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A. Growing up I really didn’t know my grandmother.

She was a private person, and


didn’t talk about her past much, but I know she had one. She once told me that
before she got married, she was a backup singer in a band that I had actually heard
of. But that’s all she would say about it, no matter how often I prodded. “El pasado
es el pasado,” she told me. The past is the past. To me, she talked in Spanish. I
talked back in English. We understood each other.

B. The thing I remember most about Grandma Sofia was how much she loved driving,
especially since she came to live with us. She had a 1960s red Chevy Impala
convertible that was all her own, a remnant of her band days. She loved driving
with the top down, the radio blasting, singing at the top of her lungs when a good
song came on. Driving was her independence, her freedom. My parents, however,
were concerned that she was getting too old to drive around by herself. One night, I
overheard them: “She’s okay for now, but how long before she can’t manage?” “I’ll
speak to her tomorrow.” I felt sick at the thought of Grandma giving up her car. I
knew what driving meant to her. I knew that without her wheels she’d feel ordinary
—just another grandma, hovering and wise.

C. Sometimes it felt like Grandma and I were on the sidelines and my parents were in
the middle, dragging us toward the center, where we did not want to be. I was
often grounded for the smallest things. I didn’t really mind, under normal
circumstances. One time—the time I’m writing about—circumstances were not
normal. My parents had grounded me for the weekend of Luisa’s party, easily the
social event of the season. No way was I going to miss it. But my parents weren’t
even going to be home! They were going to my Aunt Leticia’s. It would just be me
and Grandma. Me and Grandma and a 1966 red Chevy Impala convertible . . .

D. Saturday night arrived and I was itching to go to the party, so I did the unthinkable: I
asked Grandma to drive me to Luisa’s. I figured she didn’t know about me being
grounded. She looked at me quizzically and said she would. I got dressed and ran
out to the car. She was waiting for me. I got in.

E. The sky was just beginning to darken, blue clouds against a darker blue sky. Soon it
would be night time. Grandma looked a little uncomfortable. At first I thought it
was because she knew about me being grounded. But then I wondered if maybe
she didn’t want to drive at night and didn’t want to tell me. At that moment I
wouldn’t have minded getting out and going back home. I felt bad about Grandma. I
felt bad about disobeying my parents. But how could I say any of this?

F. We took off. She drove slowly, maybe too slowly. But we didn’t get very far.
Suddenly she pulled over and stopped the car. We must have been sitting in that
car for five minutes, which is a long time if you’re sitting in a car not talking. I
couldn’t ask her if she stopped because she was nervous about driving. And I
couldn’t ask if she stopped because she knew I was grounded.
Finally she turned to me. “Regresamos?” Shall we turn back?
“Sure,” I replied. I was so relieved I could have cried.
“Bueno,” she said, with a nod. She started the car and turned on the radio. It was a
song we both knew by heart. But it was clear that Grandma and I could still learn a
lot from each other.

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