Fast Time

by Shey Stahl

  Just then, Rager stood when Arie said something to him, his chair screeching across the concrete and slamming against the back wall.

  Tommy smiled attempting to high-fiving Rager when he walked by but he dropped his shoulder and punched him in the stomach. Not hard, playfully I assumed. Or not.

  Tommy approached Casten and me standing by the bay doors, his arms folding over his chest like some kind of proud father. “Willie had a replica dick made of his shifter, like a dildo. Didn’t know you could even do that. I’m actually proud of him for thinking of that. I thought all his cool ideas went out the window when I cut off the tip of his finger.” We all stared at Tommy, trying to decide if this was one of his elaborate stories or actually had a purpose. “So he put it into a glass box that looks like one of those fire boxes, you know,”—he waved his hands around, like we should know exactly what he was talking about—“and had a note on the front that said, ‘In case of emergency, break glass,’ and mailed it to his ex-wife as a pre-wedding gift.”

  Willie raised his hands in the distance, both fist above his head. “This time I win!”

  Shaking my head, we continued to load the haulers.

  IT WAS NICE TO HAVE distractions like Willie and Tommy to take my mind off what was actually happening. I was returning to the track that took my son’s life. Fortunately for us, in a late season mishap with scheduling and promoters, we were set to skip Cottage Grove this year. I honestly felt like that was Jack’s doing. He knew I wouldn’t have been able to handle going there. I just couldn’t. Just like it took me years to eventually return to Knoxville. So instead of being at Cottage Grove on the one-year anniversary of Jack’s death, September third, we were at Elma and what was essentially considered my home track.

  Because my dad still owned Grays Harbor Raceway, we made the event there a little more special. The format of the race was the same, but we did driver introductions on a stage. Our biggest problem was allowing Hayden to take care of this.

  Casten’s girlfriend should never be allowed in the announcers booth for one, and two, allowed to pick our introduction songs without our knowledge.

  Casten smiled as we all lined up trackside to the left of the stage. I was in line behind him, then Dad, Rager, and Shane. Shane gave me a nod. I did the same. Our relationship was ruined that day and he knew it. Maybe someday there would be a time when I could talk to him like we used to, but it wasn’t going to be anytime soon.

  Smacking the back of Casten’s head when he reached back and tried to hold my hand, I was beginning to get concerned as to what song Hayden was going to play when I went onto stage. “What is she playing for you?”

  Casten shrugged and winked at her high above the grandstands. “I don’t know.”

  “Ladies and gentleman…” Jerry drew out in his deep voice to begin the opening ceremonies. “Please welcome the World of Outlaws’ top ten drivers.”

  Casten grinned widely when Mac Miller’s “Knock Knock” blared through the loud speakers beside us. At least she picked a good one for him. “Starting sixth tonight and driving the number four CST Engines, JAR Racing, Christensen Construction and Myers Manufacturing from Elma Washington….Casten Riley!” The fans cheered, much like they always did for my little brother. When he took his hat off and threw it to the crowd, they went a little crazy.

  My heart raced when Casten walked off stage because it was now my turn. There was no telling what she would play. She surprised me when she kept it low key. I pointed at her in the announcer’s booth and winked at Hayden, who saluted me, when Artic Monkeys “Do I Wanna Know” came on. I loved the opening beats to it.

  “Your points leader…the man on a mission and your fast time qualifier driving the double zero Donco Controls, JAR Racing, CST Engine and PJ’s Auto Body from Elma Washington…Axel Riley!” I waved to the fans, laughing when a group of girls screamed a little louder in the front row. Kneeling down to their level, I signed their shirts before walking off stage.

  Dad was next, glaring up to the booth willing her to keep it tame. His first step on stage she played a song by KONGOS “Come With Me Now”. It fit him pretty well. Shaking his head, his body shook with laughter, as did Mom’s, who was sitting with Gray and Abigale in the stands tonight.

  “The legend himself…and the track owner…starting second tonight in the number nine Simplex Shocks and Springs, JAR Racing, CST Engine and Harris Headers from Elma Washington….Jameson “Rowdy” Riley!”

