Impression of a MemoryThere are some events in life that leave behind a mental residue. Whether fragmented images or the duration of the entire event, they have enough meaning to be imprinted in the cerebral cortex, allowing the mind the ability to revisit them. Deep in the cracks of my mind lies a very specific memory that stands out among all the others I have collected throughout my life. This memory is more recent than many others as it is set in the scorching summer of 2015. My boyfriend, Sean, was in Arizona for advanced training for the US Army, and I, at home in Boston, spent a lot of time with his father Pat and his brother Mike. I, not having a family of my own, formed a strong bond with Sean's family during this time, but still maintained a protective front. After growing up in the toxicity of a physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive home, I didn't trust many people, especially older men. And it wasn't until one sunny afternoon during a routine driving lesson that things changed. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original Essay "Turn left here. I've never been down this road before," I looked at Pat nervously as I heard him say from the passenger seat, but I followed his instructions, trusting his judgment. Driving made me nervous. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and every aching muscle in my body tighten to the point that I cramped every time I got behind the wheel. Having control of a four-thousand-pound metal race car on wheels was enough to turn my twenty-year-old hair gray. But helping me get my license was something Pat desperately wanted to do, and no matter how much the sick feeling in my stomach protested, I wanted to let him help me. I liked having a reason to see him every week and I liked having something to bond over. I turned the steering wheel to the left, placed my hand over my shaking hand, and began to slowly increase pressure on the accelerator as the Toyota made its steady climb up a hill. Trees began to grow thickly on both sides of the asphalt, and houses completely disappeared in every direction. When we reached the summit of the intimidating mountain we were completely submerged in the woods. I slowed the car to a near-stop as I stared at the curving hillside ahead of me. My eyes must have been as big as dinner plates, because Mike's voice rang out from behind me: “You're doing great. You don't have to slow down that much. I nodded shyly, letting the anxiety flow from deep within me to my fingertips, clenching them on the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. There were no queues on the street. Most of the back roads around Millis had none, and this particular road was too narrow to divide. Taking a deep breath I began the descent down the vine-like path, picking up some speed as the small oak bridge beckoned us from below. We were almost safe, at the edge of the bridge, when the white jeep turned the corner. The oncoming vehicle did not stop or even reduce its effort. The sound of wooden planks clanking together poured through my open window as the four-wheeled demon zoomed past them angrily, now angling so that the front bumper ran straight to the center point between my headlights. My chest felt like a coiled spring, waiting to explode with adrenaline in a fight or flight response and my mind was glassy in a moment of pure panic where no., 121(3), 331-354.