As we exited the cafe, it shook me how much time had passed. Clouds had come like a herd of grazing sheep. We travelled the way back in silence, as I thought about the car I didn’t have an eye for much else.

Yasmine got in and I could see her smile through the window. She waved me to come, but my hand stopped at the handle. There was something in my head linking cars with death somehow. She bent over to my side and turned on the wheel to lower the window. “I can give you a second kiss if you come in,” she said.

Had she truly been a psychologist? Who would heal people that way? I tried to think of the good, I would conquer my fear. She was there, ready to bestow me my reward.

My hand closed around the handle and I pulled. The door opened and revealed the worn-out seat. It was thin, flat, and stained, really worn down to its core. I dropped on the seat and tried to make myself comfortable.

“Well well, Barnabas conquering his fears. Or do you pretend it’s a fear for a kiss?” she laughed.

I think I certainly would lie for a kiss. Especially a kiss from her. I looked around and thought of my breath. It was too shallow for something so inactive.

“Now, close the door or there is no deal.”

I hesitated, then closed the door. She smiled, she always smiled. “Good job.”

“Now what?” I asked.

“Close your eyes.”

So I did. She leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. I felt shooting stars, fireworks at the bay. I felt summer. I felt like being blasted off to space. Weightlessness. My mind drained empty to a low buzz, like a plug being removed. I felt reborn, new. I felt like losing myself in a song, as it ups the tempo for the final climax.

“Wanna go for a ride?” she asked as I let the moment seep into my mind. I nodded.

She started the old car and bashed the stick into reverse gear. Then she drove around town, like driftwood on the ocean’s waves. With its squeaky dampening and noisy gears, the car felt like the equivalent of piggybacking your grandparents. The thought made me smile, then laugh. She laughed along until we were almost choking with laughter. “Can you tell me what’s so funny?” she asked, wiping her eye.

“It’s not that funny, really,” I said. “Tell me another story about your life as a psychologist.”

Yasmine thought for a long time, her long fingers ruffling the steering wheel.

“Let’s make another bet.”

She drove to nearby meadows, where the roads were narrow and winding. There she stopped just like that, in the middle of the road. “Do you want to drive?” she asked. I shook my head. “I can’t, no licence you see.”

“You don’t need a licence to drive. You just need to drive. So the real question is, can you drive?”

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“No,” I said whilst shaking my head. This felt like one step too far. I remembered telling her my father let me drive sometimes, but I couldn’t just go on the road.

“You know what the benefit of meditation has been for me?” she asked. “The idea that you are not your thoughts. What do you think you are going to say?”

“As an answer to what you just said? I don’t know.”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “Where do thoughts come from, huh? You are just limiting yourself, Barnabas. Let your mind be free, there is but the illusion of control anyways. You are not you.”

I didn’t understand what she meant. At the moment my thoughts were saturated with the kiss. I might as well have been drunk. She wanted to help me help myself, I understood that. But living something is always different from advice. Also this she surely knew.

She drove me back home but left the car at my drive and threw me the key. I caught it with a reflex that surprised even myself.

“I’ll take a walk,” she said. “Return me the car when you’re ready.” And she did walk away, just like that.

“Can’t you at least park it on the road?” I said. She ignored me. I tried to understand if she was mad, disappointed. Was she only playing just to force me to take the wheel?

The hours passed. My mother would surely ask who’s car was parked here. I thought of excuses. “No mom, Mack bought a car but can’t tell his parents yet.” It sounded silly, plus my mom might as well call Mack’s mother. I imagined threatening him to tell everyone about his poem club, but it felt stupid. He was a friend, I wouldn’t betray him for something as silly as this. Then it hit me. I had to move it, at least, not doing it was indeed silly.

“Damn it,” I cursed as I pulled the key out of my jeans and opened the door. I got behind the wheel and turned the key until the icons illuminated on the instrument panel, trying to keep my calm. What if a police officer saw me? Was this legal? What if I wrecked something?

What did she say about thoughts again? I am not me. The thoughts aren’t me. Then who’s are they? Then I thought perhaps she meant useful. What if doubt wasn’t useful here?

I grabbed hold of the key once more and turned it the final time while pressing one foot on the clutch and another on the break. The car started seamlessly. For a moment there was doubt like an ocean of chaos, then there was control. I knew this car, I could feel it. I turned the steering wheel and could naturally guess the position of the actual wheels. It was a question of feeling. I shifted into reverse and felt the gears crunch a little. Then I looked backwards. The streets were empty save for some elderly lady walking her dog on the other side.

Confidently I slowly let go of the brake and turned the wheel. Once on the road, I placed the car in first and drove almost on the grass.

A minute later I was back inside, staring at the old car. It wasn’t anything special but it felt mine somehow. I kept telling myself it wasn’t, it was Yasmine’s car. But it felt like mine.