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“Okay, now put your hands on the wheel,” Tommy coached. It felt like I was now the player on the baseball field and he was the coach. But instead of my hands doing what Tommy said to do, they stayed firmly in my lap.
“Okay, now put your hands on the wheel,” Tommy repeated.
“I know.”
Tommy paused as he watched me from the passenger seat. We’d at least made more progress in the last five minutes than we had in the last hour. “You don’t even have to start the car yet.”
“Okay.”
What he said made sense, but it was like my body was fighting against what it should do. Tommy reached over and gently laced his fingers through mine before he raised my hands to the wheel. When he let go, he cheerfully looked at me and said, “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
As I sat there with my hands gripping the wheel, I half expected to have a flashback to that night. But nothing happened, nothing came. So instead, I gripped the wheel tighter as I felt some of the worry I had been feeling leak out of my body. With one more breath, I reached down and turned the key. It was different feeling a car start up when you were in control rather than sitting in the passenger seat. You were at the mercy of the engine under the hood and responsible for the safety of whoever was inside the car.
Tommy started to encourage me to take that small step, but he stopped when he watched me put my foot on the brake and the car in drive.
“Are you sure?” he asked as the car began to creep forward.
“We’re already moving, Tommy,” I told him as I edged the car around the empty parking lot. We were not zipping around the parking lot at a normal thirty miles per hour. It was a slow crawl around five, but I was driving a car for the first time in almost four years. The speed didn’t matter, so long as the car was moving.
“You’re doing it!” Tommy shouted. He was celebrating my accomplishment like the fans cheered for him when he made a game-saving play or hit a game-winning home run. It meant the world to me that he was celebrating something so small like the massive accomplishments people celebrated of his.
He didn’t stop cheering for me as I moved his car around and around in circles in that parking lot. I knew I wasn’t going to have the courage to take it out on the road today, but that moment in the parking lot was enough for me.
I was surprised when my chest didn’t constrict and my palms didn’t sweat as I drove. In fact, I didn’t feel nervous at all. It was a little like riding a bike. Sure, I was a little rusty, but I hadn’t forgotten how to do it. As I continued to drive in circles, I realized that it wasn’t the act of driving I was afraid of. I had been a safe driver before the accident. Instead, I was afraid of the other people on the road and the unpredictability of what they would do. The accident had effectively given me trust issues with driving.
After a few more turns, I slowed the car to a stop and put it in park. Tommy stayed silent next to me as he waited to hear my thoughts. My eyes glanced between the dash and the road just beyond the parking lot we were in, my mind calculating the risks.
“How do you feel?” Tommy asked after I hadn’t said anything for a few minutes.
“Like I need to actually go on the road.”
“You don’t have to,” he replied quickly, trying to make me feel comfortable with what I had done so far.
“Driving isn’t the problem, Tommy,” I told him. “I trust myself. It’s everyone else that I don’t trust.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell you that will never go away.” Tommy chuckled softly. When my eyes still remained firmly planted on the road in front of us, Tommy continued, “Okay, how about this? There’s an ice cream shake place a couple miles away from my place. If you can get us there, I’ll get us back to my house.”
“Deal.” This was a momentous occasion to reward with some ice cream.
Maggie
Tommy and I didn’t get to enjoy the rest of the break the team had that week. After our day of conquering my fears with driving, he and I were on another flight to Los Angeles and the ESPYS. Monica had sent us both a detailed email about where we would be staying, the kinds of appearances she wanted us to do before the red carpet, and the designers that would be dressing us for the night.
It was overwhelming to say the least, and as we read the email, I found myself becoming disappointed that our relationship would be solidified by a grand orchestrated plan. Even though Tommy and I were not actually official, it felt like we were heading in that direction, and Monica’s plans laid a layer of complication on top of all of this. Did Tommy consider this a confirmation of our relationship in real life? Or was it just me thinking along those lines?
“Can I ask you something?” Tommy said as the two of us sat in the back of a car on the way to the hotel we’d be staying at.
“Anything,” I told him.
“How do you define yourself outside of your photography?” The words came out of his mouth like a prayer he was hoping would be answered.
“Why do you ask?”
“I’ve just been thinking about it a lot since we took off in Chicago.” Tommy didn’t have to go into any more detail for me to know that his mind was in a spiral, reflecting on his career and where it had taken him in life.
“Well, I guess it starts with what it is I want to leave behind in this world. It isn’t necessarily what you do that defines you but why you do it. It’s about what you want to be known for when you leave this place. I like to think of the old saying coaches always used to tell you as kids: leave the dugout better than when you found it. Leave the world a little better than when you first arrived. No matter how big or small.”
Tommy’s hand rested on the seat between us, and I reached out to slide mine underneath his. He gave me a grateful smile, and his hand curled around mine and squeezed.