  The place exploded with screams and shouts. Casten and I both watched the crowd with smiles, knowing just how our father had shaped this sport to what it was today.

  Dad smiled at us when he made it to the other side, jogging down the steps to stand next to us.

  Now it was Rager’s turn. He didn’t look up as he stepped on stage in his black racing suit, his JAR Racing hat pulled down low enough you couldn’t see his face that well. He looked up when the music came on though. We all did. Inner Circle’s “Bad Boys,” the theme song from COPS filled the area. It fit perfectly.

  Shaking his head, he waved as they introduced him.

  “Starting fifth tonight driving the number ninety-nine Solar Seals, JAR Racing, Reed Motorsports and Donco Controls from Bartlett, Tennessee…The Sweet Spot…Rager Sweet!”

  When Rager reached us, he locked his arm around Casten’s neck, laughing. “I’m gonna kick your girl’s ass for that.” He was joking, clearly. Hayden would kick his.

  WHEN DRIVER INTRODUCTIONS were finished and the heat races were out of the way, we were pushing off for the main events. As the green flag dropped, I got an early jump over Rager and my dad, but it was short lived. The opening laps of the race were cautious and I couldn’t get a good jump on anyone. It didn’t help that my car wasn’t handling in traffic.

  We had a ten-lap stretch at the end where I was able to hang on for the win, but the red flag came out immediately. I couldn’t see where it was, but when I came around into three, I saw it was for Rager and Casten, both upside down in four, with another car on the front-stretch.

  Casten climbed out of his car on his power, but Rager wasn’t moving around much. I saw movement, but something was wrong with him. After a few minutes, I pulled my car near the flag stand and jogged over to where the rescue workers were with him. Dad and Casten leaned over the car after Rager’s car was flipped back over, asking him questions.

  My heart was in my throat as I approached, praying nothing was seriously wrong with him. I couldn’t take it if there was. Dad looked up when he saw me. “He’s okay…might need to go get checked out.”

  I let out the breath I was holding when Rager climbed out with the help of a few safety workers. He waved to the crowd before they took him by ambulance back to the pits.

  Turning around, Dad and I walked back over to the flag stand where it hit me. I had won. On the anniversary of my son’s death, I won a race. A race that gave me a good jump in the points, too.

  Sensing the emotions starting to come over me, Dad put his arm around me. I almost cried, but I held it together and took the microphone the announcer handed me. “How does it feel to win at your hometown track?”

  I was thankful he didn’t say anything about Jack. But I knew I needed to. I’d never mentioned him in interviews, other than with Adam. After races, I avoided it. It was too hard for me to talk about it in front of this many people. It took me a good minute to answer the question. “It feels good. It’s different winning at tracks like Grays Harbor because we don’t come out here much anymore. And last year it rained, so really, I haven’t raced here in two years. It’s not easy to come and win against these guys who race here every Saturday night.” Fireworks went off behind us and I choked up. “I don’t know how many of you know this but…a year ago tonight at Cottage Grove, I lost my son…” the crowd went completely silent. I looked up at the sky, the flickers of light like a ray of hope that this wouldn’t hurt so badly forever. “This win’s for him.”

  As the crowd cheered, I walked back to th
e pits watching the sky, holding on to the joy of the win and knowing Jack would be so proud.

  Dad met up with me after doing his interview for second place and clapped his hand over my back. “Let’s get you a drink.”

  I needed one for sure.

  When Dad and I reached the pit, the boys were all sitting around outside Rager’s hauler, his junk car already loaded up.

  “We should take him to the doctor,” Tommy suggested.

  “Why?” Lane sat in front of Rager debating with Tommy and Willie on what to do.

  Tommy sighed, running his hands over his face in annoyance. “Because he’s asked the same question over and over again. I’m tired of answering him.”

  Rager stood, dramatically, like he needed to heave himself up from the chair. “I need to change.”

  There was a problem with that. He didn’t wait until the hauler door was closed before he changed. All of us were standing around outside, even Arie and Rosa were there. Something like twenty people and Rager stripped. Completely.

