roof wrangling, gripping the cargo rack - wind shuffling my sagewild hair
the feel of hot metal on bare skin
posing, lotus-style zen in my denim cutoffs
howling coyote at sunset
Kristi swearing and grinding gears, singing "Semi-Charmed Life" at top volume, the Pioneer cranked to eleven
rubber squeal and gravel tailspray
the SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY of blaring of summer radio
convincing our parents that we were post-church pious
barefoot stomping the dust while we snorted methamphetamines
my thirteenth birthday
the slight sunburn prickling above my nostrils
my brother-in-law's smug face when he tossed us the keys, saying "oh, you think you can go it alone, huh? Good luck, kid! Have fun."

while teaching my son to shift, he asks how I learned to drive stick. I let a laugh slip -
resist the easy lie "Carefully". Instead, say "It took some practice."
I don't tell him I do not remember.