[FN] Just trying to find my comedic voice
“Mama, c’mon listen just once. This is important.” She puts down the knife so she can finish her cigarette—and hear me out.
“You flunk one more time, you’re done…”
“Mom, I know that, and this is what I’m trying to say.” I pull out the DMV brochure, as if it gives me some high ground over her.
“It says right here on the first page.” I point at the table of contents like it’s a snapshot. “Bringing weapons and threats to your driving test is frowned at by the state. And if you get caught doing it, officers are gonna shoot your ass dead.”
I got that line of bull going with her until I looked at her eyes.
They might not read writing but they tell me all her stories of hard times, love, and trust man. I put the brochure down and fess up to my lies.
She takes that to mean she can legally pull weapons on the people testing your driving skills.
***
Officer Cresswell standing out front like he been waiting his whole life to fail me one last time.
According to a big banner spread over the front of the building, they are planning to send him off into retirement tonight.
I’m betting they planning a big party for him. Beer, gold watches, speeches and strippers. He holds the undisputed record for license test fails. That will probably be etched onna a piece of glass or something so he can show it to his grandchildren.
Fuches Washington lent me his Winnebago to test in. Said it worked for him up until the parallel parking part. If it weren’t for that, he would be licensed.
“They only make you angle park now he said, so just practice some angles and you will be good to go” he said.
Officer Cresswell looks tired and worn. He sees me and he probably thinking this gonna be the time to finish this dumb ass of mine off for life.
After filling out a bunch of lies on my paperwork he walks up and gets the side door opened—steps in and stops.
Mama is in the passenger seat, smoking—got some gospel going on the box.
She got a plate in her lap. Bacon, eggs, and pancakes stacked up. “Are you the tester today?” She asks like he’s checking into a resort.
Cresswell nods and catches himself. “I’ll need that seat” he says.
Mama ain’t moving, in fact she tells the cop to warm some maple syrup up in the microwave. He just stands looking at her. Mama keeps eating and lets out a screech when the choir hits a high note.
“You gon’ just stand there for this test,” she says, “or do you want me to scoot over for you?” She pats the seat she’s sitting in.
He snuggles in next to her and raises up his clipboard like that’s gonna put him in charge.
“Pull up to the gate and turn right.” He tells me.
I get the Winny started just before the battery gives up and start it rolling for the gate.
Cresswell marks something on the clipboard papers.
“STOP” Mama yells.
The brakes grab hard, and everything slides forward—pots, pans, syrup, and Fusches nasty ass dirty laundry basket.
He make a mark already.
.
She lean across him, reaching for that clipboard. “What did you write on that?”
He pull it back. “Ma’am, that’s part of the evaluation.”
“That not how you supposed to be doing it, give me that paper.”
He ignores her. “Proceed to the gate.” He points out where he wants me.
I get easing forward.
“STOP. He marked something on that paper and it was a bad mark. He got you flunked and you not even at the gate yet RayMee.”
Another mark.
“You writing about that too?” she say. “That ain’t even nothing.”
He keep looking straight ahead like he ain’t hearing her.
“Turn right at the gate,” he says.
“Go left,” Mama say. “We stopping at Squiggly Pig.”
I ain’t even think about that argument. I go left, mainly because Mama grabbed hold of the wheel and pulled hard.
Whole camper leans over. Something slides in the back. Cresswell slams into the door and grabs it.
I just keep driving.
He sits back up slow… makes another mark.
“You doing too much writing,” Mama tells him.
He don’t answer.
“You know what,” she says, pointing to the back, “you can go sit at that table. I left you some bacon and Eggos. I need this seat to myself.”
He looks at her.
Then at me. Then at that road.
I don’t know why, but for a second it look like he thinking about it.
That old cop just sits there holding that clipboard like it’s the last thing keeping this official.
“Continue,” he says.