THE DANGEROUS DRIVE

X

The dangerous drive  

Chapter 1 X 

Dangerously handsome. That was him and I saw him every Tuesday. Psychology finished at 4.50 and at 5pm as I crossed the delicate green lawn of St Michaels, he would drive past, slowing down as he approached. The obscene traffic jammed the roads at that time every day. Students, lecturers, and commuters desperate to escape.  He drove a dark Mercedes, with a dark tint to the windows. His green eyes were daring, devilish and attractive. He was always impatient, edging slowly closer to the car in front, warning them of his presence and his dislike of waiting.  

I’m not sure how tall he is but in my fantasies he’s tall enough that I have to stand on my tiptoes to kiss him.  

“Beth, Beth, hey wait up.” Christopher puffs up beside me, annoyingly just as the traffic starts. I lose sight of......whatever his name is, I’m sure it’s something epic. Christopher is tall and gangly, his face is freckled and looks like it still belongs in high school.  

“Why the hurry?” he nudges at my arm. I shrug as we head over to his car. 

He drives a red Mazda, it’s not bad. ‘Dark side of the Moon’ instantly fills my ears. He’s a giant Pink Floyd fan, something I put up with because it’s his car. I’ve known Christopher since he moved into our cul-de-sac when we were eight. For a while we did everything together, we played football and dolls, rode our bikes through the woods and sold lemonade to any of the neighbours brave enough to try it. In high school we talked less, mainly to avoid the teasing. His face would turn beetroot every time someone said I was his girlfriend, eventually we stopped speaking at school or in the neighbourhood, but every now and then, when it felt right, he would stop by the house and we would watch movies and be silly until one of our parents called time. 

Now here we are, coincidentally, at the same college, taking the same subject and it no longer matters what sex you are, it’s fine to be friends again.  I was always planning to go to college locally and study psychology, no one was surprised by my choice but Christophers was a bit more of a shock, everyone expected him to study literature at oxford or move to New York and become a famous, perhaps reclusive writer. The day he told me his plan, I screwed up my face. “Why?”  

“Think about it B, every story needs a character, I need to understand people first, then I'll create a masterpiece.”  

I suppose it made some sense.  

He was good at psychology, just like he was at everything. When we were six, we had started guitar lessons. Me first, then Christopher, the first few weeks we practiced together and I would show him what I had already learnt. By Christmas, Chris was the star of the recital, the applause raptured through the town hall. My parents cried at my slow rendition of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle'. I gave up guitar when I turned eight, Chris still plays.  

He pulls over on our street, directly in front of my front door. 

“Are you going to Gingers for the party tonight?”  

I had completely forgotten about Gingers birthday until he said that.  

“I can’t, I really need to finish the paper for tomorrow, it’s already two days late. Are you going?” 

“No, I could come over and help you finish it faster.” 

It’s a nice offer, that I’m not going to accept. “No thanks, I’m quite capable of writing my own essay thanks.” 

“That’s not what I meant, Beth.” 

“You should go to the party.”  

I ignore his exasperation, it’s nothing new, he’s sweet and I’m stubborn. That’s who we are!