We are leaving the house in less than half an hour so R can take his driver’s license exam and oddly enough, I am so anxious about it that I wish to throw up. But I’m not sure what I’m anxious about. If he fails, that’ll be bad, but if he passes, he’ll start driving my car. By himself.
If he fails, he’ll be sad and mad and disappointed and that will all suck. If he succeeds, all of our car conversations — which really are some of our best conversations these days, because it takes about twenty minutes to take him to his friends’ houses — will come to an end. No more racing to identify the pop music on the radio, no more debates about philosophy, no more looking-straight-ahead-let’s-talk-about-something-awkward opportunities.
And having written it out, I feel much better.
I hope he passes. And when he does, I will simply have to make sure that we still go places together sometimes.