MICAH

She was afraid of nothing.  She’d get me straight into the fast lane and let me run.  I never felt any danger because she kept a good distance between me and the car in front.  I wanted to go well for her, so she’d never sell me.  She’d given me a name – Micah – because my number plate ended in MCH.

It was different when he was there.  He’d tell her the road was clear when she could see, talk through every move when she parked me and act all nervous when she drove fast.  If anyone was going to get scared it was me, but I wasn’t with her.  When he was driving me, I was terrified.  He was rubbish and knew it.  He wanted to make her feel bad too.  Sometimes she’d climb behind my wheel in the morning asking; “Am I fat, Micah?” or “Do I need botox?”  Then she stopped going out socially and dressed modestly.  I dreamed of the day she’d leave and it would be just me and her.  I treasured the fact we were alone together on the journey to and from work, but soon she started to go there less too.  I sat on the drive with a cold engine, redundant.

One morning, she was late and looking dishevelled.  Her hands gripped my steering wheel far too tightly and she took ages to guide me onto the busy road.  She was indicating for ages before changing lanes, testing the patience of surrounding cars and embarrassing me.  She started crying, tears fogging her vision.  My bonnet edged closer to the car in front.  Traffic is skittish in rush hour; she noticed the jam just in time and braked so sharply my ABS came on.  I was terrified and knew I would have to act out of self preservation.  I didn’t want to end up a write off.

Saturday night we picked him up from the pub.  He slumped into my passenger seat and off we drove, she asked him how his night had been.

He laughed, saying that his mates’ girlfriends were so much fun.
“So girls were invited,” she said.
“Yeah, but I didn’t want you there bringin’ everyone down ...” he slurred, his words sticky and spiteful.  I’d had enough, he hadn’t shut the door properly and wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.  I veered sharply and the door fell open.
“What the fuck?” he yelled, but he couldn’t hold on because somehow the handbrake had been pulled.  Round I spun on the lonely road, she clinging to my steering wheel for dear life.  I held her in tightly with her seatbelt.  I came to rest against the grass verge, side on to a tree, slightly injured but it was worth it.  He’d been thrown into a ditch, I willed her to drive off and leave him there, but of course she didn’t.  I thought it was because she loved him that she ran to him, but then I saw in my headlights the big metal steering lock in her hands.  She raised it and brought it crashing down over his head again and again.

“Thanks, Micah,” she said, climbing back aboard, “you could have warned me you were going to start things off.  I can take care of myself, you know.”

I’ve been on my best behaviour ever since.