by Grace Risata
While I will give him credit that he knew better than to bring up my mother, it was also sort of a sore subject to talk about my dad.
“My father wasn’t around very much when I was growing up,” I explained. “He was an over the road truck driver and he didn’t feel inclined to give up his life to stay home and raise a kid that he probably never really wanted in the first place. My grandparents raised me.”
I shrugged and turned on the radio to signal that this conversation was finished. It’s not like I hated to talk about my childhood or anything, it’s just that I couldn’t paint a rosy picture of my parents. I survived. That about sums it up.
Dixon immediately lowered the volume and I waited for him to grill me with more questions on poor little Alyce’s upbringing. Thankfully, he did no such thing. I guess we had sort of an unspoken rule…you don’t ask about my family and I won’t ask about your time in the military. Things were a lot easier that way.
“Where are we going and why are you driving so fast?”
I looked at the speedometer to see that the needle was a full ten miles per hour over the limit.
“I have a need for speed. That actually answers both your questions. Lean back, relax, and enjoy the ride. We’ll arrive at our destination in about twenty minutes.”
Pushing the buttons to roll down both our windows, I took immense pleasure in the warm breeze that circulated fresh air through the vehicle. It was a beautiful sunny day, I had the pedal to the metal, and my co-pilot finally seemed to loosen up a little. He wasn’t anything close to relaxed, but I did notice his posture wasn’t as stiff as when he got in the car.
Maybe he wants to resume the question game.
“What kind of car do you have?” I asked. You can learn a lot about a person by what they drive.
“I don’t have one,” he admitted with a sigh. “I cracked it up when I got arrested for driving under the influence. It’s not totaled, but there’s a solid ten grand in damage and I’m in no hurry to fork over that kind of cash. I can’t really drive it anyway since my license got suspended.”
I had a feeling that was the case, which is why I chose our destination specifically for that reason. I hoped he enjoyed my surprise.
We drove in silence for the next several miles and I eventually turned off the interstate onto a familiar stretch of highway.
It wasn’t long before a massive billboard alerted Dixon to my master plan.
“Richardson’s Raceway? Is that really where you’re taking me?” he asked in annoyance. “A go-kart track?”
“Does that upset you for some reason? Are you afraid to have your ass handed to you by a woman?”
Men like a challenge, and Dixon is no exception to the rule. Driving, racing, and kicking ass just happen to be my specialty. My grandpa actually wanted to enroll me in some stock car races when I was younger, but my grandma had a fit and put her foot down. So we went as spectators instead.
“I don’t have a lot of cash on me and I can think of better ways to spend a few hours,” he admitted, licking his lips as though sex was the main topic on his mind. Too bad, dude. We’re currently in the middle of Operation: No Sex, so you’re shit out of luck with that.
“We’re only going to do one or two laps around the track and then we’ll head home. I’ll buy the first race since I’m the one who invited you. After that, the loser can pay. Deal?”
“No. I’m not having you waste all your money here, Alyce.”
I maneuvered my way into a parking spot, which wasn’t too difficult since it was still pretty early in the evening and the place wasn’t very crowded yet. I happened to know that Thursday was half-price night, so the track would eventually fill up. This beautiful weather meant that people were out and about, most likely eager to get an early start to their weekend.
Smiling as we walked up to an old ticket booth that was decorated with racing memorabilia, happy memories came flooding back. I wish my grandpa was here now. It’s been a long time since he raced with me, but I knew he’d enjoy watching. When I see him tomorrow, I’ll have to tell him that I did a race in his honor.
“We’ll take four tickets, please,” I told the cashier, pulling out a twenty dollar bill and immediately having it pushed away by Dixon.
“You’re not paying, Alyce,” he informed me, removing his own money from a faded and well-worn black wallet. “How much is it?”
“It’s normally ten bucks per race, but it’s half off today. So two races for two people will be twenty bucks, sir,” the lady stated as though she recited that speech in her sleep.
