by Stahl, Shey
Jimi made it very clear if either of the boys wanted to race, they had to work in the shop too.
We had a sprint car shop at the house in Elma and eventually in Mooresville too. In the shop were sprint cars lined up with everything to build the sprint cars from the ground up. Back then, Jimi built his own cars with the help of his sponsor and his dad, Casten, provided the engines. It was a family business and he wanted to keep it that way so that in turn involved the boys if they wanted to race.
Jameson, at five, already knew how to scrap mud from the car, fill helmets with tear-offs, and check tires for wear.
I used to tell him it was time to come inside for dinner or bed and he would ramble off with something like, “I can’t mom. I have to get these tire pressures right.”
It wasn’t like he knew at five what he was doing, or at least I didn’t think he did, but he wanted to learn. He used to scream and cry when Jimi would leave for a race and he had to stay home. It wasn’t exactly easy separating him from racing.
Spencer wanted to be a kid, play sports and that’s what he did. Emma had a passion for racing as well but it was more of promoting her family that drew her in. At six, instead of a lemonade stand, she sold t-shirts for Jameson’s racing and then bought him a new helmet with the proceeds. That’s the type of kid she always was.
When the kids got a little older, we traveled with them but once they got into school, I wanted them to have a normal childhood. Little did I know there was nothing normal about our family, our way of life or Jameson for that matter.
I was constantly being called to the principal office and asked to explain why my seven-year-old son wouldn’t do his homework. He insisted on doing it at school.
My answer, “He races. He doesn’t have time outside of school.”
And it wasn’t that he didn’t do what they asked, it was that he didn’t do it the way they wanted him to. He did his homework; he just did it at lunch and recess so he wouldn’t have to at night. I was worried for a long time this wasn’t the way he should grow up but I realized shortly after he met Sway that was just him. She never thought he was odd so why should I?
I loved Sway just as my own daughter. She was great for him in all the ways he needed. He began acting somewhat normal and actually took an interest in the opposite sex. This I was pleased with. Though I did find it concerning that I found them constantly kissing and doing some inappropriate touching for teenagers but surely it was normal. Spencer was proof of that.
But they grew out of it once Jameson found his attraction toward her was too much for him. He thought for sure he couldn’t provide Sway with what she needed. Little did he know that he was what she needed.
My son was such a sweet boy when she was around.
I had always wanted Sway and Jameson together and when they finally did get together, I was ecstatic. I didn’t realize it had happened until I saw them in Michigan and accused Jameson of destroying his room. He really did destroy it though. My god, it was a disaster. I’ve seen tornados do less damage.
I remember asking Jimi to come upstairs thinking maybe someone had broken in when he laughed and said, “Yeah, he and Sway were up here the other night.”
That made me happy but I still felt the need to let Jameson know he needed to clean up.
It was tough watching my son suffer the way he did all those years wanting both racing and the girl and so many times I wanted Jimi to talk to him but he’d always say, “He won’t listen.”
I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t listen, not until he was ready to hear what you have to say. He had this protective coating applied to him that wasn’t easy to chip away at.
Not unless he wanted to be chipped at least.
I was heavily involved in all aspects of our family’s racing careers but spent more time shaping Jameson’s fan clubs. Being involved helped me see the bigger picture of what was really happening to our family. We were all chasing this same dream for Jameson, but we were also helping him show respect for everyone that helped along the way. Whether it was with Jimi’s career, of Jameson’s or even Axel, Casten or Lane, who got involved eventually, it was my duty to make sure everyone saw just how much they appreciated everyone. They may not have been able to show their appreciation all the time as time wasn’t exactly permitting but they did recognize and appreciate everyone.
Jimi started a driver development program to get the kids who didn’t have money and wanted to race, a way to race. So many times kids had talent but no money to get started and that’s what Jimi wanted to see.
Jameson donated more money to Children’s Hospitals then most see in an entire lifetime. He wanted to make a difference to the kids who were suffering life-threatening illnesses. And he did. He affected their lives more than he knew. Any appearance he made at a hospital though, I saw that it made just as much of an impact on him.
Even when grandkids began making money, they too donated to various charities, all looking out for those who helped them.
And that’s why we all did what we did. It was a family effort and always would be.
Jameson became everything he said he would be and Jimi and I couldn’t have been more proud of him and all of our kids. Jameson was by far the most determined of the three as I’ve said and never looked back once he set his mind to something. That’s what made him so strong. That’s how his dreams come true. That protective coating made him stronger and really shaped him to be who he was.
I’ve heard his siblings and friends call him an asshole. I’ve heard reporters lash out at him. I’ve seen other drivers corner him and I’ve seen him get in fights. All of that was part of him. If you believed he was an asshole, you weren’t looking close enough. If a reporter lashed out, it was because they didn’t get the story they wanted, and if another driver cornered him, it was because of the intimidation they felt.
After all, he was a legend in racing whether they wanted to believe it or not.
Those who knew the real him and believed in him.
Resonance
Sway
May 1996
Resonance – Unfavorable oscillatory behavior (e.g. slow single step response and settling times) caused by mechanical limitations in an internal combustion engine.
“Where are you going?”
I turned toward the voice, knowing whose it was.
“Me?” I pointed to myself as Dylan smiled over at me.
Here’s the thing, I had a stupid crush on Dylan Grady just like all the other whores in school. Not that I wanted to but for some reason unbeknownst to me, he intrigued me and had a captivating way of getting your pants down. This I found out real quick.
