"You would think I'd have been pretty scared by this point, but because I had drunk so much vodka so fast, I was still getting drunker by the second. Even with my hands cuffed behind my back -- and the cuffs were REALLY tight, because the officer hadn't been enjoying me much so far -- I was like a little one-man house party in the back seat of the cruiser. The last thing I remember was getting bored of the dispatch radio, and shouting, 'Change the station! Get me some ROCK!' "
Have you ever turned on the TV and heard someone who has scored a multi-million dollar lottery jackpot boasting about the skill it took to win? Of course, not! There is no skill involved in buying the winning ticket out of those hundreds of thousands of entries. It's purely the luck of the draw.
Well, I won the lottery as a teenager. A bunch of times. On numerous occasions I drove legally drunk. On special occasions I drove blind drunk. And it turned out that I was one of the few, the chosen, the lucky ones who never hurt themselves or anybody else while in that condition behind the wheel of an unforgiving, speeding mass of metal.
I wasn't good. No, I was lucky. There were back then, and still are, lots of other teens and older folk killing or being killed in this fashion on a daily basis.
And, no, I can't help wondering sometimes where I would be today if the wrong number had suddenly come up for me on one of those long-ago Friday nights.
Sixteen-year-old Alex Gregory will be waiting quite a while now before getting his driver's license. Upset over his parents splitting up and his father moving out, Alex marks the evening of his mother's "first date" by drinking a significant quantity of the vodka his father left behind, finding his mother's keys, and getting behind the wheel of her car. But Alex is a big money lottery winner: The only victims of his near-tragic judgment are Mrs. Wilson's French lawn gnome and the cop whose shoes and walkie-talkie Alex pukes all over after Mom's car comes to rest in Mrs. Wilson's azalea bushes. It's that same cop who delivers the intoxicated, mildly injured teen to the desk sergeant down at the precinct house.
"Then I got the marvy idea that maybe I could just wipe the blood off my head first. I pushed my hair all the way up off my forehead, the alcohol-soaked wipe touched my wound, and I sobered up REAL fast, just as Sarge was putting his cup of steaming liquid on the desk blotter.
" 'Ooooowwwww!' I screamed. Up I jumped. Up jumped my arm. Up jumped the handcuff. Up jumped the desk. Up flew the coffee.
" 'Ooooowwwww! screamed Sarge. Sarge was wet!
"Eventually the sodden mass of paper, blood, wipes, and coffee was disposed of by a guy in rubber gloves. Sarge found a new pair of pants, and came back. He took a really long look at my forehead, the mixture of blood, snot, and tears that was flowing freely across my facial features, and the moist abstract painting that had been his desk blotter, and decided to use a trick which always works for my dad: He would make me Somebody Else's Problem.
"Sarge shouted across the room, 'Call me an ambulance!'
"I couldn't stop myself. 'Okay, you're an ambulance!'
"And so it went, until the paramedics accidentally banged my head against the doorway of the emergency room, and I passed out for good."
Alex is required to atone for his criminal behavior by doing time at the Egbert P. Johnson Memorial Home for the Aged, working with elderly resident Solomon Lewis. Sol is a cantankerous old guy who fires rounds of Yiddish at Alex while inadvertently teaching him to take responsibility for his actions, to learn a little something about the elderly, and to see those things that are right in front of his face.
NOTES FROM THE MIDNIGHT DRIVER, the story of Alex Gregory's transformation from a kid who isn't willing to take responsibility for his behavior, is a tale into which Jordan Sonnenblick has deftly folded the stirrings of first love, the tribulations of divorces and new step-siblings, a touch of peer rivalries, a fine-sounding Fender Telecaster, and a satisfyingly graphic portrayal of why teens might not want to get in the habit of smoking cigarettes.
There are some very intense YA novels in print, filled with gory detail, that illustrate the deadly results of drunk driving. This is a much gentler tale that is absolutely perfect for middle school audiences, and is written by a middle school teacher with a keen sense of observation and a superb sense of (middle school) humor.
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M. Sarr
Notes from the Midnight Driver, ab 10. Schuljahr: Notes from the Midnight Driver - Textband mit Ann
Reviewed in Germany on November 11, 2021