The Driving Issue

***

The motorway drive went by in silence, but this time it was not an uncomfortable one. Becky dozed off in the passenger seat and Bryan simply drove, part of his mind on the road, another part pondering the day's events. Becky woke up just as Bryan was exiting the motorway. They would be home in fifteen minutes, less if they were lucky with the traffic lights.

'Can I ask you something?' she said.

'Sure,' said Bryan.

'Does it really bother you when I drive?'

'It depends.'

'On what?'

'Look, if you genuinely enjoy driving and feel that I'm hogging something fun, then of course I'm happy to share. But if you're doing it to make some sort of feminist point, then yes, that does bother me.'

'Don't you believe in equality?'

'Again, it depends,' said Bryan. 'I believe in equal rights under the law. I believe in equality of opportunity. But equality of driving? Give me a break!'

'Yes, but isn't that a reflection of equality within our marriage?'

Bryan frowned as he considered the question. He slowed the car at a roundabout, but traffic was light and he proceeded across without having to stop.

'Listen, whenever you say you want something,' said Bryan, 'I'm always trying to figure out: Does Becky actually want this? Or is she parroting what the feminists say she ought to want?'

'What are you talking about?'

'Well, look at what you said earlier today about me wanting you to be a housewife! Do you honestly believe I'm secretly plotting to oppress you because I get some sort of kick out of being a breadwinner? I mean, do you?'

'Bryan, I never actually said that.'

'You said, quote: "The reason you keep telling me what a great job I'm doing as a mother is to try and keep me in my place." Unquote.'

Becky sat, arms folded, teeth clenched, as they drove down a familiar road with local shops and restaurants. She hated Bryan's ability to remember word-perfect things that she said. Her own memory for detail was not nearly so good and it felt terribly unfair to be at such a disadvantage.

'Fine!' she hissed. 'What's your point?'

'My point is this,' said Bryan. 'If you're not happy being a housewife and fulltime mother, then we'll figure something out. We can split responsibilities fifty-fifty or sixty-forty... whatever works for us. And the same goes for driving or cooking dinner or whatever else you want to talk about. But I'm married to you, not to your friends nor a bunch of feminists on the internet. I only care about what works for us, not what they think and if I ever smell their bullshit, I'm going to make sure that you smell it too.'

'What about when you're full of shit?'

'Then call me on it! I promise you, Becky, I will never apply a standard to you that I don't apply to myself.'

'But I don't want you applying your standards to me! I want to apply my own standards to myself!'

'But what is equality if not us holding each other to the same standard?'

'Well... I don't want that kind of equality.'

Bryan was pensive as he turned the car into their street. He and Becky would never see eye-to-eye on this. The very fact that she believed there were different 'kinds' of equality saw to that. To Bryan, equality was a singular, fixed concept: Thing A equals Thing B according to some agreed-upon unit of measurement. Whereas to Becky, equality was about feelings and fairness and feminism.

But as Bryan slowed before their house and carefully manoeuvred the car onto the patch of concrete that served as a driveway, he realised that he didn't care all that much. Okay, he and his wife disagreed on stuff. So what? No marriage is perfect and he was quite happy to carry on with the way things were.

Becky was not so sanguine. As she turned to check on her sleeping child, Becky found herself tense without quite knowing why. It confused and frustrated her. Bryan had spent the previous hour driving while she had slept most of the time, so in theory he should be more stressed out than her. But his easy-going manner made it crystal clear that he was completely fine and that she the only one who was stressed out. It was so unfair!

Bryan turned off the headlights and then finally the engine. There was a moment of silence at the end of the journey when both man and woman sat in the dark, each with their own thoughts. Then Bryan turned to Becky and gave her a big, easy-going smile.

'Well,' he said. 'We're home.'