I sat in the driver's seat of the ambulance, thinking this was inevitable. Mike the Lieutenant was leaning over from the passenger side, pointing out the various controls. I knew this day would come. The ambulances are basically modified Freightliner trucks, far larger than any vehicle I've ever driven, with rows of buttons and lights controlling the sirens, lights, and radios. They have an automatic transmission, which I haven't used in ten years, and a steering wheel so enormous that it looks like it should be mounted in the pilot house of a large ship. Since there's no direct rear view, the driver must use an array of mirrors that sprout off the front end like feelers. This was my first time in the driver's seat, and I would begin by pulling the unit out of the garage bay. Camels and eyes of needles came to mind.

I have steadfastly resisted the rescue squad's expectation that all members eventually move up to become drivers. In part, this is because I like being in the back of the ambulance more than I believe I'll enjoy driving it. The opportunity to care for patients is, after all, why I joined the squad. And there is another reason, a far more selfish one. In the back of the ambulance, even the worst, most horrific mistake only has the potential to damage one person, whereas a twitch behind the wheel of a speeding ambulance can wipe out a schoolbus full of children. I do not anticipate ever making such an error, but the numbers alone are ghastly enough that when I think about driving the unit, I think: eek.

Most folks love driving the ambulance, and need no incentive to start their training. It's not hard to understand why. Sit up front just one time as we rocket out to a call, siren screaming and cars falling to either side in a cascade of taillights; pull around gridlocked cars into the oncoming lanes of Wisconsin Avenue, the whirling red lights reflecting off the storefront windows, and you can feel the lure. In the same way that my uniform makes me momentarily different from other people, the driver exists outside of the rules while on a call. The world pauses to let them pass.

Unfortunately, this bright flashing power and automotivated adrenaline just don't appeal to me like they should. Nonetheless, I understand that I will become a driver, because that's what the squad requires me to do. For complicated staffing reasons, it's even more important that I get driver status now that I'm spending more time on the heavy rescue trucks. So I finally capitulated and spent an hour with the Lieutenant going over the ambulance and then creeping tentatively around the parking lot. Age sixteen all over again. Afterwards, Mike asked if I wanted to take it out and drive around B-ville a while.

No I thought. I feel like I'm driving the space shuttle.

"Sure," I said with feigned enthusiasm, trying to be a good do-bee. Sooner or later I was going to have to drive the thing in the real world. I was never going to feel any more ready than that moment, when I was merely frightened.

With Mike providing advice from the copilot's seat, I crept out of the front entrance of the squad and headed into the dark streets. There was no traffic, which allowed me to focus exclusively on avoiding stationary objects. After a while, I began to feel... not necessarily comfortable, but perhaps less than terrified.

"How was that?" Mike asked as I returned to the squad building.

Maybe more like a greyhound bus. "Okay."

It only took me three attempts to back into the ambulance bay.