I have no drive.

Driving lessons are an opportunity to teach more than just a lifelong skill.

‘I have no drive,’ he said, sitting behind the wheel of the car, then turning to the boy in the passenger side, who snorted a little. 

   ‘Don’t you mean you can’t drive?’ he asked, caramel eyes shining as the sun hovered through the window, turning his skin into the colour of pastry. 

  ‘No,’ the blue eye teen continued, his freckles like chocolate spots on his skin, ‘I mean I have no drive: I have no reason to do this. This serves me no purpose.’

   The brown eyed boy grinned a little, then leaned closer to him, placing a hand on the gearstick. 

   ‘A lot of people would say that about us,’ he assured him, thoughtfully, ‘A loving relationship between two boys serves no purpose, right? It’s not practical, it’s not pragmatic… it holds no value,’ he explained, and the blue eyed boys’ eyes were set firmly on the teen in front of him, his jaw tensed. 

   ‘Love is a purpose,’ the blue eyed boy stated strongly. 

      ‘No,’ the other corrected, ‘Love is an emotion.’ 

      ‘Love is the meaning of some people’s existence.’ 

     ‘Meaning does not mean purpose.’ 

      ‘They are correlated.’ 

    ‘That doesn’t mean they’re the same thing.’ 

  ‘Do they have to be?’ 

     ‘I don’t know: do they?’ The brown eyed boy pulled his seat back, moved his hand off of the gearstick and ran it through the blue eyed boys’ wax-laden hair: it stayed in place, but his eyes flickered a little at the contact: he forgot how much he missed this. How much he missed him. 

   ‘If meaning and purpose have a strong relationship, then I’ll use that,’ the brown eyed boy decided, ‘if loving me gives you meaning, then that love has to serve a purpose, and what’s a better purpose than learning to drive a V8 on an old horse track?’ The brown eyed boy laughed, eyes crinkling, dimples showing, and the blue eyed boy smiled back, sweet, soft. 

   He did not like losing the argument. He did not like having to learn to drive. But he liked that they weren’t yelling: they were calm, rational, pragmatic. 

     Their words held meaning: that meaning held purpose, that purpose was love. 

   Love, of course, being the need to grow and nurture another human being. 

    ‘Let love drive you,’ he urged the blonde, hand slipping beneath his chin, and kissed his cheek softly, ‘It’s supposed to be powerful enough to do that.’ 

       The blonde placed a hand on the gearstick, then started the car, seatbelt on. 

   ‘Okay, it’s turned on,’ the blonde announced, looking at the brown haired boy for guidance. 

   ‘It’s not the only thing,’ he announced, quickly, as his eyes flicked from the boy’s face to his hand, ‘Now put your hand on the gear stick.’ 

   ‘It is on the-‘ the blonde pulled a face, and the brown haired boy chuckled. 

    ‘I just had to make sure you knew where your hands were. Okay, now, cars are like baseball, or sex,’ he explained, placing his hand on top of the blonde’s: his cheeks flushed, heartbeat hastened. Both boys were comfortable in the leather seats, but not their denim jeans: far too tight for their gear sticks. 

    ‘You have to start at First,’ he declared, as the blonde kicked out his foot into the clutch, and together they shifted the gear. 

   ‘Very good. Now, ease your way out of the clutch,’ they felt the car lurch forward, but it didn’t stall, and suddenly, the car was moving. Slowly- unlike they do in baseball or first time sex- but it was still there. 

   ‘Don’t accelerate,’ he warned, smirking, ‘we don’t wanna rush things, do we?’ 

   ’N-no,’ the blonde cleared his throat, ‘No. We don’t.’ 

The brown haired teen smirked at his older counterpart, and wondered how he could cope so well with driving like this. He seemed so shy, so nervous. 

   ‘Don’t forget to steer: we know there’s a little guidance involved in this.’ 

  ‘Y-yeah.’ 

    Then they moved to second. 

      And to third. 

        Then they practised ‘Stop and Go.’ Brake, and drive. Brake and drive. 

           Then intense stop and go. 

            1,2,3, brake. 1,2,3 brake. 

          The blonde got the hang of it as the sun slowly began to set, and then he managed to drive them out of the dusty track and into the garage a few feet away from the brunette’s house. 

    With the handbrake up, the car turned off, the blonde seemed more at ease than he had when he got in the car. 

    ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

       ‘It was,’ the blonde admitted, cheeks flushing at his innuendo, ‘But I think it’s something I’ll get used to.’ 

     ‘That’s not the only thing!’ the taller of the pair cheered, with a laugh as he adjusted his spectacles, and gave him one more fleeting peck before sliding out of the car. 

         

         To teach, nurture and grow: 

     That is the Love these boys know, 

     when no one is around, they let it show, 

      and commence the method of ‘Stop and Go,’ 

      don’t ever let Love take a brake, 

       pedal to the floor and don’t be fake, 

       if you’ve got a clutch then hold on tight, 

       smile and laugh, don’t try to fight,  

      because, as we all know, 

     we have the right to love and grow. 

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