Romance Driving

He liked when I drove

Something about the way I moved the pedal, staying a consistent 75 through the scenery.

I also think because in 5th, I could put my hand on his leg. When playing with gears, my hand does not waver beyond the console as his does.

In the passenger seat he’d roll splifs and deal with the whole ipod thing

When his hand was idle, it was on my leg, or cupped around the back of my neck. A habit from high school we couldn’t seem to break.

I always looked straight ahead but I always smiled.

We talked, often I listened, looking forward and nodding, my hand on his knee, sometimes in my lap to be alone.

We were silent, discovering and rediscovering music, smiling at the same parts, noticing the same details

Pensive eyes out the window, noticing the same things, sharing them only sometimes.
I think he liked when I drove off the exit

Banking the turn, excited with the acceleration, loving my car, humming in its old car voice, rattling just a little, enough to make it feel worn in

His hand brushed the hair out of my face, now I could see his smile peer at me.

I told him once that I had more mistakes to make before jumping in.

He couldn’t wait and I couldn’t wait.

Now he keeps his hand on my knee, and his smile peering, while I drive down the road, making mistakes.