Closet Hamm's.

The first time I drove a car was when I was about seven years old. Sitting on the seat, I couldn’t even reach the pedals of my grandma’s ’84 Chevy Citation. So, I had to push the front bench seat all the way back and kind of stand on the floorboard, bending my scabby knees and arching my back into a lazy S shape, gripping the steering wheel, and standing on tip-toe to see over the dash, all while trying to operate the gas and brake. This was how I’d practiced it, so this is how I was going to do it.

My grandmother was a woman who kept three cases of Hamms and Meister Brau in her bedroom closet. She only drank half a can at a time about once every two weeks or so. Often, she would pour me about a quarter of the can into a small glass, but only when we had spaghetti. So, she was far from being a drunk. But, she let a seven year old, scabby-kneed, gap-toothed girl who often cracked wise and had dirt under her fingernails to drive her car, because she needed to smash the hulls of the walnuts she’d gathered from the tree at the way other end of the creek. You see, walnuts fresh off the tree are these green and brown warty bulbs. The hard hulls encase the shell that encases the nut. When you touched them, they’d leave a swipe of bright green on you. I would often rub some on my hands and arms because I loved the smell, kind of citrus-y and very sharp. The hulls were tough, thick and messy, and it took a LOT of effort to peel them from the shells. So, my grandma decided that it would be better to just take the buckets she’d gathered and dispense their contents up and down her driveway and slowly drive the car back and forth over them, breaking the hulls but not the shells. To me, this idea qualified my grandmother as pretty much the smartest person in the world.

Standing in front of the garage with her arms folded, she watched me struggle with shifter. “You gotta press the the brake ALLLL the way down,” she hollered. As I whispered to myself, “you gotta press the brake ALLL the way down,” I grasped the steering wheel, pressing my chest against it, and stomped down on the brake with all my might, finally managing to fumble the shifter into R. “Now, let off the brake SLOWLY, but keep your foot on it,” she yelled, arms crossed. “..now, let off the brake SLOWLY, but keep your foot on it…” I whispered inside the car, looked down, and let my toe off the brake. The car lurched back, scaring me, so I stomped my foot back down on the brake and looked over the dash through the dirty windshield at her. My grandmother was furrowing her brow. I could tell it was because of me and not the sun, because her glasses had turned dark by this point. For a second, I was scared she wasn’t going to let me do it anymore, and I couldn't believe how sweaty my hands were. “It’s ok, just let the car rollllllll back.” Again, I repeated her instruction inside the car as I wiped my hands down the sides of my jeans one at a time. I let off the brake and the car rolled, just like she said it would. Keeping my toe on the brake this time, I felt more in control. I was smiling a big gap-toothed smile at her, she laughed and said, “DON’T LOOK AT ME, LOOK BEHIND YOU!” I swiveled my head around and could only see the top of the big oak tree down at the end of the driveway through the back window. But, I could feel and hear the steady whup whup whup of the walnut hulls bursting under me as the car slowly rolled over them.

When, I reached the end of the drive, she waved her hands to get my attention, “Put the car in drive and just let the car ROLLLLLLLL forward back to me!” Into the hot air inside the car, I mouthed those words as I’d heard them and pressing on the brake with all my might and more confidence than before, I shifted the stick to D and let off the brake. The car rolled forward. This was easier, because I didn’t have to look behind me and could see out of the front. With a newfound casualness, I sent the green and brown bulbs to bursting under me, though, more intermittent now. As I rolled to the threshold of the garage door, I eased my toe onto the brake and put the shift in P. Grandma said, “Thanks, kiddo!” and opened the driver door. I hopped out, and she pulled the car the rest of the way into the garage.

We gathered up all the nuts in the driveway. Just as she’d predicted, it worked perfectly, and I still think this is the most practical application of a car. I still have no idea why she didn't get in the car with me as I was doing this. I mean, sure, she was always pushing me to be my own person and would often make me figure things out on my own, buuuut, ultimately, I think she just wanted to see the hulls exploding, because...well, it probably looked pretty cool.


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