copyrighted to Aria(crune@coqui.net)



Beaten Down
by Aria(crune@coqui.net)

	Up until ninth grade, my mother would exit her job as one of the many
pediatricians at the hospital, drop by school and pick me up.  I took that 
for granted, never suspecting that the routine could change--but it did.  The 
hospital was rumored to close and my mother was forced to enter a private 
practice to keep her job.

	She could no longer pick me up, so I traveled home by a burgundy bus.
I hated that bus with a passion.  The odor of dried sweat was oppressive as I
climbed in and combined with the shrill screams of the bratty kids I traveled
with, it was guaranteed to give me a headache every time.  It didn't help 
that the seats seemed to have been made of plastic.  As I sweated from the 
heat generated by many small bodies and the lack of air conditioner, the 
underside of my thigh clung disgustingly to the seat.  I began to develop the
habit of drinking a glass of cold water and going to bed when I arrived home,
two hours after leaving school.

	While sitting in the bus day after day, my clothes soaked thoroughly 
with perspiration, I began to develop a plan to escape my current situation. 
I took shelter in the fact that soon I would be sixteen--old enough to drive.  
I planned meticulously what I was going to do.  I would study extra hard for 
my learner's permit and pass the actual driver's test on the first try.  
According to my plan, I would have my driver's license by the beginning of 
the school year.

	 I approached my parents a couple of days after classes ended and 
revealed to them what I considered to be a foolproof plan. I was unpleasantly
surprised to find out that there was much more at play than just me.  First 
of all, I listened with growing dread as they explained that the driver's 
test was not as easy as I thought.  After that they dropped the bomb, telling
me that even if I did get my license on the first try they would not give me 
the car.

	I remember turning on them angrily and feeling what was left of my 
hope sink like lead in the ocean when I heard their reasons:
	
	"You'd still be inexperienced roadwise, even if you do get your 
license early".

	"You could suffer some terrible accident, remember you're our only 
child, you're all we've got".

	"It's not just you, honey, other people in the road--you've seen them
--they drive as if the license was to kill".

	They were logical reasons; even I could realize that.  I stood in 
their room, feeling the tears of frustrations running hotly down my face, 
trying to make an issue out of the fact that my parents had not told me 
before.  I was trying to blame them, but it was obvious to both them and me 
that I was fighting the fact that I couldn't do anything.  My plan was on the
floor ripped to shreds; the circumstances had beaten it down.  That was the 
moment I truly tasted what it was like to have a situation totally beyond 
your control.    

END