Old Gus

‘OLD GUS’      by Madilyn June Jorgensen  

Gus didn’t know it yet, but how he drove a car and with whom was about to change – in ways he never expected. 

“Nothing’s wrong with my driving!” said Gus, sitting at the kitchen table. 

Carol sighed and looked lovingly at her father one Saturday morning in March. Glancing sideways at her husband, she picked up the empty plates on the table and stacked them in the dishwasher. “Now, Dad, you know that’s not entirely true,” she said sympathetically, 

Gus grunted as he bit into his toast, muttering to himself in resignation.

Smiling warmly, Carol sat across from him, remembering their trip to Walmart three days earlier. Gus had insisted on driving. She didn’t mind because she knew how much he loved being behind the wheel. On the drive there, she noticed he couldn’t turn his head, barely enough to see the corner of his left side mirror and only slightly to the right. And she had to tell him to slow down in a school zone. To make matters worse, he sometimes confused the brake for the gas pedal. She knew for a long time this moment was coming, but she kept hoping her father would give in. 

A visit to his doctors was the turning point. 

“Dad, I’m finding it difficult to drive with you anymore, especially after what Dr Evans told us,” she said calmly, patting his hand as she handed him another cappuccino. Your neck is only going to get worse. And you need to wear stronger glasses when you drive,” she continued, searching his face as she sat beside him. 

“My neck and eyes are fine,” he argued. “It's not my fault that guy on the bike came out of nowhere when I turned left.  I swerved enough to miss him.” 

“And almost hit a stop sign,” Carol exclaimed, caught herself,  took a deep breath, staring at her 

husband for support. They all sat silently, listening to the clock tick on the wall. Gus fidgeted with 

his cup and darted his eyes at them, searching their faces for confirmation that all was OK.

“Well, now what?!” he asked, bracing for the worst.

“Is nobody going to say it?” she thought, her eyes pleading with her husband to say something. When 

he muttered, “It’s your father,” and looked down at his plate, she took a big gulp and turned slowly 

towards her father, and spoke in slow, deliberate, soft words. 

“Well, ah…um..Dr. Evan ’suggested that I phone a driving school. Sally, the driving instructor, sounded 

very pleasant on the phone.”

Gus bolted his head towards her and winced, ‘A driving instructor! I don’t need an instructor telling me 

how to drive! he barked.

“Well..um..mi..maybe she can point out some driving tips that can help you,” she stuttered, relaxing her 

jaw and exhaling softly as she held his hand and looked lovingly into his eyes. 

Gus grunted and slurped his coffee, fixing his gaze on a meadowlark fluttering on a branch outside.

“And what if I don’t?!

“ I..I, can’t drive with you anymore, Dad, we both can’t…sorry.”

Gus watched the meadowlark fly high into the sky, and he thought of the day he turned fourteen.

Heck, at that age, I was driving a tractor on my parent's farm, hauling hay for the cattle and cleaning manure from the stalls. By the time I was sixteen, I could drive a farm combine, a three-axle grain truck, and a Chevy truck with a stick shift. Back then we didn’t have to go on any road tests. We just went to the town hall and bought a driver’s license for a buck. 

I owned the first Thunderbird that came off the assembly line; a shiny red four-door beauty with a V8 engine that would leave my buddies eating dust. 

I spent Saturdays polishing the chrome until it shone like a silver dollar. Then I’d race up and down Main Street looking for chicks. I never had a problem filling the seat beside me with a pretty blonde or perky redhead. 

Boy, they knew how to drive back then, by gum. None of these fancy lights that look like a Christmas tree, or multi-laned highways with a slow lane and a fast lane – in my day all lanes were fast lanes. We didn’t have to worry about the police because there was only one cop in our dusty little town, and he lived in the next county and spent most of his time breaking up bar brawls. A female driving instructor? Why, in my day women stayed home, and had a family! 

As reality set in, he glanced at his daughter, and muttered shyly, “What time is she coming?”

“Two o’clock Dad, please give her a chance. Besides she is a professional driver,” Carol said, gently, squeezing his hand, then slowly releasing her grip as she leaned back studying his deeply creased eyes.

