I'm seated in the driver's seat of a bus (school bus taking lots of kids on some field trip). A man, the leader of the tour says we need someone to drive the bus. He looks at me. I say, "No thanks. I haven't got a license." He scoffs, saying I'm just a chicken. I try again to explain to him it's not legal and they could get sued. He just looks at me, smiling sneering. I give up and say, "OK OK." I feel the foot pedals (small metal squares like in an old tractor or car); I grind the gears. We start to go down a steep, curvy dirt road. We gather up speed as we go and I keep putting on the brakes. The men are talking behind my back, "She's doing pretty good," "Good for you." We come to a train track, blue plastic ones like on a game. He tells me to drive up on one. I turn and do so. He says that's the wrong one. I back up, the bus is now a series of kiddie cars and its hard to back up. The men are surprised how well I manage it. He points to another track, again the wrong one. He shakes his head like, "What am I going to do with you?" and then expresses reluctant respect when I manage to back us up. It's like he knows I can do it but is testing me. I get the right one on the third time. My kiddie car locks onto the track, but the others don't. I wait while they go back to get them locked on. Then my car lurches forward like on a roller coaster ride, alone. I look back, worried. He waves and says, "Oh, well, you'll be all right." I'm not convinced. I go down this steep incline in a tunnel fast. I am stopped by a stack of breakfast cereal boxes. He peeks down and says that will hold you. He leaves and of course they start to give and I go down and down and around and out. He's there. Each child is given a disability to emulate and experience on the next ride or challenge. He looks at me and grins. "You're dumb," he says. I get up on the train engine side and hold the metal handles, "OK," I say, "I'm dumb." He gets in the engine and he tells his female assistant, "Pick the first dumb one," knowing it would be me. She starts to pick one in front of me and I point out to her I'm the dumb one. She takes me to a run that is in front of the train engine and crosses the tracks. I have to run as fast as I can. If I don't do it fast enough, I'll be squished to death. I stand there thinking, "I can't run fast, I can barely move. What will I do?" I think of tricking them by running out of bounds, but I am supposed to be dumb. As I'm thinking, other people do their runs. One tries the out-of-bounds trick. It doesn't work. One slows down deliberately and gets caught. Two metal gates close on her and pretend to squish her. I begin my run. I do the best I can, but I limp and am slow. I push hard and cross the line 1/2 second before time is up. I lay on the ground sobbing at my pain. The man runs from the train over to me, concerned, just like I wanted him to. He scoops me up in his arms, reassures himself I'm unhurt and cuddles me. I relax in his embrace. He loved me all along.