Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  “Why do you love her?” she asked finally. I thought she knew but I don’t know if I’d told anyone. Up until that point, I had yet to say the words out-loud.

  “I love her...” My voice failed for a moment. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “I love her because when she looks at me she doesn’t see a famous race car driver or the son of Jimi Riley...she has always just seen me. She sees the stalwartly but jaded side that can only think of racing yet she is still there for me whenever I need her.”

  Mom offered the only advice she had, which seemed easy but wasn’t.

  “Follow your heart honey. Fate has a funny way of sorting itself out.”

  When the door to my motor coach closed behind her, I fell back against the couch again, left alone with my thoughts.

  If only I could escape them too.

  I was beginning to hate myself for the simple fact that this moody over-analytical asshole wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

  I didn’t pay a lot of attention in school because it didn’t hold my interest. No car, I paid no mind. I did however enjoy mythology and remember the story of Fortuna, the goddess of fortune and personification of luck in Roman religion and the goddess of fate. Presently life’s capriciousness, she would be represented as either veiled or blind as in the modern depictions of Justice. Representing good or evil, fortune or misfortune, basically, fucked, or not.

  I tend to believe you make your own fortune and your own fate. It’s on you, not others. Too bad I couldn’t listen to my own advice.

  Later that day before the drivers meeting and introductions, a few girls hunted me down when my team and I were having lunch at my motor coach.

  Usually I never conversed while signing autographs other than simply greetings but these girls tried hard, so I chatted for a moment hoping they’d leave and I could finish eating before the race.

  “How are you guys? Enjoying the pre-race activities?” I tried not to look at them, both dressed in barely anything, I didn’t want them thinking I was checking them out.

  “Now that we met you, yes,” They both replied with enthusiasm.

  Spencer and Aiden started laughing from behind me as the girls clung to each one of my arms, snapping photos.

  I thought maybe that would be the end of it after a few pictures were taken but they didn’t leave. They hung around at my motor coach as if they were part of the team, mingling with my crew.

  “Listen, I signed your autographs but this is my only place to escape.” I bit harshly when they sat next to me. If my tone didn’t set the mood for them, my glare did.

  Let me tell you something. I’m an asshole. I know this for an absolute fact. Always have been. Believe me when I say it’s been a point brought up every day by all my family members. So given my permanent status on the asshole bench, I’m never sure when I am being one, but it seemed that way now.

  “We just wanted to have a little fun with you.” The brunette told me meekly. “You don’t have to be mean about it.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose before my hand slammed down on the table next to me, glasses and silverware shook on the wooden table. “I’m just trying to enjoy a meal. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

  There was an ongoing debate among the fans and media about how accessible the drivers are. They think that we should be out there more. If you’re thinking to yourself, they’re NASCAR drivers, not rock stars, how bad can it be?

  Let me tell you something here, it is that bad. At the track, and keep in mind this is my first season in cup and only my second season in NASCAR all together, I cannot walk from my team hauler to the garage without a swarm of fans following me hounding me for an autograph. It never fails that someone is always there wanting me to sign their shirt, talk to me, or get a picture. Like I’ve said before, I have no problem conversing with these fans and giving them what they want but at the track in these secured areas, I’m performing my job. At a “meet and greet”, I’m there for the fans.

  So it comes down to where does a line get drawn? Are we allowed to sleep or do they want us to be friendly and allow fans and reporters into our motor coaches as well. I completely understand at “meet-n-greets”. That’s what I’m there for. But in the garage where I’m working and more specifically my own personal motor coach that acts as my home away from home, I’m supposed to allow fans there too? I don’t fucking think so.

  Emma, who had remained quiet sitting across from me, jumped up knowing I was moments away from throwing something.

  “Do you two even have passes to be back here?”

  Within minutes, Emma had them escorted away. “Thanks,” I said when she returned.

  “They were even annoying me.” She moaned. “You have a meeting with Simplex and Donco in about twenty minutes.”

  And just like that, my only chance at alone time was now gone.

  “Of course I do.” I replied standing. “God forbid I have a moment to myself.”

  For so long I tried not to let any of this break me but whether you want them to or not, pieces of you are broken away, falling away like ash from a fire.

  Everyone wanted a piece of me but I’ll tell you something, there was a piece of me they’d never reach. That wayward defiant who was persistently focused on what he wanted took over to be a champion in the highest-level racing had to offer me, the NASCAR Winston Cup.

  28. Roundy Round – Sway

  Roundy Round – A slang term used in NASCAR to describe an oval track.

  With graduation day here, I had little time to watch the Winston. That being said; guess what kind of mood I was in during the graduation ceremonies?

  Yeah—shitty.

  I couldn’t understand the purpose of a damn graduation ceremony. It seemed like a silly waste of time to me. On top of that, I had to deal with Jameson’s crush brigade.

  Two girls, Amanda Taylor and Erica Ward, were Jameson’s crush brigade. Always have been. And these two hookers decided to go to Western, just like me.

  Can you guess, me being Jameson’s best friend, how they felt toward me?

