Fast Time

by Shey Stahl

  “We were all having a good time until Willie went and put his balls on the table,” Tommy said with obvious distaste. “The wedding party’s table.”

  “His balls?” Jack asked from the backseat, handing Tommy his sunglasses back.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Casten dared to ask.

  “Why does Willie do anything he does?” Tommy started the engine. “I’ve seen his balls so many times.”

  “Did he have a reason this time?” Rager asked, getting in the third row of seats behind Jack and me.

  “I did,” Willie piped up when he climbed in the car, a little slower than necessary, with a bottle of gin. “I was trying to show the groom the benefits of shaving his balls.”

  “And that is?”

  Casten smiled taking the bottle from him and dumping what was left out the window. “Makes your gear shift look bigger.”

  I looked down at Jack. “Please forget everything they’re saying right now.”

  He said nothing, but smiled.

  Willie went into giving us a rundown as to what led up to him placing his balls on the table.

  It started when he took a selfie with him and the bride with her garter around his head like a damn headband.

  A fucking selfie.

  “I still don’t see how that led to you putting your junk on display,” Lane said, pointing out the obvious.

  “I was trying to reason with him. Give him some pointers.” Willie shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t think it all the way through.”

  Rager leaned over the seat, his head between Jack and me so Willie could hear him. “How’d your conversation go with the groom?”

  “Before or after the escorted me out?”

  Smiling, Rager looked at me and then Jack who was grinning. “Before?”

  Willie turned around in his seat. “He touched me in my no-no square.”

  “Your what?”

  Willie pointed to his crotch, as if this should have been obvious and explained by his motions. “My no-no square.”

  “SO HE PUT HIS BALLS on the table?” Naturally, Dad was trying to understand what the hell happened last night and why Willie had a black eye.

  “Yep.” Tommy kicked back in the pits, relaxing in the same chair he always sat in, with Zac Brown blaring through the stereo in Dad’s hauler.

  “By accident?” Dad sat down next to him with a large bottle of water in hand. Jack came by and sat down on my dad’s lap with a Mountain Dew in hand.

  “Who gave you that?” I asked Jack, wondering who the hell would give a seven-year-old a Mountain Dew.

  Jack shrugged. “Uncle Casten.”

  “I don’t really see how that would have been an accident,” Tommy remarked, answering Dad’s question.

  “What the hell is wrong with him?”

  Tommy shrugged. “He did lick a urinal. We shouldn’t expect so much from him.”

  Dad was even more confused. “Someone paid him to put his balls on the table?”

  “No.” Tommy waved his hand around. “What I think happened is the bacteria from doing that got inside of his brain.”

  “Like a parasite?”

  “Exactly.” He said this as if it should clear up Willie’s motives. It didn’t. I don’t think any of us would ever understand Willie.

  Shane approached, looked at Willie sleeping off his hangover on the floor in the hauler, and laughed. “Did I miss a good party last night?”

  Jack set his empty can of Mountain Dew down. “He put his balls in a wedding.”

  I WALKED INSIDE the hauler to change into my racing suit when I noticed Willie, who’d finally woken up, intently staring at an upside down plastic cup on the metal counter.

  “What are you doing?” I watched Willie closely, wondering why the fuck he had a bee trapped in a clear plastic cup.

  He removed the cup while he had a tiny screwdriver in hand and managed to lay it across the bee, once again trapping the damn thing. Then he reached for a pair of pliers next to him on the counter.

  “I’m trying to remove his stinger.” His brow scrunched in concentration, like a trained surgeon. “Hold still, you little fucker.”

  Shaking my head, I walked out and decided to change in Rager’s hauler. Arie was standing outside, clipboard in hand. “Have you seen Willie?”

  “Yeah.” Laughing, I reached inside my bag for my racing suit.

  “Where?”

  “Well.” I set my bag on the floor and pulled my t-shirt over my head, leaving me bare-chested in front of my sister. She frowned, like she was disgusted. “He’s inside my hauler performing surgery on a bee.”

