Ian Swenson .com

I was once known as the Drag King of Olympic Junior High School. It’s not quite as auspicious a title as it sounds, and I didn’t hold the title for very long, but it suited me just fine. It also marked a turning point in my development. For my sake, changes in my life had to be made. I was on a course to stay dry, passive, pensive and timid. I was to be that boy throughout the rest of my life. Important, necessary changes needed to be made, and I suppose becoming the Drag King was a good way to do it.

I didn’t have much of a hand in it. No, becoming the Drag King was not one of those conscious choices made only after much deliberation and soul-searching. Instead, it was a choice made for me, a twist of fate. Still, I’m happy I went along for the ride.

The spring morning presented itself in fine form. It was a poor day to have to go to school, I thought. I didn’t know that I would not have to attend school that day. No, destiny had other plans for me. There was no sense of foreboding that oftentimes accompanies a trial to come such as mine. No hairs standing upright on my nape. No bitter taste of adrenaline near the back of my mouth. Instead, the day began innocently enough with a simple question from Dara, my stepmother, “Would you like a ride to school?”

The offer was rare, to be sure. School was easier to bear if I didn’t have to walk a grueling mile just to get there. Getting a ride to school was a compromise. I would still have to go to school, yes, but I would be dropped off in style. And Dara’s car had style! My stepmother’s 1985 Mustang GT convertible presented a marvelous sight to behold. It was beautiful: burgundy, black stripes, white leather interior, and all of the options. The word “Mustang” still carried a holy aura about it. It was as if riding in that car made me cool, no matter how nerd-like I truly was.

I quickly agreed to Dara’s offer, finished my morning preparations, and dashed outside to greet the Mustang. My enthusiasm brought a smile to Dara’s lips, a rare enough feat back then. My family had experienced our share of problems. Most of them stemmed from Dara and her penchant for white powder, but I knew not of such things at that age. Nor was I likely to care on that fine spring day in her Mustang.

Although the time hadn’t yet crept up on eight in the morning, the weather already promised to be sweet. The temperature felt comfortable and the air crisp. Dara decided to drive with the top down. With my backpack snuggled between my legs, Dara muscled the convertible from the driveway. I clenched to my backpack tightly, lest my schoolwork fly away in a flock of math papers and history books. Dara embraced the opportunity to drive even faster than usual. I watched as the landscape became a blur. The speed and power of the Mustang brought a simple smile to brighten my face.

We said little. The joy of the ride was enough for us both.

Dara whipped into the school parking lot, and our journey ground to a halt. My smile changed from childlike elation to prideful satisfaction. I was smugly happy to watch my schoolmates watch me get out of the Mustang. Considering what happened next, perhaps fate took my pride as a sign that it was time to teach me a lesson.