Hands Off the Wheel

I hate when someone uses my gear to make a threat feel more official. The blue float was childish, but it was mine, and someone thought that gave them permission to reach inside my ute. I checked what I could without turning the anger into another job I had invented for myself.

I keep hearing those tyres on the coast road. Probably nothing. That is the useful lie. I stayed in the seat with the float in my hand and listened anyway, because silence can be bait too. Every engine out there sounded like somebody waiting for me to make the first move.

The worst part is that some old part of me wanted the trap to become an opening. If I caught them, if I got close enough to make them regret it, I would feel less afraid. That does not make it wise. Yesterday I promised not to chase this alone, and promises are flimsy things when there is nothing on the other side to hold me to them.

So I kept my hands off the wheel. Not calm exactly. More like I was holding myself still before anger could choose for me. Tomorrow, when the light is better and my head is colder, I can decide what this is worth.