  “He’s allergic to bees.”

  I shrugged and walked out with my helmet. “Maybe that’s why he’s trying to remove the stinger.”

  While I was standing by my car, I looked across the pits when a bright red car went past heading to the staging lanes. It was a kid I’d been seeing a lot on the West Coast tracks, Stevie Shaver. From what my dad said, he was fairly new to racing, but had talent for sure.

  After making sure Jack was with Arie, I slipped inside the car.

  As I was adjusting my belts, Dad came over, having just finished his heat, and gave a tip of his head toward the track. “The top is thin and far out, but it’s smooth up there.”

  I gave a nod then he went over two cars down and told Casten the same thing.

  Casten was all over the place in hot laps. The set up wasn’t right, but it seemed more than that. The engine didn’t have enough power.

  I ended up winning my heat and was pulling into the pits when I saw Casten jump out of his car the moment he pulled over.

  He started messing with the engine himself, never relying on what anyone else was saying to him, or trying to get him to try.

  Later that night, in the dash, his engine blew up leaving Casten done for the night.

  He threw his helmet to the ground when he came inside the hauler, but his demeanor was anything but mad. While he seemed like he was upset, eyes wild and a flush to his cheeks, he was holding back because Jack was in there, at his feet, and smiling.

  I couldn’t say never, but it wasn’t often I saw him mad. And if he was upset, ninety percent of the time it was directed at Charlie.

  “I’m done for the night.” Casten sat next to Jack on a stack of tires. “What’da say we get shitfaced on Mountain Dew?”

  Jack beamed with excitement. “Yeah!”

  I pointed at Arie when she walked by with a clipboard and a race receiver in hand. “Keep an eye out for these two.”

  She held up the radio, still walking away. “Can’t. I’m helping Jerry tonight.” Jerry was the announcer for the World of Outlaws and he’d been recruiting Arie a lot these days.

  I gave Jack a hug, ruffling his hair. Dirt came out of it, his cheeks marked with the ketchup of his third corn dog of the night. “Stay by Tommy and Casten, buddy.”

  He jumped up on Casten’s back, all smiles. “I will, Daddy! Good luck!”

  Winking at him, I climbed into my car. As I put my steering wheel in place and pulled my helmet on, a strange feeling came over me and I was reminded of my grandpa. All those feelings I had throughout the last few months rushed to the surface. I almost got out of the car they were that strong.

  But then I thought, nah, don’t let your nerves get to you. My dad used to tell me, ‘Fear is your body’s way of saying, don’t fuck up.’

  That was all this was, right? Fear?

  My eyes darted to Jack and Casten walking toward the bleachers, now hand in hand.

  Casten

  SOMETHING FELT OFF. Maybe it was just me because no one else seemed to feel it, but I did. I couldn’t place the feeling, but I didn’t like it. I kept worrying about Hayden and Gray, unsure why I was getting this feeling. They were supposed to be here and hadn’t shown up yet.

  As Jack and I stood in the pits overlooking the track, my phone buzzed with a message that they weren’t going to make it. Gray was being a stinker so Hayden decided
to stay back at the hotel with Mom and Lily.

  Tucking my phone in my pocket, it made me feel slightly better, but still, the feeling hadn’t gone away.

  Maybe it was because it was a feature event and I wasn’t in it. But then it felt like something else. Something more.

  “Can I stand with Tommy?” Jack asked, letting go of my hand and pointing to Tommy over by the wall sitting on a four-wheeler.

  I didn’t think anything of it. Jack always watched from the side of the track because it was behind the fence here. “Yeah, but stay by him.”

  Jack did as I said, running over to him with his hoodie up over his head as the cars did the four-wide salute. Tommy got off the four-wheeler and stood about ten feet from him, closer to the track. Jack hopped up on the four-wheeler so he could see the track a little better himself.

  My mind was all over the place when I remembered Axel telling me when they were in Knoxville and Grandpa died, that the entire night felt off to him. That in his gut, in the air, something was wrong.

