A few days ago, I made my first-ever visit to the bank without my usual companion: my mother.
Although to many this is simply “a regular visit,” to me, it’s much more. Pulling into the parking lot, I play my playlist instead of the usual radio that my mother and I would listen to in the past. Although it felt freeing, in reality, it’s just the constant reminder that this is now my everyday, alone.
“Hey, Mom, can you take me to USPS tonight? I have some things I need to drop off.” This once-constant question has now turned into leaving the house without her, without a question asked, and now, without her in the driving seat. Often impatient, or even frustrated with the pace at which she is driving, but the pace at which I will leave is sooner, sooner than I ever could imagine.
Each mile my mom and I drove together was a mile closer to driving alone, and I couldn’t help but count down the minutes, and now that moment has come. However, the first time driving alone was different from what I expected it to be—although it was exciting, it was soon followed by a feeling I had yet to experience, and that feeling was regret. The regret of not appreciating the little things, sitting in the passenger seat with my mother driving, often annoyed or late to my friend’s house, and now I am in control.
I am inexplicably excited to be able to drive on my own now, as well as have a vehicle for which I can customize to be my own, but there are moments when I miss my mom screaming at me to get my shoes off the dashboard and making me wipe it off after.
“Hi Mom, can you drop me off at Emma’s at around 6:00 p.m., then pick me up at 9:00 p.m.? Love you!” has now begun to turn into, “I’ll be at Emma’s tonight, see you tomorrow!” The emancipating apprehension of driving and doing such things alone feels much less pressuring than having an associate by my side at all times; however, there are moments when I glance at the passenger seat and realize that I will never get the chance to be the child sitting patiently, waiting to be dropped off, and my time has arrived.
The freedom of owning a car is unbelievably exciting. Still, there is a lingering pain of taking that step into adulthood and beginning to do things on my own, without my mother, which, over time, overtakes my joy and passion for driving. My playlist blares through the weak speakers in my 2009 Ford Escape, but I can’t seem to hear the lyrics, as the thoughts in my head of leaving overwhelm me and soon take over.
Each mile I drive is an inch closer to the end of my childhood, which pains me to even think about. Now, I am no longer the kid sitting in the passenger seat with my mother by my side, to guide me through the rough times and be a companion. It’s difficult to be unappreciative in the moment when the drives accompanied by my family come to an end. Suddenly, the car stops, and the realization that I’m alone overcomes me, and I only wish to go back in time and be in the passenger seat again.
