Stall

by Simon Maslin

She stalled out, more dramatically this time--engine spluttering into a grim silence born of inexperience, stumbling across the line and halting without hope of further progress. She stalled and the tears began to flow, drifting down her flushed cheeks like lazy summer rain, framing blue eyes with a wet halo of nervous terror.

"Don't worry, honey, you're doing fine. Just restart the engine and pull away gently. The light's on green, nothing's coming; it's your right of way..."

Her pretty face contorted with frustration, one hand twisted the ignition violently, making the starter cough like a consumptive spinster.

"Don't throttle it, get it going gently and ease on the gas. Just a little now--ease out the clutch." The instructor eyed the rearview mirror warily; the queue building up behind them was a sullen conga of angry London motorists. She just shook her head and wept, blonde hair falling around her face like a fuzzy yellow corona.

"I can't..."

"Don't get stressed, everyone stalls--you can't fail your driving test for that. Just set off again, nice and easy. It's just the same as you did before. No different."

She shook with tension, the car remained stationary. Suddenly the vehicle behind them--a newish BMW--unleashed its indignant roar of disapproval. The horn was like nails down a blackboard, about as helpful as a hand grenade at a peace conference.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!

"Fuck's sake." He muttered in irritation. "Don't get stressed, honey, just start the motor and pull away. The light is still green." The noise didn't cease--the driver behind them must have slumped fully on the horn, as if struck down comatose by the frustration of his thirty second's delay. "Fuck's sake" the instructor muttered again.

"I can't..." She wept uncontrollably now, overcome by the stress of the situation, vividly conscious of the dozen drivers behind her who were burrowing their hatred into the back of her skull like microwaves. "I'm sorry..."

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!

The instructor sighed, twitched like a bee had landed on his ear then scratched his bearded chin irritably against the endless cacophony of the horn. "Don't worry," he muttered. "People are just idiots." She flinched, twisted the ignition again in a flustered Chinese burn, slamming hard on the gas pedal. With a belch and a lurch the car hopped forward and died. Stalled out again, she hung her head on the wheel and began to wail. Behind them, the noise continued.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!

"Bollocks. Some people..." he sighed. "Sit tight, honey, I'm going to have a word with these antisocial neighbours of ours." With the sound of the horn harsh in his ear, he cracked open the passenger door and slipped out with surprising speed, striding quickly back around the driving school car to the vehicle behind them. The offending driver, a middle-aged and rather podgy man, eyed the instructor like he had just raped his baby. The instructor held the hate-filled gaze, shaking his head slowly, wearily.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!

"Hey! Cut that out!" He shouted, over the din of the horn. "Hey!" The horn stopped, a sudden silence filled with a purred symphony of engines from the rapidly building traffic queue. "Didn't you ever have to learn to drive, arsehole? Or did you drop out of your bitch mother's womb fully equipped to handle city traffic?" The driver's jaw dropped. Insulated as he was in the cage of his car he eyed this confident figure with new trepidation--answering that blue-eyed teacher stare with a helpless shrug which saw all aggression disintegrate.

The instructor leaned his arm on the roof of the Beemer, gesticulating with impeccable authority to the driver to roll down the window. Dumbly it was wound down, the driver now exposed and helpless before that gaze. The lights had changed to red again. Nobody moved. The instructor tut-tutted theatrically.

"Look. She's only 17. She's stressed. She needs to be calm to take this junction. It's busy and she's scared. It's only her second lesson." He held the driver's gaze with a rigid stare, shaking his head in pointed disapproval. "It would really be a great big fucking help if you would keep your fat paw off that goddamned horn of yours, ok? It's not helping anyone here." The driver made a muffled gurgle of protest, but found no words to counter this observation. The instructor chewed his lip and sighed. "OK, mate. What you're going to do now is watch me light a cigarette and then go back in my car and smoke it leisurely whilst telling my pupil all about how to handle stupid, impatient fuckwits like you. When we're done, she's going to start the car and set off. She's going to do this in her own sweet time." Without another word he turned and walked away from the driver, who stared after him without comment.

Walking back slowly to the driving school car, sneering at the queue behind them, the instructor took out a cigarette and slowly, exquisitely, lit it between his lips. Taking a deep drag he shook his head and opened the car door. He slid inside the vehicle calm and easy, turning his smile upon his astonished student with a gentle nod. "Set off in your own time, honey. The lights are green."

The Author

Simon Maslin is a writer and cynical journalist of the human condition who has published short fiction and poetry in several international electronic publications. He has also released a novel and several other books through his own imprint via www.lulu.com. He plays a mean blues guitar, lives in Southern England and interfaces with the universe largely through his website.