Victory

That moment that I swiveled the wheel around that last time, pointing the tattered car back towards the long line of sweaty teenagers, victory flooded my limbs. I succeeded. The inspector would grant me my adulthood. I glanced briefly at his apathetic face, my palms tingling and twitchy, to ensure that my feelings were justified. I looked back at the envious faces of people in parked cars, impatience dripping off their tongues. A piece of hair, lodged in my left eye, finally wriggled free. The inspector wrote illegible jargon on a receipt and handed it to me: my temporary license.