As most sixteen-year-olds are, I was quite eager to get on the road the second after I received my license. I had scheduled two appointments at the DMV prior to the one where I actually passed, which both were canceled after the car inspection portion of the exam: my windows were too tinted, my left brake light was out. In order to just take the test, I had to sign up for driving lessons (on top of the two-month driving course I already took previously at my school) to use this instructor's car for my test.

Although I accidentally kept the parking brake on when we first started driving and "accelerated too quickly," I walked out with a little plastic card that had my toothy, ecstatic grin plastered on it. This was the type of freedom I desperately needed, the freedom to go wherever I wanted whenever I wanted. So, of course, two days after my test, I begged my mom to let me get breakfast at a small cafe that was about forty-five minutes away. I don't quite remember why going to this specific cafe was so important to me when I easily could've just eaten my honey almond granola in the cabinet, but she reluctantly handed me the keys to my brother's 2004 Subaru Forester.

About twenty minutes into my trip, I realized I didn't actually know how to get the cafe. I knew the basic direction, but when I arrived at a stop light where my only options were left and right, I had no clue which turns to take. I thought I had the time to access my GPS, but the light quickly turned green and, as an anxious driver who was new to the road, I didn't want to keep the line of cars behind me waiting. I reluctantly took a right and knew almost immediately that I went the wrong way. All I could do now was go straight and hope there would be a parking lot where I could stop and pull up directions sometime soon.

The area became less and less familiar to me as the road narrowed and turned from an expressway to a residential area with cautionary signs of horse silhouettes. I wanted to pull over, but this thin road was barely wide enough to fit my car, and I knew if someone came driving behind me, it could not fit the both of us. Once again, I was too distracted by what other drivers would think of me to do anything. I eventually approached a stop sign and saw my desired cafe about 500 feet in front of me. I did not know how this strange road led me here since it seemed like I had been going the complete opposite way. Filled with relief (and simultaneously hunger), I zoomed into the intersection.

A loud bang shot into my left ear as my body jolted to the right. My car slammed into the curb and I felt my stomach lurch with it. Panting heavily, I clung onto my pounding head and shut my eyes. The car slowly crept forward, and it was then that I realized I was still alive and my car was somehow still moving. I shifted into park and grabbed my phone from the cupholder next to me. Immediately, I dialed my mom's phone number, choking on my own breath. I could not utter out words properly, but I managed to whisper,

"I crashed the car, I crashed the car, I'm so sorry, please don't be mad."

The moment I hung up the phone, my car door was opened by a tall, young man with a five o'clock shadow. He questioned if I was okay and I simply looked up at him, unable to speak. I just received my license two days ago. I was going to get breakfast. I climbed out, staring at the vehicle I just destroyed. Smoke was erupting from the hood and liquid was dripping underneath. I examined my surroundings, searching for the other beat-up car that was involved. The man uttered a sentence to me, but I was too focused on my investigation to pay attention. He jogged over to a silver minivan parked on the side of the road with a single scratch on the side. I soon figured out that this was the other car, that he was the other person.

For a moment, I felt relieved, knowing that he was okay and that I only wrecked my own car. The feeling quickly faded as I heard police sirens wailing, intensifying my throbbing headache. I didn't know what the procedure was in these events: was my license going to be taken away? Were the police going to condemn me? I responded tentatively to each question asked, still unaware of what happened. I tried to explain why I was there, why I had to drive this far from my hometown just to get breakfast at a mediocre restaurant, but my words were barely coming out. Eventually, the scene slowly cleared. My car had been taken away by a towing company, my mom had finally arrived to sign some paperwork, and the officers abandoned the area. I climbed into the back of my mom's SUV and we returned home to resume our day.

It would be months before I got behind the wheel of a car again, and about a year before I felt comfortable. Every left turn made me wince, I adamantly refused to go on the highway. The activity that once liberated me now made me feel isolated and trapped. After the accident, I was told that if the other car had been going 50 mph (instead of the 45 it was going), the glass in the driver seat window would've shattered into my left cheek. Any faster and my injuries would have been far more severe than whiplash.

A mango smoothie and an acai bowl are not worth it.