Forces of Nature

Harsh Words

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Tyson muttered, getting into the passenger side of my truck.  

It was a Sunday, and I'd pestered him to no end about a certain subject I was keen to master.  Of course, his initial reaction had been to ask if I was serious.  Not so much about what it was I wanted to do, but more because I'd asked if I could borrow his car to help accomplish it.

"What's that you say?" I asked, a flutter of nerves sweeping through my stomach.  I clenched the wheel tightly, and despite being parked on a street I'd driven down practically every day since having my licence, I looked wildly around for anything that could be a potential hazard.  

"Nothing."  Then he turned to look at me, all businesslike.  His usual scowl was in place, better showcased with his hair tied back off his face in a low ponytail.  "For the love of God, please do not hit my car."

"Hey, I thought you parked it there because you trust me."

He barked out a laugh and threw me a droll stare, bright blue eyes glinting.  "Uh, hell no.  I parked it there because I don't have an abundance of spare cars just sitting around waiting to be ploughed by your oversized truck.  Why would you even buy something this big?  You're so tiny."

"Because it was brand new and shiny," I said, remembering the day Riley had taken me to get it.  It had been the first car I'd seen and I couldn't make my eyes move past it.  It was just so big and practically screaming at me to buy it, and I knew I just had to have it.  Courtney said she got the same euphoric feeling whenever she went handbag shopping and saw The One.  

"Besides, just because I'm tiny doesn't mean I should automatically buy a tiny car."

"People on the roads would be a lot safer if you had," he muttered, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

"I'm not that bad a driver, thank you very much," I snapped, starting the engine and revving it.

"Really?  Remind me, what did that Porsche driver say when you hit his car?"

When I sat there and glowered at him, he took that as his cue to continue.  "Oh, that's right.  He said nothing because he was too busy crying hysterically over his pride and joy being flattened by a Dodge Ram."

"You weren't even there, Sparky, so you can't say anything."

"Didn't have to be," he retorted, tugging on his seatbelt experimentally.  "I heard the stories from Drew and Courtney.  I believe Drew said something about his own life flashing before his eyes, and as for the driver, Courtney said she'd never seen a grown man cry like that before."

"Well, Drew's just a big ninny, and Courtney was exaggerating.  I did not flatten it!  I merely tapped it.  Is it my fault Porsche's are so delicately made?"

"Delicately made," he repeated, aghast.  "You caved in his back bumper."

"Yes, well, no need to rehash the past, unless you want me to re-enact it on your precious Mustang."

"Try it and see what happens," he warned.

"I think I liked you better when you were a three word boy at most."

"And I think I liked you better when you didn't want to learn how to park using my car as a prop."

"A little faith would go a long way," I snapped, revving my truck again and putting it in drive.

"So would a cigarette," he mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face.  

He glanced out the windshield at his Mustang, which he'd parked about thirty feet down the road.  He'd left a twenty foot gap between his car and the one in front of it, telling me that was more than enough space for me to park my truck.  Let's just hope I wasn't about to make a liar out of him.