HER NAME WAS JOY, though most of her adult life people had called her Daisy on account of the flower tattoo she had on her wrist.

She wasn’t too fond of the nickname, and so for the purposes of fostering positive vibes, she will be known henceforth in this tale by her given name.

Joy was a bus driver for an elementary school. Though to tell the truth, the act of driving chills her to the bone. She’d always been afraid of the responsibility of trying to control such power.

Her fear wasn’t baseless. When she’d been just fourteen, she’d been riding home in the family station wagon with her father. They’d driven into town to get milk and eggs, and as they had arrived home, her father had stopped at the bottom of their driveway.

To understand what happened next, you must first understand how long this driveway was. Which it was. Long, that is. Really long.

Joy and her family lived out in the country. They were fabulously wealthy due to her mother inventing a certain kind of flange that helped make teleportation possible. Their home had been built on the top of a hill and the driveway that led to it was like another road. In fact, they’d had to build a gate with an elegant looking sign at the bottom of the drive stating that what lay beyond the gate was a private driveway so that people wouldn’t mistake it for a county road and drive on up it, which had happened on more than one occasion.

So yes, as you can see, the driveway was pretty long.

“You want to park it?” He’d asked, nodding to the steering wheel.

“What?” She’d responded. “The car?”

“Heck yeah,” her father said. “You start Driver’s Ed next summer and you shouldn’t go into it with no experience at all.”

So they had switched places.


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