  Yeah, so they hated me. To be fair, I thought little of them as well. Especially Amanda. She had these beautiful blue eyes, blonde hair, sort of similar to Chelsea but more beautiful. Funny enough, she and Jameson had kissed a few times when we were younger so ever since then, she liked to throw this in my face.

  The immature side of myself, wanted to say, “Yeah well, I’ve felt his camshaft!”

  I didn’t though because believe it or not, I was somewhat mature, if you think your average nine year old is mature.

  Anyway, back to the point here, if there is one. Amanda and Erica caught me before the ceremony. “Hey Sway,” Amanda’s eyes glanced around the audience behind me. “Did Jameson make it?”

  Again, the nine-year old in me wanted to say, “Yes, he’s waiting for me in my bed.” I know what you’re thinking here, hello Sway, a nine-year wouldn’t be thinking about a boy in her bed but that’s not the point either.

  “He’s racing tonight in the Winston.”

  “Oh right, he’s in that NASCAR thing?” She acted as though it was no big deal.

  “Yeah...that NASCAR thing...”

  “Do you talk to him still?” Erica asked running her fingers through her red hair. “I thought you two were friends...”

  “Yes I talk to him often. And yes—he’s my best friend, we talk daily.”

  That seemed to catch them slightly off guard, but they recovered fast, unfortunately. “If he’s your best friend...where is he today?”

  “Like I said...he’s racing.” “Well,” Amanda clipped. “I read he’s single. He doesn’t belong to you.”

  Where was all this coming from?

  I had no idea how to react to them. They didn’t teach this at the School for the Socially Challenged where apparently, I was their valedictorian.

  Normally, I would have said something both insulting and mean but I had nothing for them.

  I had enough.

  M
aking my way toward the throng of graduates gathered by the stage, I couldn’t help but miss him. Knowing he had obligations now, didn’t stop it from hurting that he couldn’t be here.

  I sent him a text: Amanda says hi.

  He replied immediately with: Who the fuck is Amanda?

  I think I just fell in love with you. I sent it before my brain identified what I just typed.

  Oh fuck! Nice job Sway! Crap.

  I didn’t know it was that easy. Lucky me! Who’s Amanda?

  Blonde, blue eyes, you kissed her your sophomore year…I told her I was carrying your love child.

  That’s my girl! Still not ringing any bells. Back to this loving me thing…does that make up for not being there today? I’m really sorry.

  You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not within in your control.

  I know…it’s still hard though. I miss you.

  I know, I miss you too. Good luck tonight. I’ll be watching.

  Thanks honey. Tommy has something from me for you. Talk to you after the race?

  Yep!

  “Sway?” I heard Tommy call out. He was easy to spot within the crowd with his orange hair.

  “I’m right here.” I raised my hand. Tommy hugged me in congratulation. Usually me and fire crotch were too busy fighting to hug but I missed Jameson so much in that moment that I returned the hug.

  “Here,” he said pushing a box at me.

  Opening the lid, tears flooded my eyes as I took in the necklace nestled against the black velvet. It was a simple locket, with a delicate silver braided chain. My fingertips brushed across the silver oval keepsake, the oils from my skins left my imprint against the metal. Carefully, I opened the locket to see my favorite picture of us. We were probably thirteen, maybe fourteen.

  It was after a race at Elma and we were sitting in a pair of sprint car tires. His arm was draped over mine and I was leaning into his embrace. Both of us had huge grins on our faces. Even at such a young age, unaware to the two of us, a deep emotional bound was being molded between us. One that would remain for the rest of our lives, pure, natural and everything we both needed.

  On the other side of the locket was an engraving that read: Siempre mi amigo

  Recognizing the statement as “forever my friend”, I didn’t realize I was crying until my tears fell against the metal, washing away my prints made.

  Tommy pulled me against his side. “I don’t know when the two of you will wake up...but he loves you.”

  As much as I told myself he didn’t—I think my commonsense knew the twist our relationship was slowly taking.

  And as much as I tried, I couldn’t deny what was inside me.

  I sent him a text again, knowing he might not see it until after the race.

  Thank you. It’s beautiful.

  Unexpectedly, he answered. Anything for you.

  Roundy Round – Jameson

  I hated not being there and the words I love you were on the tip of my fingers when we were texting. I called Tommy after that wanting to make sure he gave her my gift, he told me what those girls said to her.

  They were right, I didn’t belong to her but I wanted to, that was the difference they didn’t understand. I wanted to give myself to her in every way, body and soul.

  I was willing to offer up every imperfection and flaw I had and let her decide if she was mine but now wasn’t the time, at least I told myself that.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, I got ready for the Winston Open. Having won in Rockingham, I was in the Winston but I still had to fight for a good position. Usually for a point race, I listened to mellow music before the race, nothing that would leave me rowdy. Today, I needed it.

  Placing my ear buds in, I lost myself in Metallica.

  Roundy Round – Sway

  I don’t know why I hated this graduation so much. Maybe the worst part was that no one was here with me, aside from Mallory, who worked at the track with my dad. Charlie wasn’t feeling good so he sent her. Jameson was racing, as was the rest of his family and Tommy had to leave be in Attica Ohio later today.