Dixon counted out four five dollar bills and I could see that it was all the cash he had. Shit. If we wanted to do any more races and the loser was the one that paid, I was going to have to take one for the team. There’s no way in hell Dixon was going to beat me, but I couldn’t have him lose and then be embarrassed when he didn’t have enough money.
She passed us the blue tickets and Dixon gave me two of them. He didn’t seem nearly as excited as I did. Did the guy not like go-karts? Did this whole experience remind him of something unpleasant? Or was he just allergic to fun in general?
We took a seat on a picnic table while we waited for the current drivers to finish the race. I let the sun warm my face as I basked in her soothing rays. Summer was honestly my favorite time of year.
It didn’t go without notice that Dixon sat next to me looking rather stiff and uncomfortable.
“Does the noise bother you?” I asked, suddenly aware of the fact that all the zoom zoom, vroom vroom might not be very pleasant for someone with PTSD. I began to regret my choice of venues immediately.
“No,” he replied. “It’s a steady background noise, so it’s tolerable. I can’t handle anything that’s sporadic. Thunderstorms, fireworks, really loud movies with explosions, or anything like that. I used to love shooting off the best display of fireworks in the whole neighborhood, but those days are long gone. There are a lot of things I just can’t handle anymore.”
“It’s okay,” I soothed. “Things change. People change.”
“Are you going to tell me to just ‘move on’ and get over it? Because I hear that a lot from people who have no fucking clue what this feels like. ‘You’re home now. You’re safe. Just put the past behind you.’ Yeah, right. Like it’s as easy as that. It’s not.”
Crap. I just wanted to do something fun to take his mind off things. I wasn’t trying to bring him down even worse. Sometimes it felt like I couldn’t win no matter what I tried. But I’m not giving up yet. We sat in silence while I pondered my next move.
“Ready to race?” I asked as the last few cars came screeching back to the starting line. “We can have a friendly wager if you want. Winner gets…something?”
He shrugged and stood up, not even replying to my generous offer. Well, it wasn’t too generous since I was sure I would win.
“How about if…” I offered, struggling to come up with someone good, “you win and I’ll give you a blow job, but if I win then I don’t.”
“You don’t what?” he asked in confusion.
“I don’t give you one.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very good deal for you.”
“I’m pretty confident in my ability to kick your ass.”
“This might actually be fun after all,” he admitted, eyeing me up with a newfound sense of purpose. “Too many decisions, Alyce. What color lipstick should you wear, outfit choice, location? I’m thinking you can do it in the parking lot after the race. I’m not one to wait for things.”
I winked at him as we made our way onto the track. Instead of worrying about dick sucking, my competitor should have been paying attention to the cars and which one seemed to be the fastest. Half the battle to winning at the go-kart track was finding a decent kart that didn’t putt-putt along like the engine was dying. Fortunately, I noticed that number seventeen appeared to be pretty fast.
It was second in line, which put me in the kart directly behind Dixon.
“Are you ready, sweet cheeks?” he called out, turning around to glance in my direction. “Eat my dust!”
Eager to prove my dominance, I scanned the other drivers to size up my competition. Two teenage boys with faces full of acne, one teenage girl that was probably dating one of the boys, a middle aged father and his two kids, and one older man that appeared to be missing his teeth judging by a denture-less smile.
No threats what-so-ever.
I mentally reviewed the course so I would be ready. Basically you had a figure eight at the start, a bridge leading over part of the track, a long narrow straight away, and then you went under a different bridge. I’ve raced this baby a hundred times in my life. No worries.
An employee that wore a referee shirt and appeared bored out of his mind suddenly blew a loud whistle to get our attention. I guess it was time to hear the rules.
“Don’t do anything dangerous, never get out of your karts for any reason because you might get hurt, and try not to break anything or you’ll be responsible for damages. Everyone gets two laps. Ready, set, go!”
