A slow leak.

We drove roads that carved through fields of wheat grass. I mistook farmers' lights for Stars of David. Stars like Jesus.

He gripped my left hand over the gear shift.

"Think you can find first?"

The car coasted as he pressed the clutch. I shifted. "No, that's third." He held my hand tight, but I carried the weight. I pushed into first.

"Good job. Second." I pulled back. The fields to our right were black with midnight and grass. Fireflies like stars.

I rolled down my window as he pressed the clutch again.
"Third."

I shifted back to first and we stalled.

A herd of doe dotted the field to our left. They stared at us--half-frightened, half-perplexed.