by Shey Stahl
“Now...” Tommy’s tone took on a curious but amused timbre. “...why would you be looking for Easton?”
“None of your business fire crotch.” Arie smiled kicking his side.
Tommy doubled over laughing. “Oh jeez, like mother like daughter.”
“Arie!” Willie called out when she walked to the office.
“What?” she looked over her shoulder trying to hide her amusement.
“Can you get me another beer?”
“No, get it yourself!”
The door slammed behind her and Willie looked at Tommy. “She’s so much like Sway.”
Before we knew it, Speedweeks had started and the NASCAR schedule was tight. With Daytona starting, Easton did what he could but the fans wanted to see Jameson in the number nine and they didn’t stand in line for hours to meet Easton Levi. I will say that Easton gained a tremendous amount of fans that week in Daytona. He was smiling and represented Simplex Shocks and Springs in a manner they appreciated. But it wasn’t the same. I snuck off to Daytona for a day trying to help Kyle and Mason in any way I could and I quickly realized the void that was there.
Kyle was never a guy that was known for speaking his feelings. At least not to me. When I walked inside the hauler, he was there going through his meticulous notes. He looked up when I entered and the eye contact with him somehow made the emotional divulgence, though he never spoke, more difficult.
“Hey kid,” he finally said, his eyes falling back to his notebook. Though dad was stable now, the clarity of that night was still heavy on my mind, and Kyle knew that.
“Hey,” I took a seat next to him. We spoke about Barberville and how the testing went last week with Easton. That’s when he asked about dad.
“I heard Jameson’s doing better and communicating a little.”
The mention of his name made me feel sick to my stomach. “Yeah, he’s slowly coming around.”
“You’ll never forget that shit kid.” He said slowly understanding my feelings around the accident. “There are memories that will forever be with you and unfortunately, that’s one of them.”
The emotion, the fear, the devastation crept up, the lump in my throat rose again. Everyone’s reaction, even if you were not in Knoxville the day of the accident, was withdrawn. We didn’t want to talk about it in fear the emotions would drown us. Escaping it all together wasn’t happening. We lost a legend. We lost a great man and one was still hanging on. It was then, sitting at the table in the hauler, marks on the wall from where my dad had lost his temper so many times, that Kyle offered me an invaluable insight I never considered.
“You can miss him, and you can wish he was here, both of them, but that’s just being selfish. You can want him back because you miss him but there are a lot of people feeling that very same thought. We can’t focus on the life that’s gone. We have to focus on what’s in front of us. What we have to be thankful for.”
He was right. He was absolutely right. I left the track that afternoon and went back to Mooresville to meet Tommy.
He was there pacing the shop floor and muttering to himself.
Tommy ran his hands through his mess of orange curls, tugging. “What time did Greg say he’d be here for these two cars?” he motioned with a nod to the No. 9 of Justin’s sprint car and No. 19 of Tyler’s. Cody and Rager’s cars were already there.
“He said he’d be here around noon.”
“Well it’s three so we’re fucked.” Tommy snapped standing from his place on the shop floor. “We should call Rusty...because if these two cars are not in Barberville come Wednesday, Jameson will kill all of us.”
“It’s kind of hard to do that when he can’t move without grunting in pain.” Casten added pushing the last of the pit equipment inside the 18-wheeler.
“He does have a point.” I added with a chuckle. “But we really should call Greg and see where the hell he’s at.”
We were heading into the first week of the Outlaw tour at Volusia Speedway Park in Barberville Florida for the DIRTcar Nationals. We needed those cars there.
Casten, Tommy and me left on Wednesday night, a few days after dad woke up and it had been non-stop work since we landed in Mooresville. It helped keep our mind off everything but it didn’t wash away the pain we felt. We missed grandpa and it was gut-wrenching to watch dad be in so much pain over his injuries and with losing grandpa.
Not only were we busy with the sprint cars but Kyle, Mason and Spencer had to deal with the Cup team and CST Engines, which was closely related to both teams. They had cars to test, engines to put on the dyno and sponsorship obligations for dad that were now on hold until Easton could attend them.
We were all overwhelmed but I think it helped us all deal with the loss. We weren’t over it, no. I don’t know that we ever would be. But it kept us distracted.
Charlie and Noah pulled their heads out of their asses and helped with the dyno testing for not only the 410 engines that went in the sprint cars but also the 358 engines that went in the cup cars for Riley-Simplex Racing. We also ended up hiring a few guys, only family recommended, to help out since most of us were already spread so thin we barely had time to sleep.
Thank god Lily understood. We weren’t even married a month yet and already we hadn’t seen each other in a week.
Lily and Ami refused to leave my mom and grandma alone at the hospital. I was thankful for that.
So everyone pulled together and kept not only the business and racing going but our support system from falling apart.
Cole and Lane showed up after we finished loading the trailers. “Hey,” Cole smiled. “Rusty is on his way with Greg to get the trailers.”
“Thank god,” Tommy huffed rising from the floor to toss a few shop rags in the garbage from the oil spilled after changing the gears in Tyler’s car. “Where were they?”
