Believe It Or Not (An Eddie Munson Story)

Mark My Skin

Eddie's POV:

"Can I drive?" Ripley asks, rocking back and forth on her feet and looking up at me with a sheepish grin. We just finished saying goodbye to our friends and family in the courthouse parking lot and I had told her mom I would take Ripley home since she had to head to the hospital for her night shift.

Ripley had remained mostly stoic following the verdict and sentencing minus a single tear she shed after his one year sentence was read. I'm not sure if she realizes that I saw her cry, but my heart aches at the very thought of that lone tear on her cheek and I want so desperately to know what she is thinking.

Her current request throws me completely for a loop. No one has ever driven my van other than me and Ripley has never asked to drive before, always a fan of being my passenger. But she looks up at me expectantly now, as though this is something we do all the time. I fish into my pocket and pull out my keys while she holds out her tiny palm. I drop them into her outstretched hand and she grins before turning on her heels and marching over to the van. She opens the passenger door and gestures for me to hop in and my eyebrows furrow further, confused by her antics.

"What are you up to?" I ask her, looking down at her cheerful expression. I try to find any cracks or faults in her demeanor, but her performance is immaculate. Ripley shakes her head and waves me impatiently towards the van again, not budging. With a huff, I hop up into the passenger seat and she closes the door behind me. I watch her blonde curls Bob around her head as she makes her way around the hood and to the driver side of the car. Ripley grabs the 'Oh shit' bar and the steering wheel to pull herself up into the van and I snort, doing my best not to laugh outright at her struggle. She rolls her eyes at me before she plops down in the driver seat and gasps.

"How in the world do you drive like this?" She complains, settling back in the seat. Her little legs don't reach anywhere near the pedals and the chair is inclined so far back. I'm sure if you walked in front of the van, you wouldn't even see her sitting there. I laugh slightly to myself at how ridiculous she looks. She tsks and starts to adjust the seat and I groan shaking my head.

"It's going to take me forever to get my seat back to the way I like it," I pout, leaning back into the passenger seat and crossing my arms over my chest and Ripley just sticks her tongue out at me. She moves the seat so she is practically sitting on top of the steering wheel and my anxiety spikes.

"Do you have to be so close?" I question, straightening a little in my seat.

"How else do you suggest I reach the pedals?" She huffs and I roll my eyes.

"I could always drive," I offer and she shakes her head, putting the keys into the ignition and the van roars to life. I reach back and grab my seat belt, buckling up and turn back to her with wide eyes. Ripley has a huge grin on her face, which, for some reason, makes my stomach feel unwell.

"Here we go," she says with a wink before back up out of the spot and taking off.

The ride is absolutely nerve-wracking to say the least. Ripley runs over curbs, brakes at the last minute, and is easily distracted by dogs in their yards as she drives. I remember all those times she would fuss at me for speeding or for taking turns too quickly, but this is something else. She obviously isn't used to driving the van, but I think she must be this distracted all the time and the thought makes me want to pull my hair out with worry. I find myself reaching over several times to redirect the wheel or giving her a cautious look, to which she just gives me a sweet grin in return. I sigh and rub my temples slightly, ready to be at her house. When I look around though, I realize we are no where near her house and Ripley soon pulls off of the main road and into a parking lot, parking behind a shop with neon lights in the window. She cuts off the van and turns to me with a smile.