Reckless Driving

He is going to kill both of us. I grip the sides of my seat. The seatbelt locks. His hand burns my leg. I squeeze my eyes shut—his eyes are stuck on me. All I want is for him to focus on the road. It’s not romantic anymore, but is reckless driving ever romantic?

The car halts to a stop, barely an inch away from the sedan in front of us.

“Sorry,” Matthew says.

He apologizes every time he makes any type of driving mistake. He usually follows up with, “I forgot,” referring to the many times I’ve asked him to slow down. 

“I’m tired,” I reply. “Can you just take me home?”

He follows me through the front door. We sit at the kitchen table in silence for fifteen minutes until I ask him to leave. My head pounds a little harder every time I look at him. I don’t know how we got here.

He doesn’t try to touch me at all when he leaves. I am thankful. I start to black out at the idea of him trying to kiss me.

He shuts the car door while I watch him from the front porch. I stand there, watching the street light flicker as he drives out of view.

We’re dying—I don’t want to be here to see how it ends.
 ***

I’m a careful driver, despite getting pulled over twice for speeding. I never said I was a slow driver.
***

The first time I got pulled over was my freshman year of college. I was driving through campus, and one of the cops pulled me over for going thirty-five in a twenty-five. 

I didn’t cry—shocking.

He let me go with a warning, and he told me that if I drive that fast again, I might hit a pedestrian.
***

I met Matthew right before the coronavirus hit. I noticed him right away; he didn’t even look in my direction. 

Matthew met me in September of 2020––post-quarantine––everyone was just excited to be around other people. He took an awkward interest in me right away, and I spent the entire weekend obsessing over his every move, wondering if he was talking to other girls the same way he talked to me. 

A week later, he asked me to get coffee. A mutual friend warned me to “be careful.”

I ignored her––Matthew liked me!
***

The 2008 Toyota 4Runner safety rating is less than ideal. Prone to rollover. The driver’s safety rating is higher than the passenger’s.
***

I got my next warning for speeding a month after I met Matthew. It was the middle of quarantine; the only time to escape from my parents’ house was to drive through the streets of Chapel Hill at two in the morning.

There was no one on the road. My volume was maxed; I was flying—a clear mind. I didn’t expect two cops to be sitting under the trees as soon as I rounded the corner.

I tried to slow down, but it was too late. They pulled out immediately, and they followed me for a couple minutes before they ended my misery and turned their lights on.

I was going twenty over the speed limit. I could’ve––I should’ve––been charged with reckless driving.

Somehow, I got away with a warning.
***

It took Matthew and I a year to admit our feelings for each other. We hung out every day, but we told everyone we were just best friends. One night, he even felt the need to clarify there was nothing more than platonic between us. He called me, saying we needed to talk. The conversation went something like:

“I just wanted to let you know that I am not trying to lead you on,” he said. “I’m sorry if you are getting the wrong idea.”

Lies.

“I didn’t think you were trying to,” I said. “I don’t want to date you either.”

Lies!

“But you probably shouldn’t hang out with a girl everyday if you don’t have feelings for them,” I added.

He didn’t have anything to say after that.

He asked me on a real date two months later. I made fun of him for acting nervous.
***

The 2008 Lexus GS350 drives fast. Overall, the safety rating is average. Terrible roof strength—but how often is that important?
***

I always heard you were supposed to fall in love with someone you loved despite their flaws.

Right after our first date, Matthew got drunk and sloppy at a mutual friend’s wedding. I was humiliated. I was mad at him for putting me in such an uncomfortable situation.

He was shocked when I ended things. We didn’t talk for a couple of months.

 ***

The first time we talked again, we were in his car in a park. I told him I wanted to try again—I missed my best friend. Maybe I overreacted about the wedding.

He was silent for about a minute. He told me later he was in shock; he never expected me to give him a second chance. He was pinching himself, trying to make sure that the conversation was real.

“Of course,” he said. “There isn’t a world where I wouldn’t want to give us another shot.”

I could charm two cops out of speeding tickets, I wasn’t shocked I could charm a twenty-two-year-old boy into not being able to forget about me.

***

We went on our second first date a couple weeks later. Sitting on the hood of his car, he kissed me for the first time. My neck was tilted at an awkward angle and my tailbone was uncomfortably pressed against the metal. 

Still, there was nothing I wanted more in that moment. It was perfect.
***

Matthew and I were two months into dating when I got in a car accident.

My cousins and I were driving up to Virginia for Thanksgiving. I was in the passenger seat. She turned away from the wheel for only a few seconds, but when I looked up, we were ten feet away from hitting another car at full speed. I panicked and yelled as soon as I saw—it was too late.

Everything else happened in slow motion.

I don’t remember anything except being confused when I opened my eyes again. The man driving the car we hit was standing outside with a bloody nose. The entire hood of our car was crushed. I couldn’t breathe right.

Matthew was the first person I told, but I forgot to include that I was okay––physically. 

My body ached for a week afterwards. I couldn’t shake my headache.

Everyone healed quickly, but I would never be able to sit in a passenger seat again without my entire body tensing up at the first sight of brake lights.

***

	Matthew broke up with me a few months later because he had feelings for another girl. He didn’t cheat on me––but it felt like he did. 
***

Matthew and I are driving in his car.

I’m a careful driver who gets involved with too many reckless drivers.

He almost misses a stop sign. I cry out for him to stop. He does, but if he didn’t, I would be dead.

He cuts a corner too quickly––if I don’t get out of this car now, I really am going to die.