the angrier she got the harder she pushed the car. the needle on the speedometer climbed steadily and I could feel my head being pushed into my seat's head rest. I don't recall ever going that fast in a car before and I was, as a matter of fact really fucking scared. Scared that I'd die right there, scared that the car would flip and both of us would tumble into a heap of metal, loose flesh and splintered bones, scared that she'd plow us into a lamp post or a tree or a jaywalker or another car filled with drunken NUS boys. So I just held onto my knee and tried to ride it out. I don't recall ever seeing her so angry before. I remember my Dad yelling at me when I about 6 for taking a piss in the living room. I remember the look on his face the way his words would run into my eardrums, his words indicipherable due to the volume and the velocity at which they were spewed at me. I was quite scared then. But compared to that , I am more scared now. At least with my father, the anger was something that I could fanthom. He was angry and hence he yelled. The equation isn't pretty but but it is actually quite simple. it was something I could understand. This situation however, is much different. Here we are in her mother's bright red Pergeot convertible careening down ECP obcenely early in the morning. The top was up, so i couldn't hear what must have been the sound of the morning air whistling past the sides of the car. What i could hear however, was the sound of her heavy breathing. her face looked normal enough, no redness to speak of even her earlobes remained their usual porcelain colour. her breathing on the other hand was what scared me the most. It would rise and it would get louder and i could hear that she was only breathing through her nose. the rhythm was erratic and so was the volume and the velocity at which it was inhaled and exhaled. If i covered my ears and ignored the scenery outside being pulled into long patches of light, it would look like we were having a normal everyday drive along the express way. which, ofcourse wasn't the case at all. I think i actually did try to cover my ears. don't recall her batting an eyelid though. actually, i don't recall her blinking at all either.  Her breathing was almost demonic, in out in out in out, in stark contrast to the rest of her body, like those MRT guide lines that look harmless, all the while containing something underneath that that could kill you in an instant. her lips were relaxed, not pressed into a thin bloodless line, her knuckles betrayed no sign of tension and her eyes were neither glazed over nor did they seem to be there, only her nostrils flared alittle with each intake of breath. The entire experience wasn't a good one to say the least. upon closer inspection she had an unsettling air of indifference about her eyes that reminded me of the statistical death charts published in newspapers after a natural calamity. I couldn't tell if she was deliberately trying to scare me or if she really wasn't aware of how fast we were going. All the while the music player was playing songs off a radio station. A female deejay was talking to a late night caller about something or another I can't recall. What I do remember was how the Deejay's acquired western accent clashed almost obscenely with the caller's accent, the pairing was too incongrous and unreal, almost like farce, or a badly intonated cross talk between two chickens. one being more prententious than the other. it made the ordeal this much more unbearable.

as suddenly as she began to speed up, she began to slow down (just when my neck was starting to really hurt from the force needed to try to force it off the headrest. ) When the car finally came to a stand still we were on a road shoulder on a flyover, overlooking the only river on this island. She quietly opened the door and walked toward the railing. arms on the railing forhead a third over the water she let her head rest on her forearms and leaned against the railing. her long black hair covered her face, not that i could see it with her back to me. My left hand was on the seat belt and my right hand was on my knee  unlike her i betrayed all the signs of being tense. my armpits were sweaty and my shirt clung to my back. my underwear was quite soaked and my knees lost quite a bit of feeling. I stared at her back through her side of the car, the outline of the unclosed car door frame framed her within it's metal border. I couldn't tell if she was crying. Her hair was being blown to the left by the wind and i just continued watching her. The deejay put one of britney spears' older singles on and i wondered what to do with this beautiful, angry, sad, scary lady friend of mine. I never knowhow to handle this sort of matters and I usually hold my tongue not due to thoughtfullness or tact but out of sheer cluelessness.

a few taxis passed behind us while a shooting star or two passed above us. I remained in my seat rubbing my left eyelid with my right palm listening to hit me baby one more time behind the noise of the car engine and the occasional gust of wind.