  I sensed it immediately when the cars pulled onto the track. Something was wrong with this race.

  I’d heard a lot of people tell me that they could sense danger, could feel it in the air when something bad was going to happen. I always thought they were full of shit.

  Most of the time that feeling, for me, had to do with getting in trouble. But tonight, it wasn’t that. It was the track…the fact that I blew up an engine.

  Maybe that was the feeling I had?

  Nope. Still wasn’t it.

  There was a new driver running with the Outlaws these days. Number fourteen, Stevie Shaver. He was a great kid, barely eighteen and had a ton of potential.

  His car looked solid in one and two, but when it hit three, without warning, his car did a wheel stand on the back stretch and then veered off the track over the barrier and behind the wall, heading right for the pits.

  It happened so fast, within seconds, and I heard someone scream and turned around to see Tommy lunging for the four-wheeler and Jack looking the other direction at me, no panic, no nothing. He didn’t see what was tumbling his direction.

  The sound it made when it crashed full speed into that four-wheeler was ear splitting.

  Deafening.

  The sprint car flipped three times, rolling over the four-wheeler like it was nothing and came to rest twenty feet away. My eyes shot back to the four-wheeler, hoping somehow, someway that didn’t just happen.

  The pits roared to life, the track activity halted immediately as lights started flashing.

  I ran over to the four-wheeler laying upside down on top of Jack. That’s when my dad came out of nowhere and sprung into action with Jack who wasn’t moving. Not knowing what the fuck to do, I went to Tommy who had turned over and tried to crawl the twenty some feet to Jack. He waved me off, though he was bleeding from his side and his leg was clearly broken, but he was screaming for me to run to Jack.

  “Go, get away from me! Go to Jack. Fucking go!” His sobbing could be heard across the track through the silence that enveloped us all.

  There was a moment when the only sound I could hear was my heartbeat. It was a loud thump, steady.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  A beat so intense that it made me sick from the sound alone because that beat only meant one thing.

  Danger.

  Adrenaline.

  Tragedy.

  Everything else was completely silent. I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing.

  Jameson

  EVERYTHING SEEMED TO move so slowly, yet too fast. I felt myself moving, doing things, demanding people to react, but I had no control over my own body after I saw it happen. My mind wouldn’t comprehend any of it.

  I saw the car wiggle in two and then shoot up the high line.

  The car did a half-wheel stand midway through the backstretch and then shot up over the barrier and flipped into the pits. I knew who was in the pits right there.

  The boys.

  When the lights on the track blinked yellow and then red, my chest constricted. I had barely gotten the car stopped on the backstretch before I was out and running toward the pits.

  I saw Tommy first, face down in the dirt with Casten hovering over him, and then Jack about ten feet from him under the four-wheeler.

  Oh, God. No. Please no. Not him.

  My first thought was a few broken bones. When I made it to Jack and flipped the four-wheeler off him, it wasn’t broken bones any longer. He was bleeding heavily from his neck.

  I couldn’t fucking breathe. My breath came out in short quick gasps to keep from fainting on the pure adrenaline racing through me. My heart thudded loudly in my chest, my adrenaline spiking, coursing through my veins like ice. I felt it start at my heart, moving through my chest, to my arms, shaking my hands then jolting through my legs.

  Amongst the wreckage of the sprint car, Jack had been hit in the neck by something leaving a three-inch long gash along the left side of his neck. By the lifeless way he laid there, he was gone already, but I had to try. When I got to him, I fell to my knees beside him. His eyes opened, and then closed, his breathing short and uneven.

  I started ripping my gear away, my helmet first, then gloves and the upper part of my racing suit, wanting to use the t-shirt I had under it to press against his neck. His body was completely limp, as though all muscle tone was gone. He almost felt soft, as if all his strength had suddenly disappeared.

  “Jameson…” Willie gasped when he came over to us, pure white and covered in blood from Tommy.