  Arie’s face flushed, as did Mom’s when Rager smiled and scratched his jaw, lazily. “Sorry ‘bout that, ladies.”

  Did he attempt to cover himself up? Not really.

  He wasn’t sorry. Not at all. He meant for Arie to see that.

  Rosa leaned into Arie’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her. “You give me one damn good reason why I shouldn’t dedicate my life to licking Nutella off his ass cheeks.”

  Rager, attempting to get his jeans on, stumbled and smacked his head, again, on the cabinets. He couldn’t even stand up without falling.

  Lane frowned. “We need to take him to the hospital.”

  When Rager smiled at us, we knew it was time to have him checked out. After all, he was smiling and that was rare for him.

  Tommy, Willie, Lane, Casten and I took him. Mostly because we thought for sure he needed all of us there. And we were drunk and thought it was some kind of brotherhood if we were all with him.

  When we arrived at the ER at Grays Harbor Community, a nurse greeted us. “Are you Rager Sweet?” Dad had prepared the hospital, letting them know to expect Rager.

  Rager frowned and tried to stand. Immediately, he was ordered to sit back down in the wheelchair where they strapped a neck brace on him.

  We started to follow Rager and the nurse before she stopped us. “You can’t come back here.”

  Rager looked at the nurse. “Oh, yes they can.”

  I didn’t think she wanted to argue with him at that point, so she rolled her eyes and motioned for us to come with them. It was a big mistake on her part, allowing the five of us back there with him.

  When she made him get on the table, they did an exam and finally took his neck brace off. “Finally, how can I lick my balls with that damn thing on?”

  The nurse stared at him, almost in disbelief, but if she’d heard some of the shit we did on the way here, she wouldn’t have been surprised by that at all.

  “Could you lick your balls before?” She ribbed back, finally finding her sense of humor.

  “Well, no…” Rager admitted and then stared at her. “That’s not how you say my name, either. I’m not a college party.”

  The nurse laughed. “Oh…well, how do you say it then?”

  One side of Rager’s mouth pulled up into a boyish smile. “Ray-grrr.” And then he made a pawing gesture at her like a lion would and nearly fell off the bed.

  Lane looked at the nurse, and then Rager. “Did we mention he hit his head?”

  THEY ENDED UP TAKING Rager for some tests and a CAT scan. It took an hour for him to be tested. An hour of us sitting beside a vending machine with twenty dollars in ones and a bottle of whiskey we’d snuck inside. When we were on our way back to the room, I saw my sister sneaking out the back of the hospital.

  “Guess she didn’t fly out to Atlanta, did she?” Tommy whispered my way, staying back away from the boys in front of us.

  Shrugging, I popped a handful of Skittles in my mouth. “Guess not.”

  When we got in the room, it was clear they had medicated Rager. Tommy’s version of assisting him was giving him whiskey. There was this old saying that a racer didn’t need a doctor. There was nothing whiskey and Vicodin couldn’t fix.

  We were testing that theory as he handed the bottle around the room, waiting to see if they were going to release him, while we reminisced about the race and how much air Rager’s sprint car got with Casten before the catch fence ruined his sailing.

  The doctor came in a little while later to check on him and let us know the scans came back fine, but he did have a concussion.

  “What kind of services do they offer up in intensive care?” Rager winked at the doctor, suggestively.

  The doctor laughed and headed for the door. Before she left, she turned and looked at him. “I’m going to go write you a prescription for the pain. Don’t get into any trouble.”

  “I’ll try not to,” he teased, putting his hands behind his head and lying back on the bed.

  Willie smiled, giving Rager a head nod. “So…how’s Arie?”

  Rager snorted, his brow scrunched. “She wasn’t very sneaky, was she?”

  “What’s with you two?” I wasn’t sure why, but Will had an obsession with finding out what was going on between them. I also thought it was because Rager was medicated and drinking whiskey, he might actually tell us.

  Lane, who was probably the closest with Rager out of any of us, started laughing. “Oh, boy.”

  “Torture,” Rager finally said, leaving it at that.

  Willie laughed, handing the bottle to Casten. “I don’t understand her. She’s married to E, pregnant, but eyeing this guy all the time.”