Let’s face it, not many guys paid attention to a scrawny girl who spent every waking minute around her best friend—who happened to be a guy—at the local dirt track.
That had freak written all over it.
I didn’t exactly scream sexy if you know what I mean.
Dylan had the black hair that fell artfully in messy waves around his head, sparkly blue eyes and a body could grate pecorino on. He had my vote for homecoming king and I refused to vote. But like I said, it was infatuation because he flirted.
So there I was looking at him watching me.
“Come over here.” He said in a deep voice that made me look.
“Where?”
“Over here.” He patted the metal bench next to him.
The B-Feature had just concluded and they were now lining up the cars for the Northern Sprint Tours A-Feature to which Jameson made the last transfer spot.
“Nah,” I told Dylan. “I need to keep lap times.”
“Oh,” Dylan laughed nodding his head once and then moved to sit closer.
Tommy, who was next to me on the other side, looked at Dylan and then me before rolling his eyes and then focused on the cars again.
Dylan whispered closer to me. “I forgot, you’re like his groupie.”
That pissed me off. I was not a groupie. I was his friend goddam
n it.
Dylan sensed his opening. “Come with me for a minute.”
I tossed the clipboard toward Tommy. “I’ll be right back.”
I knew nothing about boys or sex at that point aside from spreading my legs. Anything Jameson and me had done at that point had been experimental and always above the clothes. I was definitely physically attracted to Jameson in that way, who wouldn’t be?
And Dylan, yeah, I was attracted to him too.
So Dylan drug me out to the dirt parking lot where my truck was. We sat on the tailgate on the other side of turn four. I could hear the engines of the sprint cars firing up as they made their way onto the track and started their parade laps.
“There’s more to life that following him around.” Dylan said turning toward me.
“I don’t follow him around. He’s my best friend.”
“So you fuck him?”
“No you jerk, we’re friends.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.” His voice was softer. “Just curious what my chances are.”
“Why?” I snorted kicking my legs out of the ledge of the tailgate.
“Cause you’re hot. Who wouldn’t want to know their changes?”
“Didn’t know you were interested,” My eyes looked over at the track when the fireworks exploded off turn four. The crowd in the stands stood cheering as the cars did their four-wide salute.
Dylan shifted his position on the bed of my truck and leaned back resting on his elbows.
Without really thinking, I leaned back too. No one had ever said something like that or sexy that I could remember. It made me feel giddy and not like the scrawny track girl that hung out at dirt tracks.
Dylan’s hand reached up to touch my face. It felt different from the times Jameson did the same thing.
“I am interested.” He finally said. “I have been for a while. You’re beautiful and you don’t even know it.”
I turned my head to look at him and his lips captured mine. Again, it was different.
When I kissed Jameson, or he touched me, I felt it everywhere. I didn’t feel that with Dylan. I mean I felt it but there wasn’t that same jittery high I got when I felt Jameson.
Dylan used his hands to steady himself and pulled up my shirt kissing along my breast before his weight settled on me. Unfamiliar to this, I laid there wondering what he was doing.
Dylan, a guy who probably slept with half the female population at Elma High school, knew what he was doing.
When he unbuttoned my jean shorts and slid them down with my underwear, I still did nothing still but laid there like a complete idiot.
I didn’t say no but I never said yes either. Dylan never asked and did what he wanted. I had a feeling even if I said no; he still would have taken what he wanted.
My head slammed back against the metal bed when he pushed between my legs. I gasped harshly, tears streaming down my cheeks as he continued roughly.
It hurt and not only physically because he was about as gentle as a fucking bear, but emotionally too. I was sixteen and was losing my virginity, in the bed of my truck, to a boy who barely knew me.
“You’re so fucking hot.” He moaned as his hand gripped my neck firmly.
There was no blanket and my bare ass was sliding along a metal truck bed and he was not going slow. I’d definitely be sore in the morning.
He finished, trembling above me, grunting and groaning as I heard the crowd in the stands roar to life as the announcer said, “Jameson Riley takes the win over Bradley Lars!”
I burst into emotional tears, trying desperately to hide it.
It didn’t work.
“Why are you crying?” Dylan asked pulling his jeans back up and then sitting on the edge of the bed while I scrambled to find my clothes spread across the truck. “You crying because he won while you fucked me?”
“Jesus,” I mumbled trying to straighten my clothes.
It was hands down, the low point of my life at that point. I had a feeling if I looked at myself in twenty years, this would be one of those events where I said to myself, “Oh right, that’s where you went wrong!”
Dylan mumbled something I couldn’t hear before chuckling. “I’ll call you later Reins.”
I was used. I knew it and so did my body. My ass and probably my crankcase were bleeding from cuts and scrapes.
I wouldn’t say Dylan broke my heart because it wasn’t his to break at the time. But he did give it a bump letting me know he was there looking for a pass. A pass I didn’t let him have. I held my own and kept position over him.
The worst feeling, even more than losing my virginity to a douche like Dylan was telling Jameson.
What hurt more, if possible, was when he said, “Why him?”
Years later that statement finally made sense but it took a long time and a hell of a lot of bumps along the way.
Coming this winter…
Racing on the Edge
The Legend
There are times when you’d give anything for one more moment.
Book V
A novel by Shey Stahl
About the Author:
Shey Stahl is the author of the Racing on the Edge series. Released titles include, Happy Hour, Black Flag, Trading Paint and now, The Champion.
Visit her blog at: http://sheystahl.blogspot.com/ and on Twitter (@SheyStahl) and Facebook as Shey Stahl.
Table of Contents
Start
