Fast One

I feel it first in my shoulders as the force forward pushes my torso backward. My hips, a fulcrum, slide with the rest of my body, and a slight but firm pressure molds my posture to the surface behind me.

It’s cold outside, and I’m wearing layers to compensate. My ungloved hands feel the soft leather. All the upholstery is perfectly detailed; it still smells new.

Time slows down when you’re going this fast. My haunches rest upon, reverberate with, absorb some of the vibration, the power, as we poke a tiny hole through space, nearing warp speed.

I gasp with the initial lurch. The thrust triggers a small, steady stream of adrenaline. My hands sweat, my eyes dilate. I begin to laugh.

The velocity feels as if it’s reached a magical resonance level; I’ve never felt my entire body hum this way.

I turn my head slowly. The mountains remain fixed, but barely. Everything else – closer, slower – is a blur.

I crane my neck to look. He tells me not to look, but I see enough of the needle moving further clockwise and am conscious enough of the local law, and I am well aware of his eyes on the road and my racing heart and my imagining the other cars shudder or their mouths drop open and lose their … transmissions completely, to realize I am having a great time. I can’t stop laughing.

He slows down, turns the car around, and we do it again.

It’s even better this time.