  Casten and I looked at one another. It was a little strange they were talking about our sister like that, but then again, it wasn’t. Unfortunately, this was Rager’s life lately and he was our friend.

  He also never opened up like this. Ever.

  “She’s torturing me. I can’t stand it,” he finally revealed. “I wished she’d just make up her mind and either be with him, or give me the fuckin’ chance I deserve. Right now, she’s just fuckin’ with my head all the time. It’s like I’m running tires with a flat spot on ‘em.”

  Tommy gave me an alarmed look. “Maybe we shouldn’t have given him the whiskey?”

  I shook my head staring at the ground. “You think?”

  I knew exactly how Rager felt though. I felt like I had this flat spot on my tires and no matter what I did to find traction on anything, I was finding that flat spot and spinning the tires.

  For the first time since Lily had sent me the divorce papers, I actually thought about signing them. It’d been six months since I’d seen her. At what point did I accept that she was gone?

  Lily

  Four Wide Salute – In the World of Outlaws series the cars will line up four-wide for a lap prior to the feature event to show their appreciation to the fans for attending.

  ONE DAY AT A TIME, the weeks flew by and before I knew it, Jack’s birthday had come and gone, without him. I stayed in bed the entire day. Couldn’t even get out of bed. Therapists, and everyone who had ever lost someone, told me that grieving your lost loved one didn’t have a set schedule. Some days were good, others were bad. And then there were the really bad ones. Grieving didn’t have a schedule. It wasn’t like a race format with a specific beginning and end. I knew that no matter how bad I wanted the pain gone, I was never going to see that white flag.

  Jack’s birthday was a hard time of year for me, as I imagine it was a hard time a year for any parent who had lost a child. It was the unknown that you don’t have them in your life, but yet you don’t know where they’re going. They are taken from us and we don’t know where they’d go. We assumed they went to Heaven, because that was what everyone told us. But we didn’t know for sure. We had to believe that someday, we would know for sure. We had to believe they are okay.

  The boys were with Axel on Jack’s actual birth
day, but when they returned, we had a birthday party for him. After cake and ice cream, we laid in the yard, watching the clouds, wondering what kind of party he was having up there. It was becoming a ritual with us that when we missed Jack, we went outside and talked to him. His birthday celebration was no different.

  “I bet there’s race cars.” Jonah said.

  “And cake.” Jacen added, the two of them holding hands. And then Jacen squinted at the clouds. “Can Jack fly?”

  Jonah rolled his head to the side and stared at his younger brother, his answer confident. “Yeah, he has angel wings.”

  What scared me most about this day was that I couldn’t pamper him and shower him with gifts on his special day. Instead, I had to believe that Heaven was doing that for him. That angels were taking care of him.

  LATER THAT DAY, my mom and I wanted to take the boys to the lake. As we were packing a lunch and toys, I was reminded of Jack when I packed up the cooler and only loaded two of the water bottles when I pulled three from the cupboard.

  And then again when I collected their life jackets from my parents’ garage and Jack’s was left hanging on the wall.

  It hit me again as I stood there, staring at his.

  He would never wear it again. I had moments like this all the time.

  My mom came in when Jacen started crying over his missing sippy cup. “Are you all right?”

  No. I wasn’t. I didn’t know if I ever would be again.

  When I turned toward her with tear-filled eyes, her arms wrapped around me. “He’s still here with us, honey. He’s always with you.”

  I knew that. She told me this daily. I constantly felt my little boy’s presence around me, like he was afraid to let me go. But it didn’t mean that I got to hold him and kiss his sweet little face.

  Every day I wondered what he’d be doing if he was still alive. What would he have become? Would he still have been racing? I wondered what he would look like now. How he would have liked second grade. And then after the wonderment, I focused on what I missed. I missed three boys laughing, instead of two. I missed the little boy who would do anything to make his brothers laugh at him, and held their hands. The one who looked up to his uncles, adored his aunt, and worshiped his father. The one who was star gazed by his grandfathers and their legendary status in a sport he loved. The one who would lay for hours in his grandmother’s arms, just to appease her.