It’s okay. We’ve got all the time in the world.
We’ve got all the time in the world.
I blew out a long, slow breath.
It’s okay.
It’s okay.
He wasn’t rushing me. He wasn’t mocking me. He wasn’t hurrying me.
It was okay if I learned things a little slower. It was okay.
I sniffled, and even though he couldn’t see my face, he probably knew I was crying, but I stretched my fingers and gripped the wheel again.
“Okay,” I said.
He gave it some gas, and I pulled back onto the road, moving the steering wheel smaller this time, swerving the car side to side to find the edges of my lane, kind of like I do when I dance. Gauging the perimeter and counting time to feel for my mark.
The left tires ran over little bumps every few feet, and I realized they were reflectors in the middle of the road, so drivers could see their lanes at night.
That was my mark. How I could tell when I left my lane.
My shoulders relaxed just a little, and I sat up straighter. Okay.
I kept the wheel positioned in my lane, feeling when the right side would dip a little as it did right before it gave way to grass, and feeling the reflectors on the left, keeping me from veering into the opposing lane. My wheel wasn’t always straight, but we were going slow enough I could tell when the road curved just slightly in order to stay between my markers.
“You did it,” he whispered.
I broke out in a smile, my eyes still wet, but feeling a lot better than I did a few minutes ago. He didn’t teach me, either. He didn’t tell me about the reflectors or how to move the wheel or anything. He just waited for me to learn it on my own. It was a nice change and took the pressure off. It was nice not to feel hurried.
“We’re gonna go faster,” he told me.
Faster? And there went the relaxation and confidence I’d just been basking in.
“I’ll let you know which way to move the wheel, okay?”
“Okay,” I replied. It made sense. We’d be going faster, so I’d have less time to correct myself.
His legs moved under me, he shifted gears, and the car picked up pace, making my body jerk against him. Instinctively, I gripped the wheel harder and didn’t blink for a second as I tried to concentrate.
The engine roared, and I could feel the acceleration vibrate under my thighs as we barreled into the night where anything could come out at me too fast for two minds to react in sync. An animal, another car, a person… Jesus. Too fast. Too fast. The car rumbled under my feet, making my heart leap in my chest.
“The wheel is at noon,” he said. “When I say ‘go’, slowly and softly veer to the left, to about ten o’clock.”
I couldn’t swallow or speak, so I just nodded, curling my toes in fear. Shit.
“Go,” he said.
As he instructed, I gently turned the wheel a few inches, feeling the tires run over the reflectors, but instead of swerving in the other direction to correct myself, I found them with the very edge of my left tires and stayed on them. It would probably freak out oncoming traffic with my hugging the middle of the road like this, but I was able to manage the curves of the road all by myself.
“Okay, it’s gonna curve right in—”
“Shh,” I snapped, shutting him up.
I needed to listen.
And then, as he warned, the reflectors twisted right, and I needed to correct the wheel to follow it, surprisingly not going off the road like I half-expected.