Blindsided - Janelle Banks

Janell Banks — Blindsided — Janell Banks

When I packed up my hopes, my dreams, and too many hoodies and landed in good old St. Joseph, Missouri. Enter Janelle, eager and ambitious and allegedly destined to become a lawyer. At least that’s the plan, but I’m not sure this school could actually produce lawyers.

But let’s dream big. College came at me fast and not in a party and late night ramen kind of way, but still there was a mission in the background, to drive. And no, not the motivational drive to succeed, I mean literally learning how to operate a motor vehicle.

Here I am in a rural community stuck with no car and transportation is key, And you can’t get around like you can in the present day by tapping your phone and trusting a stranger with five stars. So yes, I’m afraid to drive. And here I am in a rural space needing a car. Because you see, two years prior, I was in an accident where I was driving a purple Hyundai Accent as a newly permitted driver.

And I was hit by a Ford F‑150 and T‑bone in a major intersection. My car spun around like a washing machine on its final cycle until it finally stopped like God himself said, that’s enough. That accident nearly took my foot away from me. It crushed all the bones in it and broke it off of my ankle. and doctors openly debated whether amputating it was the best option. I still recall being asked to recite the alphabet backwards before surgery, which was the only calm and normalcy before the chaos.

I remember waking up in a sterile room with my foot hoisted high in a cast as thick as drywall, and it was hanging like a monument of survival. My hospital stay was short but unforgettable. And with the help of a morphine pump, I was able to learn how to walk on crutches and drag the wagon that was now my fragile foot. And from there, I was pushed back into society in the middle of a snowstorm, snowboarded into our third story town home, where I had to move from the third floor to the first floor for safety and convenience.

Now that I’m settled in and back to reality without my morphine pump, now comes the next journey, which is physical therapy. And as I can recall, the first sessions were pretty brutal, but little by little, I learned how to walk, not necessarily because I wanted to, but because I refused to hop, skip, and jump everywhere, especially to the bathroom.

That accident changed my life, It taught me how to endure pain while walking, what my endurance was, and even what shoes I could wear. But most importantly, it changed my relationship with driving. I didn’t drive. I stopped. I never got my license. Because now driving came with fear and drama. It just wasn’t about a rite of passage. It actually was a roadblock. And you know in the Midwest, driving is like a form of currency.

So now here I am in college, basically cosplaying as a licensed driver. Because people can understand you not having a car, but not having a license at my big age, very embarrassing. But I managed to maneuver through five years of asking for rides and catching rides. getting all of the favors in. In fact, I had built my own underground Uber network.

Powered by sorority sisters and fraternity bros and all of the relationships I built along the way with my brilliant personality. But now, in my mid-20s, I’m a college graduate, and I’m tired of asking for rides. In fact, I’m afraid that public transit might be the next step, and I’ve heard stories.

So now it is time to shift, shift into bravery and get my driver’s license or die trying. Now my stepfather approached me with a good option. He offered me a brand new black Mitsubishi with leather seats and a sunroof, which is a great deal.

And the only cost was that I just had to get my driver’s license. That’s right, this man said he would give me a car for absolutely free and the title if I got my driver’s license. And to most people, that sounds like a good deal, right? To me, that’s like asking for a million dollars. I didn’t have it. But as the great Allen Iverson once said, it’s just practice.

It’s just practice. So that’s what I did. I practiced. I got that stupid blue book from the DMV. And I learned the art of driving through online tests and reading that book. And eventually I got some test laps around the neighborhood supervised in my brand new used Mitsubishi.

And I started to feel confident, like I had been driving the last eight years of my life. I mean, I’m driving down these two lane residential streets ready. I’m so confident at some point I paused and wondered, do I actually know how to drive or have I just memorized the neighborhood? But now it’s time to move forward and take the driver’s test. And no one tells you how scary the DMV is. It’s nasty. It’s cold. It’s dimly lit. But here I am taking this test, and I’m proud to announce that I emerged from the cold, nasty, dimly lit DMV clutching a passing score. Only after two tries, which is not bad for a product of an open admissions college.

Now on to the driver’s test. I’m nervous, I’m afraid because again, it’s been eight long years of fear, but I am ready to stop letting life drive me and drive this car. Unfortunately though, I have met my match because the instructor giving the test is extremely friendly, like way too friendly. which led to us having great conversations, which means I missed every turn she told me to take. I was talking with my hands like I had been driving for years. I think the only time I was at 10 to two is when we started the car.

But now it was time for the final portion of the driver’s test, which is parallel parking. The final boss. Before I could even turn the wheel, she said, stop. You don’t know what you’re doing. That will conclude the test. But you’ve passed.

Now, here I was thinking that I was a forever passenger princess, but I heard the words, pass. I’ve passed. I’m a licensed driver. OMG. And life is funny like that. Once I got my license, I didn’t just sit around. I decided to relocate from Kansas City, Missouri to Houston, Texas. Woo! which is crazy for a person who’s only driven on the highway like four times.

But it was fun. It was eight long years, eight long years where I’ve held myself accountable for not driving, and now I’m driving, and eight, the symbol eight, which looks like the infinity sign, which ironically is tattooed on my right once shattered ankle, and underneath it says not easily broken.

That tattoo says it all. It says it all. I’ve triumphed. I’ve overcome a disability. I’ve pushed myself out of the cage. I’ve passed things that took away my adulthood and my womanhood. And now I’m driving. And from Houston, I drove all the way to New York City. It’s crazy. But life is crazy like that. Because driving or riding in the car as a passenger is one thing.

But driving by yourself, that is control and that is freedom and that is steering your own destiny. Thank you.