From his lips, every word as voluptuous and breakable as a Coca Cola bottle: Rocco teaches me how I can become good enough at this to take it for granted. Mirror-head-check-indicate-right-click-click-click-click-remove-indicator. All the way down and all the way up again. Filter it through and don’t cross hands. He is the kind of teacher who praises you for every little thing. I get it right this time and he divides the sounds of my name into syllables and his hands come together like a bridge and groom. I get it right this time and he says: Bob’s your uncle, Mary’s your mother, Annie’s your aunt and Jesus is my Lord, God and Saviour. He stretches words out like taffy. Did he learn to stutter poetry aloud in high school like I did? He fools me into thinking that I’m doing okay till I do a head-check over my left shoulder and catch him touching the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit to his warm fingertips as we turn right onto Sydney Rd. The movement he makes with his hand is one I learnt in primary school and was self-conscious about doing like everyone else in mass. But his is beautifully realized, he must be well-practised, he must do it often, he might already have started taking it for granted.
Learning to Drive (part one)
1 November 2015