Reckless

I clench my fist and metal teeth bite into my palms. Jam the key into the ignition. Twist.  The car growls to life and I slam it into reverse. 

Something about the feel of the engine rumbling up through my feet, vibrating my fingertips, helps me relax. The engine whines higher as I press my foot to the floor, covering the soft thhmmmmm of rubber on tarmac. The needle climbs to 65...70...80--I glance at the road to see bright lights crest the hill. They curve, diving below the horizon.

110 and rising, but slower now; I’m going uphill. I breathe, chest expanding, fingers flexing on leather wheel. The air is sharp. My mouth tastes like metal. Steel teeth and copper tongue. 

125. The tires struggle to find grip and the car begins to tremble. 

I see bright lights. My exhale is a string cut loose. Just a little to the left. I close my eyes, jaw unclenching, and the tension dissipates. I shift the wheel.