“Hell if I know.” Cole said handing my bag to me. “Something about traffic and...” he smiled. “I wasn’t really listening to him.”
Lane walked up to me. “How’s Uncle Jameson doing?”
It never entered my mind that my dad would never race again because that wasn’t him.
“Mom called a few hours ago and said they were getting ready to do another CT. He’s still disoriented and mumbling a lot. I guess he had another seizure too.”
“It takes time. He’ll be fine.”
“I know, but it’s easy to think the worst after grandpa.”
Lane grimaced when I said grandpa. Aside from me, he was the closest of the grandkids with him and took it very hard.
“I don’t have to be in River Ranch for round one until early March...I can help out.”
I was just about to respond when Charlie pushed Cole. “Do it yourself then!”
Lane rolled his eyes. “It’s like working with a bunch of children.”
The truth was we were all children aside from Tommy and Willie. I just turned nineteen, Casten was fifteen, Noah, and Charlie were eighteen. Lane was only twenty-two and had his own career in the motocross racing. We had no clue what we were doing.
We knew this wasn’t going to be easy but we had to try. We couldn’t leave this all to our parents to figure out when we were all more than capable of dealing with it.
Surprisingly, Tommy was the adult in the situation. “Listen assholes,” he separated the two of them by yanking on the hoods of their sweatshirts. “Get your shit together. Cole, you come with us. Charlie, stay out of trouble and get those engines on the dyno before tomorrow. Kerry will be here in the morning. Do not let anyone else in the shop.”
Tommy rarely gave orders so when he did, they listened.
You wouldn’t believe the work that goes into building a sprint car and a Cup car. Thankfully, the NASCAR side of the business was taken care of. We had people for everything as it was a business that Jimi took great pride in and Randy quickly stepped in as well as Tate.
The sprint car team with JAR Racing was a smaller scale and kept that way by my dad. That’s where
family came in. We were determined to keep it that way and to do that, we needed everyone to work together.
I hated to admit it because they were still assholes, but without Charlie and Noah taking care of everything related to CST Engines. We wouldn’t have known what to do. They argued, threw shit at each other and blew up three engines on the dyno that week but they did manage to get all twelve sprint car engines ready to go in two days and the testing of the ten Cup engines done as well. No one knows how, but they did.
I guess it’s true when my mom said that against all odds, life does go on. You move up the track and search for a new groove that doesn’t have as much wheel hop.
Wheel Hop – Sway
Watching your husband in pain, disoriented, and trying to understand what’s happening around him was probably one of the worst experiences of my life. Sure I had seen him in some horrendous wrecks, I’ve seen him beg for forgiveness even but seeing him suffer in ways that no one could help him, was the worst.
He didn’t understand much about the accident in the first few days and asked a lot of the same questions but slowly, he understood and the magnitude of the situation hit him.
I would ask constantly, “Do you need anything.”
His gaze would always be on the window, staring at the snow, and would respond with the same inert, “No.”
There was no emotion in him. No fight. Nothing. He was a man that had lost his hero. His legend. But most of all, he wanted to be left alone.
“I’ll come back a little later.” I would tell him and give him the space he needed.
Just like the man I’ve known since I was eleven, he reacted the same way I expected. He blamed himself. He regretted preparing the car for him and thought it was something he had done. It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident.
I had just gotten off the phone with Arie who flew to Florida to help Axel and the sprint car teams out and now I was heading back to Jameson’s room where Nancy was inside talking to him.
I didn’t go in. Instead, I sat outside the room out of view and listened.
“You can’t blame yourself sweetie.” She told him. “It’s not natural, Jameson.”
Jameson didn’t seem to respond, I peeked inside to see he was looking out that damn window in his room again. When he didn’t want to talk to you, he looked out that window. Everyone was tempted to board that goddamn thing up, especially the doctors who he frequently told to “Fuck off.” At least we knew he’d be fine, his vocabulary had returned.
“I forget things now.” Nancy laughed. “I walk upstairs only to stand there wondering why I even went up there.” She paused and smiled down at Jameson. A few doctors walked past and gave me a funny look. I felt kind of stupid sitting on the floor outside his room but really, I’d done worse in the past. After all, I walked around for weeks with a magazine ad tucked in my bra.
“I can handle getting old, it doesn’t bother me. This...” she motioned around the room, “I will never get over.” Jameson tensed besides her looking back out his window. I could see his breath catch as he tried holding in the emotions for the sake of his mother. “But I will go on,” Nancy added meeting her son’s eyes, “as should you.”
As expected, he said nothing.
“You forget your age, or where your car keys are. And if you’re Spencer you sometimes forget what street you live on. But my point is you don’t just forget a man like your father. I’m strong though and I have an entire family who loves me and is willing to be there if I forget things like my car keys.” Nancy paused again, her eyes glazed over but she didn’t cry. “I loved him for over forty years, I will never forget but I will go on. You’re brave even though you’re dying inside and I need you to be brave Jameson. I need you to realize this isn’t your fault. I need my son. You remind me of him and I need that. I can’t lose you too.”
