I’d had too many temper tantrums at my new school. So somebody in DOCS decided that perhaps I shouldn’t go to school for a little while.
And then after a little while it was decided I should instead only go to school for the mornings. At recess I could take a taxi home.
The taxi driver employed to take me home every day became a sort of friend. Once or twice I saw her at Woolworths in the grocery section and we’d stop and talk about books.
Especially about Harry Potter.
I cannot remember her name and I only have a faint impression of what she looked like. But I think she was a specialist taxi driver.
Normally she was employed to transport disabled and respite kids back and forth to school. The back seats of the taxi were child locked.
But now she was transporting a real brat.
But she was nothing like the DOCS workers. There was no air of arrogance to her. And she made me feel important.
She was my chauffeur, and I wasn’t embarrassed about having one.