Maustin

He sits grimacing in the driver’s seat of Maustin, the Mini Austin, his utter pride and joy. Bare feet he drives, bouncing in his seat while I sit next to him, laughing, instantly warming.

“What’s the accent?” he says.

“Too much T.V. as a kid.”

“Really?” he laughs.

“No idea,” I say and he takes the wrong turning, during our giggles. But he never loses his cool. So relaxed he’s able to soften me. He takes away the nervous laugh, makes me talk without a pause. He brings back my stolen confidence. I think I’ve known this boy forever.

Short sleeves reveal everything. The boy’s as scarred as me. As successful as a first date can be two months later he chose to leave. He feared the addition of further notches, unable to cure him of disbelief.