Page 26 of Wounded Dance
He lifts up and gazes into my eyes. “I haven’t told anyone else I loved them,” he says.
I scrunch my eyes at him. “Um, season one, episode six,” I say. “I believe her name was Rebekka? With two k’s.”
He groans. “The producers made me,” he says. “That doesn’t count.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “I believe you,” I say. “And I’m glad that I’m the first for both things.”
He kisses my forehead. “I know what we should do today,” he says.
“More of this?” I ask, gesturing to our bodies.
“Well, yeah,” he says. “But I want you more independent. Let’s get you driving.”
“A car?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “A car.”
I let out a rush of air. “Okay, but I’m not sure San Antonio is ready for me to be behind a wheel.”
Blitz laughs. “If the city can handle me, it can handle you.”
And that’s how, a few hours later, we end up at the huge empty parking lot of the Alamodome.
Blitz sits beside me in the passenger seat in the rented Mazda. I look over all the dials and controls. It’s overwhelming.
“It’s easy,” Blitz says. “Cars today are nothing. They practically drive themselves.”
My hands grip the leather circle in front of me. Despite having tons of space all around me, row after empty row, I can’t quite bring myself to move. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Blitz. It’s been a really long time since I even thought about trying this.
“So let’s go over some basics,” Blitz says. “This is the gear shift. D is for drive. R is for reverse. You don’t have to worry about all these other ones right now.”
“What is N?”
Blitz laughs. “N is for never use that.”
My face heats up. “Why shouldn’t I use it?”
“It self-destructs.”
“Blitz!” I try to move the lever to D but it won’t go. “Why doesn’t it work?”
“You have to use the Force.”
“Blitz!”
“Okay, okay. First put your foot on the brake. It’s the wide pedal in the middle.”
I try to look down there, but my legs are in the way. When I lift my foot and spread my knees to try to see, Blitz says, “Now that’s a position I like to see in a car.”
“Blitz, I’m going to hire some handsome instructor if you don’t help me.”
He tries to control his laughter and holds up his hands. “Okay. I’ll do better. I promise.”
I spot the wide pedal and put my foot down on it. It pushes in an eerily cushioned way, like I’m squishing something with it. “That’s gross,” I say.
“The brake pedal?”
“Never mind. The other one is the gas, right?”