The same eyes that had shone with pride the day she got her driver’s license all those years ago. The same blue eyes with a tear in the corner as he handed her the keys to her first car, a yellow VW Beetle that sat in the driveway on the first day of college. 

Gus curled his shoulders and dunked the corner of his toast into his warm cappuccino. He thought of that day when he moved in with Carol and her husband, grateful to them for taking him in after his wife passed away and he didn’t have to go to Shady Tree Lodge down the road. Some spunk was still left in him at eighty-six, and Gus hated the idea of giving up the one thing he was still able to enjoy. “Don't expect me to be nice to her!” he growled, devouring the last remnants of his toast. 

At 1:45 pm, gripping his walker and standing in front of the living room window, his eyes squinted at the dark bare surface of the driveway where his car was usually parked. For a second his blood pressure elevated slightly, then he sadly remembered that his son-in-law had put it in the garage yesterday after he had gone down for his afternoon nap. His ’76 maroon Chevy Imperial, along with his car keys - both mysteriously gone from his life. 

Five minutes later, a grey car with a student driver sign pulled into the driveway and parked in the same spot. A middle-aged woman stepped out, walked briskly up the front steps and rang the bell. The front door swung open so fast that she jumped back and almost lost her footing. Gus stood there leaning on his walker, his brow wrinkled and his eyes narrow and cold. “Are you the driving instructor?” he bellowed. 

“Yes, my name is Sally. You must be Gus, glad to meet you,” she said, smiling as she extended her hand. 

“What do I need besides my license?” Gus asked gruffly. He held on to his walker with his left hand as his right hand gripped her fingers before it fell to his side.

“Just your glasses and a cheque.” 

“Got it. Let's go!” 

Gus manoeuvred through the door and down the driveway before Sally caught up to him. He swung open the back door, folded his walker, tossed it on the seat, and settled in the driver’s seat. “Boy, you sure move fast for someone with a walker,” she said, laughing nervously as she got into the passenger side and put the key in the ignition.  

Gus ignored her and started to turn the key. 

“Haven’t you forgotten something?”  

“No, what?” asked Gus, looking perplexed. 

“Well, you first need to adjust your seat, put on your seat belt, and fix your mirrors before you start the car.” 

Gus turned the corners of his mouth downwards, did as he was told and reached for the key. “I believe your daughter said you had new glasses. Do you have them with you?” Flashing her a glance from the corner of his eye, he groaned and put on the glasses. “NOW can we go?” 

He started the car, put it in drive and lurched forward, stopping short of the garage door. “Got a little excited,” he said sheepishly. 

“That's alright, no harm done,” said Sally, slowly lifting her foot off the brake pedal. He put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, swinging it around to the right. Sally watched him put it in drive, keeping her left hand on her left knee, inches from the gears and steering wheel, with her right foot hovering over her brake. 

She told him to drive straight ahead and at the next intersection make a right-hand turn. “But I always go to the left into town,” Gus protested. 

“I just want to keep you on the side streets until you get used to the car and me sitting beside you,” she said patiently.

“How long will that take?” 

“As long as it takes,” she said kindly. 

 Gus drove around the residential area close to home, following directions with a 

sour disposition and a lead foot. 

“WHY do I have to drive so slow?” he asked, exasperated.

“The speed limit is a maximum of 50 km depending on the conditions. Some are parked cars, narrow 

roads, weather and playground zones, one of which you are driving through,” Sally answered. “But 

there are no kids around,” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes. 

“No, but you slow to 30 km when the playground zone is in effect. Do you know the times?” “Heck no!” said Gus. “I just look for the kids, then slow down if I think they’re going to run out in front of me.” 

“Well, you need to know. Monday to Friday, 8:30 am to one hour after sunset” “Do you know your school zone hours? She asked. 

“Ah, no,” he replied, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. 

Sally explained the times and other rules of the road while keeping an eagle eye on his driving. After a couple more turns with one minor incident where Gus got a little too close to a parked car, they entered a busier residential street and a red light. 

