Dona E. Bowens

For nearly two decades when I was in Barcelona, I drove a car exactly twice…and wrecked both times. OK, so it wasn’t a wreck, wreck, but I enjoy ripping the side mirrors off of rental cars. Don’t knock my kink. Plus the roads are narrower in Europe. A side mirror is bound to be a casualty.

I never was a big fan of driving anyway because it takes up too much of my brain energy which I could be using to think up stories to entertain you people. I got my license at 16 and by 16 1/2 I was pretty much over it. “That was a fun experience,” was my thought. “What’s next? You mean I have to keep driving? For like ever? Seriously? Who says?”

See, that’s how I ended up in Spain in the first place. By asking, “Who says?” Who says I have to work 40 hours (or more) per week? Who says I have to buy a house because it’s the “American Dream?” More like the American Nightmare. Who says, who says, who says? We follow so many rules made up by people we don’t know. But it’s scary to reject convention and be like, “I’m a roll on out. I don’t know where I’m rolling to, but I’ve had about enough of this.”

Which brings me back to driving and rolling out all over town and whatnot. I was scared like a Black man at a Klan Konvention the first time I got behind the wheel again. I told the car salesmen, “I haven’t driven in well over a decade. Get out of the car now and SAVE YOURSELF, MAN!” He refused to save himself but assured me that I could drive with cliches about riding bikes and yada, yada, yada.

I gotta tell you. I don’t hate driving like I did the first time around. It’s novel to me all over again, though I still fear highways. Where’s everybody going so fast? My car is a quirky Kia Soul and maybe that’s the reason I’m enjoying driving again. It looks like a bar of soap on wheels. My mom asked me, “Remember the Kia commercials with the hamsters?” I said, “Remember I’ve been away for nearly two decades?” Yeah. I missed the hamsters along with many other things like LeBron’s entire career. But hey—I got to witness Messi up close so there’s that. I just swapped one GOAT for another.

My Kia has a name and that name is Nigel. Nigel because he’s white, square and odd like everybody else named Nigel. The last time I was behind a wheel on a regular basis, cars didn’t have touch screens and cameras to help you back that ass up. Nigel talks to me often, letting me know what he needs. A little air in the tires and in 50 more miles he’d like a drink. He even lets me know when he needs a check-up just to make sure everything’s grinding right.

If Nigel was a real White boy, we might try to work a little something-something out. I’m mean, he’s that wonderful at communication. Even cautions me that the roads might be icy. Ain’t that love?

Most of you take this shit for granted because you were able to evolve with the car the last so many years. Me, I was a bug frozen in amber and brought back to life in a brand new world. And in this brand new world, if you see me and Nigel puttering down the road a little slower than normal. Don’t honk, just pass us by…we’re bonding.