Driver

     When Oprah was in her twenties, she dated a man with a sports car. As he was pulling away from her, she remembered clinging onto his bumper and falling onto the pavement, pleading for him to come back. As he rolled away, he yelled out the window, “The problem with you, baby doll, is you think you’re special.”

     “No I’m not!” She cried out, “I’m not special! I’m not special!”

     “Can you believe?” I told my therapist. “I never thought that I would be the Oprah in a story.”

     “Or maybe you’re driving the car.”