For Part 1, click here.
Getting out of the rental car at Bonneville Salt Flats, my sneakers crunched on the salt crust. The appearance of the bright white surface screamed ice and snow despite the 93-degree temperature.
Walking a few feet from the vehicle, I reached down to feel the salt. It was packed tight and difficult to find loose pieces. My husband and I took in the view, turning in a circle to marvel at the endless expanse of white and blue.
When we were ready to leave, I looked down as I made my way back to the car, wanting to remember my final steps on this extraordinary surface. Raising my head at the open door, I found Mister Rain sitting in my seat – the passenger seat.
“What are you doing?,” I asked.
“You drive,” he replied. My husband is a happy guy but I would not say that glee is a standard character trait. But that is exactly what I heard in his voice.
“Really?”
“Yeah! There is nothing and nobody to hit.”
I numbly head to the driver’s side. THE DRIVER’S SIDE. My mind hasn’t yet grasped what is going on, but my body has. I can’t feel my legs as I move. Pulling the handle then swinging the door wide, I lifted my right leg to step into the vehicle. It was not a natural action after almost 14 years of being unable to to drive due to my sudden vision loss; it’s usually the other leg that goes first. Reaching for my seatbelt from the left was also foreign to me. “I don’t even know if I remember the footwork.” I had not forgotten which pedal was gas and which was brake but the ballet of moving my right foot between the two was a real concern that I had.
Testing out the movements went well, although the maneuver was not inherent. “Okay,” I breathed out. Mister Rain pushed the button to start the engine.
“Do you want to put it in Drive or do you want me to do it?,” he offered.
“You do it. I can’t see the text. I have my foot on the brake.”
The car came to life. This was really happening.
Slowly taking my foot off the brake, inching forward. The memory of learning to drive in my empty junior high school parking lot is more present than all of the years that a vehicle was an extension of me. I let the Ford Bronco Sport roll on its own for a few seconds before pressing down on the gas pedal. I probably wasn’t going fast enough to even register a mph on the tachometer, but I was driving.
I have had many dreams about driving; in those nocturnal movies I am fully-sighted. So it was odd to be behind the wheel and not be able to see properly. I gained confidence pretty quickly, yet I repeated over and over that I couldn’t see and how weird that was. My eyes filled with tears even without adequate time to process the moment, something I would not do for weeks.
Continuing to check with my husband that no one had gotten close to us, I took us straight, I turned us in big circles, I went fast. I drove.
It would be wonderful to tell you that it all came back to me, the mechanics of operating a motor vehicle. But none of it felt normal. What I did feel was the leather of the steering wheel, warmed by the sun bouncing off the brilliant white salt. I felt the pedals underneath my right foot, extremely aware of the varied force required to be both in motion and safe.
Several times I suggested to Mister Rain that I should stop but he encouraged me to keep going. You would think I would have not wanted it to end; honestly, I was having the opposite thought. Not for one second did I forget that when this was over, it would be over. You know how they say you can’t eat just one potato chip, that you always want more because they are so good?
I have adapted to living without much sight. I have a really wonderful life. But I will miss driving until the day I die.
When my husband and I met at the rear of the car as we switched places, I gave him a long, tight hug. No matter the conflicting emotions racing through me, this was a beautiful gift I had been given.
Yes, I wanted more. But on an evaporated prehistoric lake in western Utah, I got to eat a single crisp, perfectly salted potato chip, my first in nearly a decade and a half.
And it was delicious.
#SisterRain #ALittleSightALotOfHeart #LegallyBlindWriter #Blind #BlindnessIsASpectrum #LegallyBlind #LowVision #VisuallyImpaired #OpticNeuropathy #VisionLoss #Utah #BonnevilleSaltFlats