He waved a checkered flag and the race began.
Dixon took off right away with me hot on his heels. I stomped on the gas pedal and was pleasantly surprised with the amount of horsepower at my disposal. Kart number seventeen was a dynamo and I easily shot past my competitor, much to his dismay.
“What the hell?” he shouted as I flew by. “You’re cheating!”
Dixon was clearly upset as he stared down at his kart, most likely looking for some non-existent gauge that might let him know what was wrong with the damn thing.
I slowed down ever so slightly and explained, “Some karts are faster than others, dude. But it doesn’t matter. It’s all about the driving skills. Eat my dust!”
I floored it and rocketed ahead of him, careful to slow down as I entered a turn. The reason for my deceleration had nothing to do with caution and everything to do with the fact that I wanted Dixon to get a front row seat to my performance.
Making sure to time everything perfectly, I turned the wheel as I did an epic Tokyo drift around the corner. This move was something straight out of one of those car chase movies and I even impressed myself.
Just liking riding a bike…you never forget how to race.
I decided to improve my lead by a bigger margin, sat back, felt the wind on my face, and enjoyed the ride. Happy memories flooded back and I casually took in the scenery around me. Yes, the course looked a bit run down since I’d last visited, and it didn’t quite seem so magical. But most things lost their luster as one aged and realized the world wasn’t so bright and shiny of a place.
Once I went over the bridge, I had a much better view of the complex. It appears they upgraded the concession stand. I’m assuming that’s how they made most of their money anyway. My stomach rumbled in response and I made a mental note to grab some food after the race. I wonder if the hot dogs were as delicious as I remembered. Popcorn. Yes, I needed popcorn too.
Shit.
Dixon had no money, so what the hell was I going to do about food? If I lost the race, I could tell him that I’d pay. But…that meant I’d have to give him a blowie. Decisions, decisions.
I must have slowed down too much while I considered my choices, because one of the teenage boys flew past me, followed by Dixon, the teen girl, and the older man.
How had they all caught up so fast?
Taking evasive maneuvers with a steely determination, I floored it on the straightaway and managed to catch a few of them. I knew the next turn under the bridge was very tight, so I slowed down in order to avoid a pile up.
This turned out to be the best move ever, because the two teenagers had collided with each other and somehow managed to spin around in the wrong direction. The older man got stuck behind them, leaving Dixon and I as the last two competitors to round the corner.
I knew I’d regain my lead in a few seconds, so I took the opportunity to gaze at Dixon before I passed him again.
The man’s face displayed a remarkable amount of pure joy. With a brilliant look of concentration, mixed with an evil grin, he was truly a sight to behold. I also couldn’t help but notice the way his tight t-shirt clung to the sculpted torso beneath, how sexy he looked with his hair blowing wildly, and those strong, masculine hands clutching the steering wheel.
Who was the dumbass who thought up the ‘Operation: No Sex’ plan in the first place? That might have to get thrown into the trash. Racing was sort of an adrenaline rush for me and I needed a release afterwards.
Maybe I should change it to ‘Operation: Just A Quickie.’
Although that doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, now does it?
I looked left, looked right, and saw no kart on either side of me. Without wasting precious energy to turn around, I simply pushed the gas pedal until it went as far down as possible. Sweet victory would be mine.
Breezing past the finish line and beginning my second lap, I slowed down in an effort to let Dixon catch up to me. This didn’t take very long because he really wasn’t that far behind.
“You’re cheating!” he yelled while desperately trying to pass me and failing miserably.
“How?”
“I’m heavier than you, therefore my kart is naturally slower.”
“Then I guess you better not eat anything once the race is over. How about if I suck down a couple hot dogs to even things up?”
“Too bad the concession stand is closed,” he shouted while pointing in the other direction.
I immediately slowed down to look, heartbroken that I might go hungry, and noticed that the food stand was indeed open after all. As a matter of a fact, a few customers stood in line waiting to order.