  I left graduation as soon as I got my diploma and headed to the bar to watch the race with Mallory. After my run-in with Amanda and Erica, I couldn’t wait to leave.

  We ordered appetizers, drank beer and had a good time while the pre-race activities started on television.

  It was nice to see Mallory again. Mallory Thompson, Mark Kelly’s daughter, was currently acting as the Office Manager for the track and took care of things like insurance policies, ticket sales, payroll for the employees...pretty much everything we wouldn’t allow Charlie to do. I’d been assisting her with all this since I was six so I knew the logistics of it all.

  “How’s Charlie doing with everything?” I asked Mallory chewing my nachos slowly. I spoke to him often but he always talked about school.

  She nodded chewing her own food, placing her napkin over her mouth as she spoke.

  “He seems good. He and Ryan got into it the other day but all’s good.”

  “Ryan?”

  “He drives the water truck for us. You’ll meet him. Which reminds me, when do you come home?”

  “My lease is up next week so I’m going to move all my stuff during the week and then I’ll be out.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “No, Tommy said he’d help. He comes back from Attica on Monday.” I reached across the table to dip my shrimp in the cocktail sauce next to Mallory. “The last time Tommy helped me move though, he drank beer while I moved boxes.”

  “How’s that firecracker doing?”

  I laughed. “It’s fire crotch Mal, not firecracker.”

  “Right—forgot,” she giggled.

  Mallory was about as green as grass when it came to sex. Mentally, you would swear she was a virgin but her and Bryce had been married for the last three years so I hoped she wasn’t still a virgin. You never know though.

  “How’s Jameson these days?”

  “He seems okay but you know Jameson...he gets so diligently focused on racing he never bothers to take care of himself.”

  “I don’t know him all that well but I definitely saw that side of him.” Her soft caramel eyes looked over at me. “So are you two...” her voice trailed off insinuatingly.

  “Oh no,” I waved my arms around, knocked my beer on her and then started giggling when beer came out my nose. Coughing, I answered with a choked out, “Friends.”

  Mallory laughed as she placed a handful of napkins in her lap to soak up the beer.

  “Sweetie you and him have never been just friends.”

  “That obvious?” I sighed in admission.

  I was lying to everyone around me for so long that I had no feelings for him, I almost believed myself.

  “It took me a while to figure it out but sometime toward the end of your senior year I uh...well...you two kissing after a race.” I racked my brain trying to think of the specifics she was referring to but I couldn’t, so she went on sensing my confusion. “After the Northern Sprint Tour...he won. Anyhow, I walked into the pits to close up the concession because I wasn’t sure if you had already left when I saw you guys in the booth. He had you against the wall...” her cheeks tinted pink as her eyebrows rose in question. This was her silently pleading with me to remember so her virgin mentality didn’t have to continue.

  “Oh...that.” I remember all right. That was the night his hands slipped up my shirt and my hands, well they dipped somewhere else. The interesting part about Jameson and me was we always stopped. I don’t know why, but we did. Believe me when I tell you, I did not want to. There are so many times—I wanted to continue. I wanted so badly to feel his body against me in the most intimate ways. Really though, I wanted to fuck the poor boy senseless.

  “So what’s with you two then?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” I told her honestly. “When we’re together, we can’t keep our hands to ourselves. When we’re apart, he’s the best friend I could ever ask for, always has been.
”

  Cheering down by the bar halted our conversations. Driver introductions were going on for the Winston Open. One of the announcers in the booth, Neil, talked about Jameson while they showed the fans applauding him during introductions. “Jameson has an amazing feel for grip, always has. He can feel the changes to the track and car that ordinarily go undetermined by other drivers. That’s where his team benefits.” Neil commended. “For only being his second season in stock cars, you better believe this kid has more to offer.”

  The broadcasters interviewed Darrin Torres, driver of the No. 14, first about the recent run-in at Richmond. His comments were the same each week. “It’s hard to respect a guy like Jameson on the track. He has no concern for anyone else.”

  I wanted to punch this Darrin fucker, having never heard the name until this year; I was not impressed with him.

  They interviewed Jameson right after that. I smiled so widely that I thought my cheeks were going to stay that way.

  “Wow,” Mallory gasped at the television, then back to me with a dazed expression. “He’s hot!”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “He’s definitely not the same rusty haired little boy, is he?”

  “Nope,” My eyes glued to the screen as he spoke to the reporter.

  “This is your first Winston Open...do you think you can get a good starting spot?” he asked Jameson. A group of girls, Amanda and Erica included, whistled when they focused on his face.

  Jameson chuckled and leaned against his car on the grid. Spencer handed him a bottle of water before he answered.

  “I think we can get a good spot. My Simplex Ford has been great all through practice runs so...I can’t imagine it won’t be now.” He flashed a smile.

  “With this being a “have at it” race, how do you think the rival with Darrin will pan out?”

  Jameson’s body visibly tensed. “I guess we’ll see.”

  “Have you guys talked since Richmond?”

  “It’s hard to talk to him,” Jameson said disdainfully. “He doesn’t respect anyone around him.”