I failed my first driving test at sixteen, failed by hitting the gates out of the simulated parallel park, by narrowly missing a pedestrian crossing the road, by turning right on a red light just as a wave of traffic roared towards me from the left. The examiner’s indignant exhale of breath as I executed the first of these maneuvers was enough for me to know where this test was heading. The rest of the drive was tense and half-hearted, me already close to tears. After a year of tending my bruised ego, I signed up to try again. I clocked in hours of practice this time, my high-school boyfriend coaching me as I reversed into parking spots again and again. Now, years later, I am suddenly filled with gratitude for his patience.
For 100 Words: The Beauty of Brevity. Word prompt: “reverse”.