Sexual harassment in the workplace

Sexual Harassment: How I Learned to Drive

"Driving is easy. Just remember. Break pedal. Gas pedal. And go."

Sara turned the key in the ignition and suddenly the car sprung to life. She couldn't believe it. Was she really driving? All of her life, while living in Saudi Arabia, driving meant sitting in the back seat, being taken somewhere by someone else. Learning to drive was a male rite of passage, like growing a beard. But driving in America was taken for granted. Even little old ladies who drove with their knobby knuckles clutching the wheel drove to the store. You could not get anywhere in America without driving. So Sara would have to learn to drive, while she was a student in this new country.

Sara was not her real name. However, because Ben could not pronounce her full Arabic name, he called her Sara. Sara did not object. There were many things she let Ben get away with which she would never let another boy do, had she been living back home. Like asking her why she wore her hair covered. Sara had bowed to American culture by switching to a brightly-colored scarf, which was not permitted in her homeland.

She knew if her many cousins or brother could see her now, they would have pulled her out of the car and dragged her home and thrown a dark abaya over her head. Her older cousin Alia had not been seen by her husband until the day Alia was engaged.

"Gas pedal. Break pedal. Drive. Park," said Sara. She felt as though she was getting the rhythm of driving. She had watched men drive often enough. Ben and Sara circled around the empty faculty parking lot of the university, where they were practicing on a Sunday.

Sara remembered her cousin Badr telling her that American boys were interested in only one thing. He hadn't wanted her to go studying abroad. But Ben was different than other American boys. If a boy only wanted one thing, why was Ben driving around in circles in a parking lot, when he could have any girl he wanted on campus? Carefully, Sara parked the vehicle into a parking spot and eased the car into park.

"Beautiful," said Ben. "You would have thought you had been doing this all of your life."

The next week, Sara felt confident enough to navigate the streets with Ben by her side. The car was a small blue Honda. It wasn't the type of car that you would picture a boy like Ben driving. Sara imagined he would have preferred a small, sporty car. But it was a graduation gift from his parents, and they had wanted Ben to have a sensible vehicle. Sara liked the fact that Ben was close to his parents and spoke fondly of them.

Because Sara had no learner's permit, much less a license, the couple had to drive very slowly. "Would you get arrested for letting me drive?" asked Sara.

"No," said Ben. "I bet the cop would let you off. Girls can always get out of a ticket by crying. Well, pretty girls, anyway." Sara blushed. "Why can't you drive where you're from, anyway? That's not true of all Muslim girls."

Sara shrugged. "Modesty," she said.

"I agree that driving is very immodest. It always brings out the worst in me." Sara knew that was true. Whenever she drove with Ben, he would always speed around as fast as possible, refusing to let anyone pass him, even if they had nowhere particular to go. Ben loved the thrill of the chase, the thrill of speed.

"How did you learn how to drive?" asked Sara.

"My cousin taught me."

"My cousin would be shocked if he saw me driving," said Sara.

"I'll bet," said Ben.

Sara carefully navigated the Honda between two parked cars in front of the pizza parlor.

Ben knew not to order pizza with sausage or pepperoni on it. Sara ordered one plain slice; Ben ordered a slice with everything on it. Sara had never eaten pork. She was curious about it, though, because Ben seemed to like it so much. It looked good and smelled good, but she could never bring herself to try it. Some things she could not permit herself to do.

Like the time Ben had asked her what her hair looked like. She wanted to take off her scarf, but she felt like she would be doing that only for Ben, not for herself. Learning to drive was something she was learning for herself as well as Ben. And she was sitting in the middle of a crowded pizza place, with people of every imaginable ethnicity, religion, and background, while eating with her friend Ben. That was an act of daring. Sara felt brave, but she wondered sometimes why, when she acted brave, she felt like she was giving up something as well.