Driving School is now 3 hours in the past and slipping farther away every minute and I’m standing on the shore waving. Will I miss it? Not one bit. Did I make a far bigger deal of it than necessary? No doubt! But the idea of failure was daunting; once something becomes so large in the imagination it can take over one’s existence. Just ask the Captain, who has put up with weeks of careful ‘practice driving,’ endless observations on others’ driving habits and the ‘codice stradale,’ and non-stop worry-chatter. If ever you need a cheer-leader you will find none better.
Poor man – the last straw was at the end of afternoon errands; he announced firmly, “I’m driving.” Fair enough, thought I, I don’t care if I ever drive again. As we wound our way up the curvy hill to San Maurizio we came to a long line of cars trailing behind… a driving school car. What were they doing there? They never, but never, come up our hill because there’s no place legally to change one’s direction. We limped along with the rest until the poor student driver found a wide place in the road where he could pull over and let us all pass. That was the moment when I realized that it was truly over.