The Last Drive

When I changed my phone, I lost all my chats, so I can’t fact-check this; it was about 9 pm when I texted Ope asking if she would like to go on a late-night drive. She said yes, I picked up my car keys and drove 20 minutes to her flat in Lekki. When I got there, she offered me a drink, or something, that part is a blur now. Maybe she offered to make Indomie; maybe that was a different visit. Maybe we watched something on TV; maybe that was a different visit. I don’t know what we did, but we did not leave the house immediately. I told her the planned route - we would make a U-turn at the Muritala Muhammed Airport. She said no, the airport meant too much sadness. Her sister had just travelled. In two days, I would be travelling, and she would be spending the few weeks before she returned to the US alone. The airport represented the sadness of departure; she did not want the reminder. I said okay, no airport. Around midnight, we got into my car and turned onto the Lekki expressway.

Let me tell you about the 4th gear.

When I bought Patricia two years ago, it had been 5 years since I last drove a manual car. For some reason, the manual transmission just isn’t popular in Nigeria. Most people I know never even learned to drive one. Now and then, a person will notice that my car is manual and say, “Why do you drive a manual?” in a tone one might use to say, “Why are you using a rotary phone?”

My mum’s 1998 Volkswagen Passat station wagon was manual. That’s the car that took me from the boy whose shaky legs had a traffic accident the first time he was alone in the car, to the boy who could tell when the engine needed servicing from how it accelerated.

The first time I drove Patricia, I half expected not to know what to do with the clutch and the gears. I half expected the car to jerk and stop. All the embarrassing tells of an amateur manual driver. But there was none of that. I drove Patricia with the smoothness of riding a bicycle.

As I settled into my partnership with Patricia, I remembered some of the lessons I learned with my mum’s Passat. For one, manual cars are not romantic. You cannot hold hands with a lover in the passenger seat when you have to change gears every 10 seconds because of all the potholes and speed bumps. At the same time, it can be quite erotic to watch someone move through the gears. I think I look sexy when I accelerate through from 1 - 5. A manual car will help you get the girl, but it will not help you keep her.

How do you hold hands when you drive a manual car? The answer is gear 4. Gear 4 is stable and certain. Gear 4 will get you there, not quickly but not late. Gear 4 will make the drive last. In Gear 4, it feels like the journey is the point. In Gear 4, you notice the other cars, you notice the billboards and the sky and dark stretching lagoon. Gear 4 is the sweet spot where you don’t have to change anything. Gear 4 is the sweet spot where romance exists, and you can hold hands.

I turned onto the Lekki Expressway, then towards Ikoyi, then continued in gear 4 for 20 minutes until I had to make a U-turn at Anthony. The road gets bumpy as you come down the spiral. I let go of Ope’s hand - down to gear 3 - down to gear 2 - a short acceleration back up to 3 - a quick left swerve to miss the drainage cover - right onto the bank road - right again till I reconnect with the express road - back up to gear 4 - I grab Ope’s hand and apologise for leaving it.

We ended our drive at Radisson Blu on Ozumba and talked for some time. She told me one story about why she loved New Orleans. She said I would too. We looked at the menu and decided to have some overpriced drinks.

I used to tell Ope that I liked the way my life in Lagos looked with her in it. It felt like I was in a movie. I never used to know, for example, if I was a fan of PDA. I had never really shown physical affection in public with any of my serious partners. Then one evening, Ope and I were sitting outside at La Taverna, talking about any of a million things, when our faces drew closer until we kissed. It was not a long kiss, but it was significant. In that moment, I felt like I sometimes feel at a rave. Despite being surrounded by many people, I felt like I was invisible and safe. I realised that perhaps I did not mind public displays of affection.

After chatting by the lagoon, I drove Ope back home and then drove alone back to my house. I didn’t see her for months after that. For a brief window in December, we were in Lagos at the same time. We met up for dinner at La Taverna, and she told me about her new boyfriend, and I told her about a new crush. The Drive at midnight was our last.