul go first." This answer surprised Paul. Normally his brother was more than eager to be first at everything.
"You feeling okay, buddy?" Their father was only half-teasing as he looked back at Hank with some concern. "Okay, then. Up you come, Paul, into the driver's seat."
Paul's hands were tense as he took the wheel, his father in the passenger side and Hank still in the back. He felt his fingers moving almost without his being aware of it as his father showed him how to turn the key.
And then Paul was driving. The car glided forward across the parking lot, sometimes too fast or too slow, his father occasionally pointing out something he had forgotten. Mostly, there was nothing but him and the car, and soon Paul fell into a rhythm, almost sensing what the car needed from him next.
Eventually, his father directed him into a parking spot, and while Paul came a little close to the lines on one side, and the car was just a little crooked, he managed to park the car. "Nice job, Paul," his father said.
"Yeah, you were great." Hank sounded a little distracted.
"Well, Hank?" their father prompted. "Ready to become the world's other best driver?"
His words were playful, but Paul couldn't help but notice Hank looked a little pale as they switched places.
As soon as Hank started driving, Paul could feel the difference. Hank spent almost a full two minutes adjusting the mirrors and seat before he even got going, even though Paul had been driving last and he and Hank were exactly the same height. Once he got going, he paused for a full second or three before every turn, before doing almost anything. His hands were tight on the wheel, his face tense with concentration. The car crept along in a fit of stops and starts.
"Uh, Hank," Paul ventured, "maybe you should try...."
Hank's eyes never left the windshield. "Don't bother me, Paul. I'm driving."
"You need to go a little faster than that, buddy," their father advised. "If you go that slow on the road, it's as bad as driving too fast."
Hanks's shoulders tensed. "I know what I'm doing, Dad."
Hank finished his turn by taking three minutes to finally ease the car into a parking space, where he pulled it in so cautiously it ended up sticking out too far into the roadway. Hank muttered to himself, tried to fix it, and ended up sticking halfway into the space behind him.
Paul didn't know what to say. He mostly wanted to say something helpful, but he doubted even that would be received well.
"Well," Paul and Hank's father said at last, breaking the silence, "that was a good practise round, you two. I'm sure your driving instructor will help you with whatever else you need to learn."
He tactfully didn't direct this any more at Hank than at Paul.
All the way home, Hank said nothing. But Paul noticed him sweating as he scrutinized every move their father made while driving the car.
