“That door doesn’t work. You’ll have to get in the other side.”
But when I climb up the driver’s side I see a toolbox,
too heavy for me to lift, blocking the passenger door.
Whoa. I back down, but his hand meets my backside & shoves.
“Go on. Get in. I need to get home.” Maybe. Just maybe.
I’m being paranoid. After all, I live by his girl,
and he’s my fellow’s best friend. “Hey! Wait, you missed the turn! There … “
“Quit fussing. I’m just getting something from the house. One sec.”
Gravel in the driveway. Branches scrape the roof of the truck.
It’s dark. No streetlights. No sidewalk. “No problem. I can walk
from here. My friend just lives a few blocks away. Walking’s fine.”
“I said I’d give you a ride home. I’ll give you a ride home.
Now, come on.” The truck is so high, I have to grab onto
the door to step out, still thinking I’ll walk. He grabs my wrist
hard. “Come on in. You might as well have a drink of water
while you wait.” I pull. He just walks, as if I weigh nothing.
I wonder later why I didn’t scream. He did give me
a ride home. The sun was high and bright. I was late for work.