His eyes were still focused on that damn window but he surprised me when he looked up at his mom. “I will…mom.”
It felt wrong watching their moment together after that so I slipped away and wandered outside for some fresh air. After walking around the hospital I was freezing my ass off and being followed by press so I snuck back inside to find Nancy leaving Jameson’s room.
She looked good. Tired, but good.
“He’s asking for you.” She whispered reaching out to hug me.
“Thanks...are you staying?”
“No, but I will be back tonight with Spencer. I have to meet with Phillip about Jimi’s will.”
“Is Alley going with you?” I hated to think of Nancy going anywhere alone right now.
“Yeah, she’s waiting for me in the lobby.” We hugged once more and then I turned around to see Jameson looking at us. He smiled lightly as though it was forced.
I washed my hands and then made my way beside his bed. Naturally, he motioned a slight nod for me to get in beside him, so I did.
Nothing was said, I didn’t want to pressure him. If he wanted to talk, he would. This was hard for him. Inside he was there but it was hard to just jump back into what you were before. I knew that.
You don’t wake up from a coma and become yourself. The soap operas lie. It is days and days of slowly waking up, mumbling and confused. By the time the two-week mark rolled around, Jameson was responding more and more and was able to focus on objects and actually respond coherently to you but there were still days where he struggled stringing words together.
He asked about racing frequently and who was in his car.
Every day more of Jameson returned and not those cold distant glances.
He was able to get up and walk around after four weeks, which was huge because with most brain injuries as severe as he had, forgot the simple things like walking and putting clothes on.
He could do it all because he was determined. You could see the fire inside him, he wanted to be better and he wanted to recover fully. He was slowly finding his new line again. He was gaining grip and getting less wheel hop.
Wheel Hop – Jameson
Time, it was all I had right now. It went by slow, dawdling even. When I think about time passing, it never ceases to surprise me how it passes. An hour is an hour and sixty minutes can be the longest sixty minutes of your life. When someone would say to me now, “I’ll be back in an hour.” It seemed like they were gone for days.
There’s times when it feels like a freight train, barreling onward with nothing to stop it. Yet other days are like the earth stood still, nothing moving, nothing breathing and I felt like I was looking at a picture of my life. Those days I felt like I was trapped. I felt like I was locked into some kind of continuous loop with no way out and no hope for moving forward.
The pain was fading with each day, just as the daylight washed into evening. It was never gone. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to speak. It hurt to be touched. It hurt to think.
Physical pain faded as days went on and stiffness took its place.
I was sad. I was confused. I was frustrated at the very thought of most things. It hurt to think.
I saw sadness all around me. People looked at me and I saw pity. My wife, I couldn’t look at her without wanting to cry. I hadn’t cried that I knew of. Maybe a few tears but nothing what I felt like doing. I couldn’t look at my mom. I wanted to hold her and tell her I was sorry and how much I wanted to take away the pain she felt but I couldn’t. It hurt too much.
I didn’t want to see the pain anymore. I didn’t want to feel it anymore.
I wanted a lot of things.
I never wanted to see the look my mom had on my wife’s face. I never wanted to see that look on another woman’s face again.
I hated the feeling when someone said my dad’s name. I hated the heavy unfamiliar feeling I got. I hated that his memory was fading with each day.
I hated a lot of things.
I wanted to comfort my wife and hold her the way she needed to be held. I wanted my kids to remember me, but not like this. I wanted them to remember me as I was before my life was ripped
apart.
I tried not to feel like a ticking time bomb. I tried not to feel a lot of things.
I tried to remember that it wasn’t my fault, something broke on his car and that could have happened to any of us. I tried not to feel the burden for the sake of my mother. I tried to offer a smile for her.
I remember a lot.
I remember my dad.
I remember the look on his face when I won my first championship, fighting back tears that I did it. I remember being four-years old and I told him I’d be a champion someday.
I remember that he believed in me.
I remember him telling me that hatred can fuel the brightest flame and that resentment could kill you if you let it.
I understood I needed a lot of things.
I needed my wife. I needed my kids. I needed my family, my mom, my brother, my sister. I needed my friends. I needed the feeling of being needed by them.
I needed less wheel hop and more grip.
I was sad and confused and remembering and hating. I had a lot of needs and frustrations and memories and aches.
I had wheel hop.
21. Set-up – Sway
Set-up – A combination settings on a car’s engine, tires, and chassis. Teams make constant adjustments to a race cars setup up based on the drivers input.
Watching Jameson being examined by countless doctors was difficult. For one, he hated it and I didn’t like seeing their dejected faces when he wouldn’t respond or got confused and told them the wrong answer. He could bend over without stumbling and the headaches he got were so blinding that he would vomit. His mood shifted drastically at times. So drastically that it scared me. He wasn’t hungry and when he did eat, he would usually throw up. In the mornings, he was hard to wake up sometimes, and had a seizure upon waking. The brain injury was taking a toll on him. It didn’t help that he already had plenty of concussions in the past and receiving a brain injury of this nature made it worse.