As I turned my head to let him know he was mistaken, I realized that I’d been played. While my attention was otherwise occupied, that cheater took the opportunity to sneak ahead of me!
Jackass!
I swiftly caught up to him, managed to return to the number one position after a few slick turns, and ultimately won the race.
Exiting my kart triumphantly, I did a small victory dance. No one likes a bragging winner, so there was no need to rub that giant loss in his face. I was a good sport.
Dixon wordlessly approached with a very amused expression on his face. Slapping my ass, he admitted, “It was worth the humiliation of having a woman beat me, if only to see your hot little ass do that sexy wiggle.”
I swatted him on the arm and said, “Get your mind out of the gutter!”
“I’m heartbroken, Alyce. Not only did I lose, but now I don’t even get my dick sucked. You’re torturing me here.”
“Fair is fair, what can I say?”
He leaned down, wrapped an arm around me, and nuzzled my ear, whispering, “You can agree to a quickie in the bathroom…or we can pull over on the way home…or we can sneak into that cluster of trees on the other side of the fence that separates the racetrack from the highway…”
That is so tempting. Must not give in.
“Or we can go suck down some greasy food since the concession stand isn’t closed after all.”
“I can eat. What do you recommend?”
Dixon took my hand and we slowly made our way to the food line. I tried to act normal and not have a shit-eating grin plastered across my face. I don’t know how many times I came to the racetrack when I was little, only to see happy couples flirting and holding hands. How I wished I could trade places with the beaming girls, jealous of their flushed faces and doting boyfriends. And now…here I was…with my volatile sex buddy. Life was indeed strange sometimes.
Careful to use my free hand to point to the menu options instead of removing my other hand from his warm embrace, I gave him some choices.
“The hot dogs are way better than you might expect. The popcorn is delicious, the nacho cheese is kind of disgusting, and I wouldn’t get a hamburger unless you want to end up in the emergency room with food poisoning. Been there, done that.”<
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Dixon nodded in appreciation for the warning, stepped up to the counter, and placed our order.
“Can I get three hot dogs, one order of popcorn, a pretzel, and two bottles of water, please?”
The cashier rang up the total as I pulled out a few crisp bills.
“Put your money away, sweet cheeks,” Dixon insisted, removing a credit card from his wallet. “You have to let me pay because I lost.”
“That’s not how it works. I didn’t invite you here to make you pay for everything.” I wasn’t some prima donna that made the man shell out cash at every opportunity.
“Alyce, chill out. We’re not at a five star resort, here. I’m buying you a fucking box of popcorn.”
I thanked him politely as we waited for the food, grabbed some napkins, and scoped out a nice secluded picnic table.
Once we were seated, I took a deep breath as familiar smells invaded my senses.
“This food brings back nothing but great memories of when I was little and my grandfather let me eat all the greasy junk food I could handle.”
Dixon picked up a hot dog and took a giant bite, quickly making a very unique face. Don’t tell me that he’s too good for such lowly food? What a princess!
I rolled my eyes and sunk my teeth into the masterpiece before me…and promptly gagged and spit it into my napkin.
“What the fuck is that?” I asked in disbelief.
“Thank God,” he muttered. “I thought you might tell me that I was crazy and you actually thought this shit was edible!”
“I don’t remember the hot dogs tasting like rubber bands. Maybe they changed ownership or something.”
“Or maybe the memories of a little girl were possibly coated with rainbows and sugar sprinkles, and reality was not so perfect.”
Taking a handful of popcorn and sending up a silent prayer that it was marginally edible, I gave the food one more chance.
Big mistake.
I began choking and sputtering, desperately clutching my water and chugging half a bottle at once.
“Salt…too much salt,” I managed to explain, taking one last sip, swishing it around in my mouth, and then leaning over and spitting it onto the grass. While I realize that wasn’t lady-like, there was no other choice.
