Driving Lessons

July 2004 Interstate 95

They're passing the off ramp for Hartford, discussing, just a little passionately about how they're going to cover the convention, the protesters, and the police union, and whether or not Will comes off on air as smart and articulate or just an asshole. Mac has the dash light on for the passenger side and her feet up on the seat with her legs crossed so she can balance her art sized spiral bound in her lap. She's been writing for quite some time, since they moved on to talk about covering the protesters and the fenced free speech area. When Will glances over he realizes that MacKenzie is crafting copy for him for the top of the broadcast. "Listen," he says, "Maybe this would go better if you drove and I took notes. I'm not sure I can read your writing."

"I'm pretty sure you can… it's all block letters…." She looks over at him but now he seems to be very purposefully not looking at her. " Wait… this isn't about my writing, is it? It's about my writing. I know how to write Will. Oddly enough I'm quite proficient, not, you know Vanity Fair, but certainly Newsweek."

She's sneering a little, but he thinks it's not exactly aimed at him, and he's astute enough not to poke an angry bear with a stick, so he just shuts up for a moment and lets her continue.

"Besides, I don't know how to drive a car."

He's astounded. He's not sure how old she is, but she must be at least 25. "What do you mean, you don't know how to drive? Where the hell did you grow up?"

"In cities all over the world, you ass, and it was never necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"New York, Paris, London, Dubai, and a little bit of time in Kuala Lumpur."

He glares at her briefly then looks back at the road. He wishes he didn't actually enjoy the way she says the word ass; the long soft a… the implied h…"I get the cities….I meant why wasn't it necessary."

"My father's a diplomat. We always had drivers. I didn't need a car at college."

"Which was?" he prompts.

"Cambridge."

He rolls his eyes just a little. "I see."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh nothing_ just explains some of the 'ruling class' attitude. No wonder you're an EP."

"Oh for god's sake. When did you learn to drive?"

"Hmmm. I was about nine, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"I was about nine… maybe eight."

"God, Will. Where did you grow up?"

"On a farm…outside a small town…. in Nebraska. Drove a tractor as soon as I could reach the pedals. It's not unusual. Someone's got to drive at harvest and even if a kid's not big enough to lift a bale he can drive a tractor."

She looks at him, reassessing her version of his past. "You're a farm boy?"

"I was."

"I bet they called you Billy Bob."

"You'd be wrong. No one called me Billy Bob"

"I might," she says speculatively.

"My name," he says bruskly, "Is William Duncan McAvoy. You may call me Will, or William, or McAvoy, or late for dinner. You may not call me Billy Bob."

She looks at him from behind her eyelashes for a few devastating seconds. "Well, just Billy then, and I appreciate your use of the conditional.

They drive in silence for a few moments. Will wonders what he could possibly say to get her to look at him like that again, but it's Mackenzie that breaks the silence.

"Nebraska hmmm? Well, I have to say, that puts a whole new slant on your carefully created northeastern prick persona."

"Thanks," he says drily, "It's sometimes hard to know if the image comes across."

"No worries there," she says, folding her arms and staring out the window, focusing through the darkness on the highway ahead.

"I could teach you to drive," he offers. The words flying unbidden from his unconscious mind.

She looks at him coolly, "Your lack of trust, my need for control, two tons of steel and plastic… what could possibly go wrong?"

MacKenzie does eventually learn to drive, at the age of 30, in a jeep on a Canadian forces base near Kandahar, with a nineteen year old farm boy from just outside of Melfort, Saskatchewan in the passenger seat. He laughs at her nervousness and determination, and gestures widely down the road. "Just look where you want to go ma'am, and the vehicle will follow….no ma'am look farther down the road, then she won't keep veering off."

"Call me Mac, not ma'am," says MacKenzie from behind clenched teeth. It's hot and dusty and nothing like New York or Connecticut, but the kid's blond hair and easy smile makes her heart twist a little.

"Yes ma'am," says the kid, grinning at her like this is the best fun he's had in weeks, "but really, trust me, you'll be fine… you just gotta keep lookin' farther down the road."