Nah. A steering wheel cover would turn into one more thing to clean, no doubt requiring some special leather cleaner we didn’t own. I tossed the cover back on the pile.
Ben came up behind me. “That’d be perfect for your car. Want it?”
“I see how you’re looking at it. We’re getting it.”
I was about to say no again.
Instead, something made me hold my breath. The kind of breath-holding that happened right before my grandma paid the clerk for my brand new white patent Mary Janes that I’d wanted for forever plus.
Something clamped my lips together. The kind of lip-clamping that happened when my sixth grade best friend told me the big fat secret that she’d just gotten her you-know-what, and I didn’t want the secret to slip out through loose lips that sink ships.
Something made me stand perfectly still. The kind of still that happened after Dad took all the kids to A&W, and he handed me the glass mug, root beer foam spilling over the top, right before I slurped up that foam, and if I even just blinked, that mug would disappear.
I kept my lip-clamping, breath-held, stillnes all the way from the display table to the cash register to the car. Ben opened the passenger side door for me. He handed me the Honda-frisbee. “You can help drive.”
Yippee! I placed my hands in the ten and two position, waiting ever so patiently for him to climb in on his side.
Very slowly, I checked over my shoulder and backed us out of the parking space. Very carefully I looked both ways before pulling into traffic. And then I let her rip. Took the turn from Oak onto Main on two wheels. Betcha Ben was surprised to hear the tires screech and smell the burning rubber and see the smoke belching from the tail pipe. Betcha he thought he was driving.
The last few blocks down Main, I draped my left hand over the top of the wheel real cool, and steered with my arm, like the big boys did.
After I maneuvered us into the garage, Ben said, “Want me to put that on your steering wheel now?”
I drove through the family room, upstairs to the front closet. Had to switch driving hands right to left, then back again, to squirm out of my coat. While I fixed dinner, I drove with my chin, revving up over the sink and downshifting to an idle near the stove. Watching a movie, I drove my LazyBoy down a stretch of road so ribbon straight I could steer with just my pointer finger. Vroomed back to the kitchen during intermission to make popcorn. Toward the end of the movie, I fell asleep at the wheel. Time for bed. But Ben was moving slow as a turtle. It would take hours for him to walk up two and a half flights.
“C’mon,” I said. “I’ll give you a ride.”
He climbed in behind me.
It took a lot of concentration to drive us up a narrow mountain pass, around a hairpin turn, and through a tunnel to the bedroom, but boy oh boy, what a ride. I parked the steering wheel cover on the nightstand. Maybe tomorrow I’ll let him put it on the steering wheel.