“Madeline Driving” by Brendan Chia, XII: short story

Madeline’s Driving

The fog this morning was a bit worrisome, but it was not so much the fog that was on my mind. Sometime this week, I had to bring my walnut Japanese Kumiko lamp into school. The intricate cedar geometric pattern had taken four months alone to hand cut each of the 126 individual half-lap joints. The other three months produced the 1.5” dark, thick walnut outer frame with the reddish-brown cherry inner frame, which contrasted and highlighted the light and frail Kumiko design. The heavy yet delicate piece was a testament to my advanced woodworking skills, and I just needed to gloss it with one last coat of finish. So, I decided to trust Madeline to safely transport me the one and a half miles to school while the lamp sat in my lap like a baby. This was a mistake.

Now I usually think twice before allowing others to dictate whether I live or die, but my brain was not fully functioning at 7:30 in the morning, five minutes after I had just rolled out from under the darkness of my thick, fuzzy blanket. My drowsy self wandered over to Madeline’s room and asked, “Hey bro, you cool driving?” With a look of confusion and a slight giggle, she responded with an unsure “Sure, bro?” “Cool, bro.” Somehow my lack of sleep and focus on getting my precious to school that morning made me lose track of the important things in life — such as surviving and feeling safe.

As Madeline pulls out of the driveway with my lamp, my brothers, and me, I suddenly realize that Madeline is, in fact, driving us to school. Oh no. Wait. No.

Madeline is driving us to school.

She asks what’s wrong, so I give her a forced smile and tell her that everything’s good (it’s too late to turn back now anyway).

Going down the narrow Drakes Corner Road, Madeline drifts over the yellow line while going 40 in a 25. The car shakes left to right, and all my attention and energy goes into making sure that my precious lamp stays at least six inches away from the ceiling and door and 12 inches away from Madeline. Once the Drakes Corner roller coaster comes to an end, turning onto Great Road is far easier than expected. There are no cars in sight, so Madeline takes her time and gracefully turns the wheel, allowing the car to swiftly pull out.

But just when I think that the car ride is going well – Oh my, how close she comes to taking out an entire branch of the Chia family tree. As she approaches the corner, I wonder if she knows to slow down for turns. Surely she must since she passed her road test last month? Nope. Twenty feet before the turn, our blue Mercedes is still blazing down the road now at 45 miles per hour in a 35 zone. I look down at her feet, wondering if she has any intentions of slowing down, but to my surprise, her white and pink, sparkly sneaker is hovering over the gas. Five feet before the turn, she starts to turn the wheel while her foot finally starts to touch the brake. At this point, I decide that it would be best not to distract her from her driving (another bad decision on my end). I give her a look that says “What are you doing?” But glancing at her face, I notice that she looks like she’s driving on a straight flat road: her expression calm and relaxed, her eyes bored, droopy, she mumbles along to the quiet tunes of “Watermelon Sugar.”

Suddenly, she jerks the wheel to the right, twists her hips, and leans into the turn as if she’s riding her bike. My lamp starts to slide towards Madeline, so I wrap my arms around the frame with a strong grip and lean with her. I look to the rear-view mirror to see the eyes of my brothers widen as their faces turn three shades lighter.

The Mercedes’ wheels drift to the left, and the car thunders towards the left side of the road until all four wheels cross the thick, double yellow lines. Suddenly, I see a grey pickup truck speeding towards the front of our car, aimed to hit me and my precious. This triggers my body’s emergency panic reflexes, causing me to push my lamp out in front of me to shield my body from any broken glass or car crash debris (my life is more important than the Japanese Kumiko lamp). I close my eyes to protect them and hope that my airbag will save me from impact.

SSSSKEEEEEETTTT

When I don’t feel the force of the pickup truck slamming into my precious, I look up to a nice change of scenery. The car is now on the right side of the road, there is no grey pickup truck looking to take out me and my lamp, and Madeline is still humming along to the tunes of “Watermelon Sugar,” nodding her head to the rhythm of the beat.

– Brendan Chia, XII: personal narrative