The man heaved a deep sigh as he leaned forward in his seat, fastening the safety belt and wishing he'd taken a Tums. He could swear that he was developing an ulcer. Beside him, in the driver's seat, sat his youthful ward Dick Grayson, all eagerness and excitement. God, had he been like that at fifteen?
No, Bruce decided, he hadn't. It was the circus background, had to be. The boy was just excitable by nature. Whereas Bruce...
"Okay, we ready to get this show on the road or what?" Dick grinned at his mentor, who sighed and rechecked his buckle.
"Listen carefully," Bruce said at last. "Gas on the right, brake on the left. You will learn how to handle an automatic transmission before being permitted to try a manual. I have a brake pedal on my side, and if I have to use it, you will wait an extra day before the eventual getting of your driver's license. I will be keeping track of my brake pedal use all year."
"Okay, sure. It's cool. What do I do first?" God help them all, but the boy looked like an excited chipmunk. It had all been so simple at first. Poor circus orphan, needing a home. Another boy who watched his parents stolen from him. Eventually, an apprentice, a partner in his war. But this?
"First, you buckle your seat belt."
"It's buckled already."
"Don't get smart with me, Richard. Next, insert the key." Dick complied. "Now, turn it..."
Things went smoothly, calmly even, right up until they actually started the engine. The training sedan lurched to life, and Dick carefully shifted into drive, all by the numbers. "Now, release the brake pedal." Bruce winced as the car began rolling forward slowly.
"Hey, are you sure you don't want Alfred to do this?" Dick asked with concern as he glanced at his teacher. "I mean, you don't look so goo-"
"Keep your eyes on the ROAD, for Chrissakes!" yelled Bruce. Dick dutifully returned his gaze to the private drive, eyes peeled for any obstacles that might suddenly obstruct the clear roadway.
After a few minutes, Bruce had calmed down enough to move on to phase two. "Now, gently apply pressure to the gas peda-" the Honda surged forward of a sudden, engine vrooming loudly as it sped down the tree-lined drive. Rabbits dove for cover, Several birds overhead were startled enough to ruin the car's surface, and Bruce Wayne howled in panic, shutting his eyes tightly and stomping down on the passenger-side brake. At that very moment, the malignant demons of creative irony and sadism chose to send their gremlins to work on the brakes. On one side, they functioned perfectly. On the other, something didn't go quite properly. I wouldn't however, be appropriate to say that nothing went right; the car itself did, skidding sideways in a spiraling motion that fetched them up broadside against an oak tree planted by old Solomon Wayne.
******
"Well, sirs, how did the first lesson go?" Alfred was all his usual quiet good cheer as they walked through the garage entrance. Bruce felt a sudden urge to kill the elderly man.
"Well, Bruce spazzed out a little, and we had a minor brake malfunction, but I did just fine."
"I was confident you would, Master Dick."
"Hey Bruce." The shell-shocked billionare looked up blearily from his muttering and twitching.
"When do I get to drive the Batmobile?"
Bruce sobbed like a baby as he slumped to the floor, a broken man.
The End
No, Bruce decided, he hadn't. It was the circus background, had to be. The boy was just excitable by nature. Whereas Bruce...
"Okay, we ready to get this show on the road or what?" Dick grinned at his mentor, who sighed and rechecked his buckle.
"Listen carefully," Bruce said at last. "Gas on the right, brake on the left. You will learn how to handle an automatic transmission before being permitted to try a manual. I have a brake pedal on my side, and if I have to use it, you will wait an extra day before the eventual getting of your driver's license. I will be keeping track of my brake pedal use all year."
"Okay, sure. It's cool. What do I do first?" God help them all, but the boy looked like an excited chipmunk. It had all been so simple at first. Poor circus orphan, needing a home. Another boy who watched his parents stolen from him. Eventually, an apprentice, a partner in his war. But this?
"First, you buckle your seat belt."
"It's buckled already."
"Don't get smart with me, Richard. Next, insert the key." Dick complied. "Now, turn it..."
Things went smoothly, calmly even, right up until they actually started the engine. The training sedan lurched to life, and Dick carefully shifted into drive, all by the numbers. "Now, release the brake pedal." Bruce winced as the car began rolling forward slowly.
"Hey, are you sure you don't want Alfred to do this?" Dick asked with concern as he glanced at his teacher. "I mean, you don't look so goo-"
"Keep your eyes on the ROAD, for Chrissakes!" yelled Bruce. Dick dutifully returned his gaze to the private drive, eyes peeled for any obstacles that might suddenly obstruct the clear roadway.
After a few minutes, Bruce had calmed down enough to move on to phase two. "Now, gently apply pressure to the gas peda-" the Honda surged forward of a sudden, engine vrooming loudly as it sped down the tree-lined drive. Rabbits dove for cover, Several birds overhead were startled enough to ruin the car's surface, and Bruce Wayne howled in panic, shutting his eyes tightly and stomping down on the passenger-side brake. At that very moment, the malignant demons of creative irony and sadism chose to send their gremlins to work on the brakes. On one side, they functioned perfectly. On the other, something didn't go quite properly. I wouldn't however, be appropriate to say that nothing went right; the car itself did, skidding sideways in a spiraling motion that fetched them up broadside against an oak tree planted by old Solomon Wayne.
******
"Well, sirs, how did the first lesson go?" Alfred was all his usual quiet good cheer as they walked through the garage entrance. Bruce felt a sudden urge to kill the elderly man.
"Well, Bruce spazzed out a little, and we had a minor brake malfunction, but I did just fine."
"I was confident you would, Master Dick."
"Hey Bruce." The shell-shocked billionare looked up blearily from his muttering and twitching.
"When do I get to drive the Batmobile?"
Bruce sobbed like a baby as he slumped to the floor, a broken man.
The End