Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,57
way to talk about this that doesn’t sound like we’re participants at Medieval Times.”
We left through the back door, hurried down the creaking steps, and got in the Escort as fast as we could. Dag drove back to the state road at a leisurely pace; little puffs of gravel chased us, the smell of the dust mixing with the Big Mac aroma from the back seat. When we were on the highway, Dag shot up to sixty, and the end-of-day autumn warmth whipped through the car.
“Could you drop me off?” I asked. “Otherwise I have to ask Muriel for a ride, and she’d just absolutely love that.”
“Yeah,” Dag said. “Do I cut off up here?”
I nodded.
“Who’s Muriel?” he asked.
“She’s a nurse practitioner at Richard’s office.”
“Like, she sees patients too, that kind of thing?”
“Right. She’s licensed to work under a psychiatrist, so she can do a lot of the same work, she just can’t go out and have her own practice. Does that make sense?”
Dag nodded. “Why does she drive you around?”
“Well, most of the time Richard does. But she lives out our direction, past us actually, closer to Pere Rigaud, and when Richard isn’t going into Bragg or when he’s got to change his normal schedule, she’ll help out.”
“Why don’t you drive?”
I smiled and leaned my head back. “I was in a terrible car accident. I have a fear of driving.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”
“No, that’s bullshit.”
I couldn’t see it, but I could sense Dag rolling his eyes.
“Ok,” he finally said. “So what’s the real reason?”
“I like it. It’s empowering, you know. Making people do what you want them to do? It’s kind of like a blowjob. People think giving a blowjob is submissive, but it doesn’t have to be. I’m the one giving pleasure. I’m the one with my teeth on his cock.”
“Fine,” Dag said. “Don’t tell me.”
“I never learned how to drive.”
Dag glanced at me, and then his attention went back to the road as we turned.
“My parents weren’t exactly pushing us to learn, and I didn’t move out for college, and I don’t know. I just never felt like I needed to.”
“Oh.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It is.”
“No, not at all. I think that’s a lot more common now, actually.” Dag ran his hand over the short bristles of graying hair. “I could teach you. If you wanted to learn, I mean.”
Closing my eyes, I groaned. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter. “Are you even real? Are you a real person?”
“What? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just feel like shit now.”
The Escort rumbled on for another thirty seconds before Dag said, “Oh.”
We were passing through a portion of the same forest that ran alongside the mobile home community where David had lived, the same forest that stretched east and north along the Okhlili until it hit the bayou. Black oaks and sugar maples. A few cypresses. With the windows down, I could smell the cool, damp earth between the trees and motor oil and a mixture of sweat and talcum powder.
“The truth,” I said. “The honest-to-God truth, I swear, is that Zahra put me on some really strong anti-psych meds when I first started seeing her. I was driving, lost control, and hit a mailbox and tore up a guy’s yard. They took my license. I’m not on the anti-psych meds anymore, just so you know, although maybe I need them. I think I can apply for my license again in a couple of months.”
He was still focused on the road.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Please don’t be mad at me. I do stupid stuff, which you already know, and now I feel really fucking awful.”
“It’s ok,” Dag said, and he gave me a little smile. “I guess I sounded pretty stupid.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Kind of my curse. Same thing with that guy who took my debit card. I’m just gullible.”
“No, that’s not true. I’m an asshole. I’m really sorry.”
“You were just joking,” Dag said. “I can take a joke.”
I fell back against the seat for the rest of the drive. I tried to think of what Richard would say, but all I got was a white hiss at the back of my brain and the desire to really fuck something up. Myself, first of all. I just wanted to fuck myself up badly.
When we drove up to the house, dusk was coming down like a curtain, and the automatic lights were already on. Staring at the modern farmhouse aesthetic, the three-car garage, the St. Augustine grass, the Pottery