  Two paramedics ran over, their arms full of supplies but stopped, same blank faces as everyone else when Jack drew in a labored gurgled breath. When he did that, blood pooled in his mouth.

  “Do something! Help me! Call 911!” I looked down when I felt my hands were wet. The blood had soaked through my shirt in less than a minute, pooling in the dirt beneath my knees. Jack wasn’t moving at all, his eyes closed, face pale, lips blue. “Do something!”

  “Jameson… he’s…” The paramedic shook his head and pressed more towels to the side of Jack’s neck.

  “No! Don’t you fucking give up!” I shook my head refusing to believe my grandson was dying in my arms. “He’s not! Just apply pressure. He’s going to be fine.”

  I was covered in his blood within two minutes. All I saw was red. It was everywhere I looked. It wasn’t just coming from his neck either. It was coming out of his mouth now. He had to have hit his head or he was bleeding internally. Everything was happening so fast and I couldn’t stop the blood. He was slipping away right before my eyes.

  We used towel after towel, anything we could find to put pressure on his neck, but it was soaking through it just as fast.

  This isn’t real. It can’t be. He’s just sleeping.

  “Breathe, buddy!” I touched his face, careful not to move the pressure on his neck. “Fucking breathe!” I sobbed, my face soaked with tears. “Please fucking breathe!”

  Watching someone’s life slip away before you, hurt more than any pain I’d ever felt before. I saw the life seeping out of him, the hopelessness taking over.

  Make it stop. Make time stop. Make the pain stop right now. Give him life. Take mine. Give it to him. I’ll sacrifice the very breath in my lungs, if you just please give it to him.

  “Jameson…” the paramedic said again, grabbing my arm.

  I pushed him away, keeping one had on Jack. “Stop saying my fucking name and do your goddamn job!”

  I looked back down at Jack and saw he was turning blue, his skin a light gray color but with a purple tint around his eyes. They were bruising already.

  When Sway was attacked, I wasn’t there. I couldn’t save her. Nothing I could have done would have done or made a difference that day. But now…maybe…

  When my dad died, I was dying myself. I couldn’t save him either.

  But I was here, the first one to Jack and I could save him. I needed to save my grandson.
I had to…

  I just had to. For me. For Axel.

  Only…he was gone before I had the chance.

  There was yelling all around us and guys tried to shield everyone from what was happening not more than thirty feet from the track in clear view of the pit stands. My eyes drifted to Axel as he approached, his helmet in hand. My first-born son took in the sight before him. He’s first born laying in a pool of blood.

  I was afraid to look at Axel. Afraid to see his eyes in that moment, but when I did, the pain hit me, like a bullet to the chest.

  Rager grabbed more towels from somewhere and threw them my direction. We applied more to his neck, but didn’t remove the ones that had been soaked through.

  Axel didn’t move. He just stared at Jack’s body. Guys swarmed around him, waiting to see what he’d do as Lane stayed right beside him, waiting.

  “Jameson, we need to transport him.”

  My hands shook. I couldn’t let go of him, until I realized that he wasn’t breathing any longer.

  Closing my eyes, I released a sharp intake of breath.

  “Jameson…” my name was said by the paramedic. “Let go of him.”

  Let go of him? How could I? How did this even happen?

  The paramedics took over and tried to control the bleeding while another did CPR on him. I knew there was no chance, but they weren’t going to give up on a child in front of his dad. They kept looking to Axel then back at Jack, and then me.

  I fell apart when he was loaded into the ambulance. I fell apart because that was when Axel did, his knees hitting the dirt with desperation.

  I thought to myself in those moments, it couldn’t end like that. It didn’t happen like that for kids.

  But it does.

  It did.

  As I stood there, staring at the ambulance that Axel was getting into behind Jack, I couldn’t breathe.

  There are no words to describe this pain. There never would be. The pain was not instant. You bled it. You felt it pouring out of you, dripping from your broken soul.

  And when you finally did feel it, it took the breath right out of your lungs.

  Nothing I’d ever been through in my life had felt like this. My grandson had died in my arms.