I breathed in heavily, attempting to calm my thumping heart. The grey metal chair I sat on did nothing to cool me down. I tapped my black sneakers against the dirty beige tiles – tap, tap, tap. Picking on the black strings of my brown and blue abaya, I looked around. The place buzzed around me. A woman wearing a black abaya and scarf sat tapping at her keyboard, her crumbled mask barely covering her lips. Three young girls sat together on the chairs facing me to the right, completely ignoring the white and red “Do Not Sit” sign. They held their phones in their perfectly manicured hands and whispered to each other, their lips set in straight lines. They seemed nervous. Do they also have a driving test?
After a while, a policewoman walked in. Her marine blue skirt flowed behind her tall, authoritative figure. The click-clack of her heels echoed in the crowded hall, demanding attention. I couldn’t help but stare at her. She looked so graceful, yet so fierce. A girl walked up to the policewoman, her eyes watery. I watched, my heart in my throat, as the policewoman explained to her why she failed her driving test. Will I also fail? I’ve already failed my final driving test once before, I thought. My last driving lesson was a week ago…I’m not ready. I’m going to fail again. I’m –
“Heba Abed?”
My head whipped up, searching for the person behind the unsettlingly deep voice. It was the policewoman. It’s my turn. I got up hastily, the gold metal clips on my bag clicking against each other.
“Yes?”
“Your ID?”
I fidgeted with my bag, my shaky hands preventing me from doing a simple task like pulling out my ID card. The policewoman took a look at my card then scanned my face with her emotionless, brown eyes. Her cheeks were drawn sharply against her beautiful tan face. Thin black brows arched above her eyes, glaring at me. I looked back at her, biting my lower lip slightly. How is she so beautiful yet so scary? Just looking at her made my stomach flip. She handed my ID back to me and asked me to follow her. Another girl, completely dressed in black, trailed behind us.
We walked out through a small hallway in the corner. My sneakers squeaked against the tiles under me as if they were warning me. Go back! You’re not ready! The walls caved in around me, glowering down at my tiny figure. I mumbled a few prayers, my lips quickly moving up and down.
In what seemed like a blur, I found myself in the driver seat of the car. I started driving, maneuvering the bends and curves of the streets. My eyes dashed right and left as I gripped the steering wheel, draining the blood away from my white knuckles. From the corner of my eye, I could see the policewoman staring intently ahead. The gold buttons on her uniform danced in the sunlight. Her rich voice reverberated in the car as she called out directions. Every word sent a shiver through my stiff body. My heart thrashed harder against my rib cage, trying to escape.
After a couple of rights, lefts, U-turns, roundabouts, and one filter out, we reached the driving institute.
“You will receive your results through an SMS message,” the woman said, tapping away at her tablet. She didn’t even spare us a look.
I glanced back at her tall figure one last time as I rushed out of the car, mumbling Shukran – the Arabic word for thank you. The grey inner frame of the car seemed to come at me, threatening to trap me in the car and squeeze the life out of my frail body. The lump in my throat grew larger and larger the further I walked from the car, suffocating me. As though in a daze, I walked back to the building. Gripping my floral pink phone tightly in my fist, I strode back and forth in the hallway. I couldn’t stay still. The policewoman’s face continued to pop into my head: her firm thin lips, her slightly furrowed eyebrows, and her cold, glaring eyes. She didn’t seem happy, I thought. She’s going to fail me. My intestines squeezed into a tight knot at the thought. Please… not again…
BEEP!
I stopped mid-stride and glanced at the dimly lit screen of my phone. This is it. This is the message I’ve been waiting for. Swallowing hard, I unlocked my phone and scanned the message.
Congratulations! You –
The words blurred in my vision. My stiff shoulders relaxed as I let out a deep breath. I passed? I passed! Relief flooded my veins, washing out all traces of adrenaline. Fumbling with my phone, I called my dad.
“Did you pass?” he asked.
“Yah,” I relied, sighing happily. “Mubarak!”
