“I’d rather not be like that if it’s okay with you.”
“But,” the look on her face said much more then a complete sentence ever could.
“I know, I’m one of them, I do the same things they do, I think like them! I think that’s what bugs me the most! How am I supposed to change what I am?” I try not to show how truly frustrated this makes me but I very seldom accomplish something so alien to my DNA. She saw my frustration immediately.
“So?” she said quietly and took my hand in hers in an effort to calm me a little, an act that never works, by the way. Her hand in mine felt soft, small, she was willing to accept me.
“Watch this guy,” a car that had been tailgating for five minutes on an all but empty three southbound lanes had finally decided to pass us. He pulled past us and then with just inches to spare he cut back in front of us. I let off the gas slightly because I knew he would. His taillights blinked once to put me in my place and then he drove off.
“All I had to do was nudge his right rear panel and hit the brakes as I dove into the fast lane he would have gone into a skid and plowed into the bank on the right.”
“You sure?” she asked with the suggestion of a little pride that I could do such a thing.
“They do it all the time on NASCAR, just a little nudge.”
“But you didn’t do it. That says something doesn’t it?”
“I says I didn’t want to scratch our paint. Millions of lives have been saved by painting cars in high gloss pretty colors,” the truth pushed the animal within away. I grabbed at her hand, pulled it toward me and kissed the back. Maybe women are different. Maybe on God’s second try he did better.
“It would have been fun,” she looked at me and smiled a completely innocent smile. “If no one got killed, of course!”