Is It Wrong To Refuse To Ride With Someone My Age at the Wheel?
I worry our friendship is in peril.
We are on the phone making plans for me to visit her new apartment 20 miles away from my place.
"I'll pick you up at the train station," she says, as enthusiastic as a sweetheart welcoming her GI home from military service.
But I have the opposite sentiment when I here those words: trepidation and guilt.
"Um, no," I say, I'll get a ride door to door."
"Oh, okay," she says. But her okay has lost the gusto of her offer. I imagine her shoulders' lowered, her forehead furrowed. Perhaps she has taken her phone to her new home's balcony believing the garden scene and scent will mollify the effect of my displeasing decision.
"That will be so expensive," she says. "But, if that's what you want.." she continues, her voice trailing off.
She lost that round, but returns with, "When you arrive, we can go out for lunch, I'll drive."
Now it's me sagging on my city balcony. My own landscape of high rises, that typically leave me awestruck and blessed, is unable to sooth me.
"Can't we walk?" I ask hopefully.
"Too far," she says, and then repeats, "I'll drive."
I am backed against a wall. Do I tell her the truth and risk our friendship?
I take in a breath; grateful we are separated by phone lines. Finally I opt for honesty. "I'm sorry," I say, "I don't ride with anyone my age at the wheel."
There is silence coming from her end, then an exasperated "okay." She sounds a mixture of insulted and irritated.
With her pause, I am ready with statistics: "Were you aware the American Geriatrics Society reported that driving skills generally start to fade after age 75?"
She jumps in, as swift as a tennis opponent returning my Penn. "But I've also read that younger drivers have more accidents."
She is grinning, I can tell, confidant that her data will eclipse mine.
I lob back, "But older drivers, and their victims, die more often than in accidents by younger drivers."
She and I are essentially the same age, 83. Except for shrinkage that has so far settled at 4'9", I am in excellent health. I swim several mornings a week, walk my dog Doris three to four times a day, sit for no more than 30 minutes at a time, and eat moderately and healthfully. I would not trust me behind the wheel.
Prior to my announcement, I had ridden in the passenger seat with other friends also in their 80's. They are accomplished, with impressive degrees, charming, but while belted in, I have slammed imaginary brakes, closed my eyes, or emitted an involuntary Watch it!
I realize that my decision is at odds with many in my cohort. Ageism! they charge, seeing me as a traitor to our struggles.
Another indictment notes that I am wildly generalizing, that not everyone over 80 is a danger on the road. I take note, but will decline to be in that skilled senior's passenger seat.
My previous relationship with automobiles started young. After getting my learner's permit at age 14, I had been driving steadily until a few years ago. Volkswagens, Toyotas, and Hondas had been my small cars of choice, Two pillows under my tush would raise me up over the steering wheel to provide my perfect view of front and back windows, and side mirrors.
This kinship with cars continued until my second husband died in 2012. I sold our home with garage and gave up owning a vehicle. The first time I rented a car, I nearly had an accident backing out of its spot because I could barely reach the pedals and my perfect view at the same time.
A few years ago, when my driver's license expired, and I'd need to pass a road test to be awarded a new one, I decided it was time to give up the wheel. Oh, I often pause at a parked Zipcar, imagining driving again. But then I consider all of the motorists who have one hand on the wheel and the other holding their cellphone.
When I arrive, my friend is sitting on a bench outside of her building. She is beaming as I exit the car I had hired. Her demeanor is similar to what I imagined when we first made plans -- excitement. I rush to hug her.
"How was the ride?" she asks, returning my embrace.
"Fine," I say, as we enter the building holding hands.