Gus slammed on the brakes, lurched forward then back in his seat. 

“ I'm not used to this car, by gum,” wiping his brow with his sleeve. 

“Just press gently on the brakes and try not to stop over the pedestrian crosswalk.”

 “Where's THAT?”, he shouted, trying to crane his neck over the hood, knocking his glasses off. “ I always stop up close to the intersection so I can see the traffic better.” 

“You're supposed to stop further back to leave room for the pedestrians,” said Sally as she picked up his glasses and calmly gave them back to him.  

“But there are no people around. Are you sure you know what you are doing?” he said, frowning.

“Yes, I do. Please watch the lights. They’re about to change to green.” 

“I know that!” 

When the light changed, Gus stepped hard on the pedal and sped through the intersection, barely 

stopping in time to avoid hitting the car in front of him. He could feel his brake go soft and looked 

down, puzzled. 

“I stepped on mine to slow us down,” Sally said, never taking her eyes off the road and traffic. “Ah,’ moaned Gus. ‘HERE we go again!” 

An hour flew by and Gus finally pulled into his driveway. 

“So, whaddya think?” he asked, giving Sally a sour look from the corner of his eye. “You do need some work, but I think we can manage. Same time next week?” Gus turned his head slightly and made a large circle with his mouth, “ You mean you'll drive with me again?” 

“Yes, I’ll take you driving for as long as you want Gus.” 

Old Gus’s glasses began to steam up and he swallowed hard, glancing shyly at Sally. His eyes went soft and his thoughts drifted to the past, full of happy memories and fun times. 

“I used to love driving my family to the cabin on the weekends. We'd all pile in our old Studebaker station wagon full of kids, dogs and my mother-in-law, stopping for ice cream. For summer holidays we'd take road trips camping in our motorhome,” he said, his bottom lip quivering. 

“I taught all three of my children how to drive. When the kids left home, my wife and I used to go on Sunday drives in the country, stopping for dinner along the way - we never missed a Sunday. Those were the good old days,” he said wistfully. 

Sally smiled softly, “ I think I understand how hard it is to lose your independence. My husband has muscular dystrophy and he needs help with almost everything now. A caregiver comes in while I work, and some days can still be a challenge, but we manage. He never got used to someone doing everything for him. He’s my whole life.” 

When they reached home, Gus pushed his walker through the door and hugged his daughter tightly. “Sorry for being such a grump,” he said, for the second time that day. 

Spring gives way to glorious summer. On Tuesday mornings, Gus was up early, ironed his best shirt, ate an early lunch and washed the dishes, while humming to himself. 

After a quick nap, at 1:45 pm sharp, he leaned on his walker at the top of the driveway, and with patient eyes, he searched the quiet residential street for a familiar sight. His eyes lit up when he saw a grey sedan pull in with the sign on top. 

“Hi Gus, how are you?” a soft voice said as he settled into the driver’s seat. “Which route do you want today, past the seniors centre or down by the river?” 

“Hi Sally, the river route, please. Maybe we'll see some geese or a meadowlark on the way,” Gus grinned as he adjusted his seat, fastened his seat belt, gently turned on the ignition, and popped the gear into reverse, “Ok, Sally?” 

“Yes, Gus, all clear. Gently release your brake and roll backwards.” 

At the bottom of the driveway, Gus waited until a car went by, put it in drive and off they went, laughing and chatting away. They both knew the route so well they could do it blindfolded, well, almost – a few blocks in his neighbourhood, a turn onto the road close to the river where he used to take his daughter fishing, a pleasant drive on the pebbled road, eyeing a meadowlark flutter over the hood - no traffic lights - a stop sign at an intersection- a pause for traffic to clear as Sally gave an extra check, nodded her approval, then gently stepping on the gas, his grin reaching from ear to ear. As the first part of their journey ended, a warm, frothy cappuccino welcomed them at a cafe. Then the joy of driving the same route home again. Gus had his three perks in one, his weekly thrill of sitting behind the wheel, going to his favourite cafe….and maybe the best of all – a chance to chat with a new friend.

                                                                                the end