[From Album #1 – Dean Martin Sings (Dean Martin)]
She hated motorists, that’s what she called people who drove cars, I suppose that’s what people who drive cars are but you don’t hear that word thrown around too often. Being that she was a cyclist, it made sense, you don’t go around getting hit by a few cars and seeing a ghost bike every other block without building a bit of hate.
Oddly enough, she made a pretty good motorist.
I’d gotten a new van, it was actually for her, she worked too damn early and needed it more than I did. She wanted to split it or pay me for it, I didn’t care much, it belonged to the both of us but she would just be using it most of the time. For the mean time though, I’d be driving it, it was under my name and I still needed to get it a smog check and iron out all the DMV garbage. But I’d let her drive whenever she wanted just so she could get used to it, and she hadn’t driven in a while, I figured she might need the practice.
She was actually excited to drive. And it turns out she didn’t really need the practice. Seeing her drive was actually fun, she wouldn’t get mad and just make jokes about other people on the road, judging playfully and making silly voices. I’d never laughed so much watching someone drive, she was adorable and I told her she should just drive when we go out. She wasn’t reckless or anything, just hilarious, I thought she’d be stressed out and anxious like usual. It was a relief to see her drive, like she was escaping from her day-to-day for a while.
“You know, you’re pretty good at this,” I told her with a bit of surprise.
“At what?” She kept her eyes on the road, what an expert.
“At driving, silly, I like how you drive.”
“Oh shut up,” she said playfully, “don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m serious, really. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be this funny,” and I laughed.
“I don’t know, I feel lighter when I’m driving, you know? It’s like I can go anywhere, I don’t have to ride a bus or get on a bike, I can go further.”
“Yeah, I get it, you feel free.”
“It explains the good mood.”
“Oh calm down, don’t ruin it.” I laughed after she said that.
“You should drive more often,” she laughed a bit when I said that, “I’m serious, you’re good at it, not just entertaining.”
“I think I’m a cautious driver.”
“You are, you know how I know you’re good?”
“I haven’t crashed yet?”
I laughed, “Sort of, I’m not hitting the imaginary break over here, you know?”
“You feel safe with me at the wheel?”
“I suppose I do, safer than I feel when I’m at it.”
“You’re crazy,” she was right to say so.
“That’s love, baby.” And I put up the volume on the radio.