We're on the longest, straightest stretch of road between Te Awamutu and Cambridge when he turns in the passenger seat and puts one hand over my left eye. He keeps his fingers splayed at first. Then, holding his gaze pointedly at my temple, he begins to shut out the gaps in his hand. The horizon disappears out of my left peripheral vision.
I keep very still at the wheel.
"You're testing me," I say plainly.
No reply.
"Why?"
Now he holds still for a moment. He shuffles closer towards me in the passenger seat. He wraps his right arm behind me -- just below my headrest -- the front of his shoulder stacked into the shoulder of my seat. His fingers inch in towards my head.
I take my right hand quietly off the steering wheel and place it along the upper outside of my thigh.
His fingertips keep creeping around the headrest. The middle fingertip touches the corner of my right eye, pricking an eyelash into my cornea. It waters a little.
A van bobs up over the hill at the end of the road.
The car keeps moving forward in its designated lane. I imagine, as I often do when driving, us both hovering just above the road -- sans car -- our legs at right angles in non-existent seats. His hands remain very, very still. I can hear him breathing close to my face. He is breathing calmly.
The car keeps moving forward in its designated lane.
Then: Lurch, scuffle.
My hand resting on my thigh shoots up to grab his prone wrist; at the same time, he drags his right hand over my right eye. My hand, on his wrist, over my eye.
"The other car is near us," he tells me.
"I know," I reply. My left hand is still on the steering wheel.
"Your hands are over my eyes," I tell him.
"I know," he says.
"Yes."
The left front tyre grates against the perforated shoulder of the road markings. I listen to the sound and keep exactly on top of it. It deviates occasionally and when it does, I find it again. The vibrating it causes seeps into the whole car.
We both say nothing and listen to the rumble of the tyre. We feel the car shuddering disjointedly underneath us. He is barely in his seat. My back is very close into mine.
After some moments more he takes both hands off my eyes but his body remains hovering in the space between the driver's seat and passenger. His gaze is still at my head. Mine, straight ahead.
"The van has passed us," I say.
"Yes," he replies.
He settles back into his seat and stares forward at where we are going.
