He brings his other foot into the car and it crunches down on whatever that glass paraphernalia is, and he sharply raises his foot, the change in weight distribution causing the car to pitch backward and then forward, and I’m leaning back with every ounce of me to keep from having this be the last thing I ever do with my life.
His foot comes back down quick enough and he sits down, still clutching my hand, though “crushing” may be the more accurate term at the moment.
He’s shaking more than I am, although not by much, and both of his arms are around me as if I’m the immovable object that’s going to save his life if this thing pitches forward any farther.
“Lean back and stay leaned back,” I tell him. “Do it slow, though, we don’t need this thing rocking any more.”
“I don’t know how in the hell I let you talk me into this,” he says. “This thing must be a hundred years old, and it’s rusty, and they obviously took it out of whatever theme park it was in because it was-”
I shush him as calmly as I can.
That whole being the rock for him thing has lost its glamour, and right now, I’m just trying not to start freaking out as vocally as he is.
“You’re fine,” I tell him, “we both are. We’re going to be okay.”
His grip on me lightens a little, but he’s not ready to let go, and I’m all right with that. It’s just good to be able to expand my lungs again.
I look at the front gate of the car, and I notice that there’s something dangling from one side of it.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to it.
“I don’t know,” Jace says, unwilling to look anywhere but at me.
I lean to one side a little, just enough to see where that dangling piece of metal goes: it’s the pin that locks the restraint shut.
When I start leaning forward, Jace pulls me back.
“I’m going to lock the front,” I tell him. “Trust me, we’re both going to feel better about this after I do.”
“What if you have a-” he starts, but I’m not about to let him finish.
“Jace, shut the fuck up right now.”
If I have a seizure up here, chances are I’m not going to be able to stay in the car whether the front is latched closed or not, and I’ve done really good about not thinking about that until dipshit over here just had to bring it up.
I lean forward again, but Jace is still pulling me backward.
“You have to trust me,” I tell him.
His embrace loosens. Though not much, it’s just enough for me to reach the pin and find the hole it slips into.
“I’m going to have to pull the gate shut a little more,” I tell him, hoping that letting him know what I’m doing will help ease his mind.
It doesn’t.
Jace pulls me back and the startle from the motion causes me to drop the pin. Fortunately, it’s on a little chain, but the sudden movement has caused the car to pitch back and forth again, and both of my hands are on the unlatched front gate.
I quickly release my grip on that, and in the process, I elbow Jace in the nose, causing him to jerk back fast, and his arms come off of me and up to his face.
The car is rocking, and all I can think to do right now is to try to get the front latched.
I scream at Jace to lean back — the actual words being, “Lean back, fuckhead!” — and I grab onto the restraint with one hand and grab the pin with the other.
With one hard jerk, the metal bar goes into place, but I’m having a hell of a time getting the pin to go through the hole in the right way: it’s through the top, but I can’t find the bottom.
“We’re going to fucking die!” Jace shouts, his voice muffled by his hands.
I scream right back, “Shut the fuck up!”