Thin Ice

On the way to the pond Saturday night. B. is driving. I'm in the front seat. We stop at an intersection to turn left onto a two-lane highway. I looked to the right to check traffic, and for some reason, he's pissed. "What's that for?" he asked. "I'm driving. None of your looking is going to stop another car if I make a mistake."

I must have looked surprised. "You know," he said, "you need to just trust me."

I started to make the usual protests. Of course I trusted him. We are friends. Good friends. If I didn't trust him, why would I accept a ride? I could have just walked home and gotten my own car. But then there was that look I stole. Just checking. I always check. Even with Frank. Even with my friends. My friends do it, too.

Made me wonder: Is there anybody I could be with where I would feel like I didn't have to look?

Instead I practiced not looking for the rest of the ride. It was hard. Very, very hard. I'm not sure I could ever do this with anybody.