They lie when they say eighteen is the age when you grow up. Everyone knows it’s when you first sit in the car, just you, no one else.

No instructors to teach you

No parents to guide you

No longer a child that needs to be sheltered.

A car pulls out of your house

12 o’clock

You smiled as you edged slowly down the road. Not daring to go past the speed limit

You tense your grip on the wheel, going

11 in a twenty

both hands on

10 and two

Now awake to a world of possibilities

No longer a child.

A car pulled out of the house

9 pm

The passengers dance and sing in the illumination of the streetlights above them

You move your body to the sound of the radio, one hand on the wheel, one in the air

8 weeks of freedom celebrated today

The party travels all night until the sun awakes from its slumber

7 am

6 hours past curfew

A car rushes out of the party

The blinkers flickering like Christmas lights in the night

As you scramble home,

5 minutes til curfew 

“Speed up”

4 blocks away

“Can’t be late”

3 drinks in your system

“I’m fine”

2 more intersections

“Didn't see them”

1 other car

“They’ll stop”

CRASH

A car pulls out of a hospital.

You shake as you edged slowly down the road. Not daring to go past the speed limit

You tense your grip on the wheel, going

eleven in a twenty

both hands on

ten and two.

Now awake to a world of possibilities

No longer a child.