The Champion (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  I do.

  I wonder if they face the same day-to-day shit that everyone else has to. Do some people have it easier? From up here, from a perspective, everything looks fine as if nothing in their life is shitty.

  But from what I’ve learned—people display their emotions differently and generally, something about their lives is shitty in some way.

  When I was in college, I read a book by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross called On Death and Dying. Elisabeth described that there are five stages you will go through when you’re dealing with grief and tragedy.

  We all go into denial trying to imagine it’s not true. We don’t want to think it’s true. Who really wants to face reality anyway?

  We get angry with everyone. We are angry with people who’ve never experienced the pain and angry with ourselves for having to deal with it.

  Then we beg and plead offering up anything we have not to feel the pain, or just have one more day, one more moment.

  When that doesn’t work and anger isn’t worth it, we get depressed until we accept that we’ve done everything we could have done. We let go. But how do you get to that point and go on living? How do you accept the change and become the person you once were?

  My anger came first. Flashing, blinding, consuming. It started slow, lapping at my lungs, my fingers, my gut, building relentlessly, compelling me to run, to scream, to destroy anything I could.

  My brain was a jumble of senseless firing synapses and my entire body trembled with the nervous energy of it all, from my scalp to my lips to my toes.

  I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus on anything but the wave of rage that drove me to the edge of insanity before it swells and finally, blessedly breaks.

  But after that brief moment of reprieve, when I went crashing headfirst into the next mind-fuck of emotions, I found myself longing for those ebbing, electric tides of anger and rage.

  Because after the anger and the rage comes the pain.

  Oh God, the pain.

  Ripping me wide open to the white-hot sun, dissecting me piece-by-piece, and even after I’ve been left eradicated and empty, it continued to demand more, and more, and more, destroying me piece by piece.

  I wanted to cry, but tears seemed too small, too inconsequential for the massive void.

  I wanted to forget, but the essence of my parents was ingrained into every fiber of my being, and I could no more forget that, than I could forget myself. I didn’t want to forget, I just simply wanted to remember.

  Instead, I struggled to my feet and made my way across the attic, shoving years of memories into cardboard boxes and trying to ignore the fact that, every time another box was shut, a little piece of my soul stayed trapped inside.

  I moved methodically, removing anything and everything that reminded me of them until there was nothing left. I wanted to run, to scream, to destroy but I knew that wouldn’t help anything. I wanted anything but to feel the pain I feel without them here.

  It didn’t feel like I was just losing Charlie, it felt like I lost my mom all over again once I was in the attic surrounded by her memories.

  It’d been years since I’d been up here, and when I was, it was usually during a game of hide-n-seek. I was hardly up here to snoop through boxes then, hiding was imperative. To say I was serious when playing hide-n-seek was an understatement. I once punched my little friend Leslie in the face when she gave my secret location away. Talk about hard-core.

  I reached for a photo that was lying to my left. It was of Charlie and me when he first bought Grays Harbor Raceway—I was six. We were standing by the ticket booth and he was holding the title in his hand. I was on his shoulders, smiling. We looked so happy, so carefree, but the funny thing was that we were.

  The Webster’s dictionary describes grief as keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow painful regret.

  Did I have regret? Yes...I wished I had more time with them. My mother was twenty-five when she died and Charlie was forty-two.

  How was that fair? I just...wished I had more time with them. I wanted, hell, I had no idea what I wanted. I wanted to say it was enough whoever it was that was deciding how much I was dealt. I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle anymore.

  I’d been up here all morning going through old boxes, remembering, avoiding everyone downstairs. Andrea was cooking with Nancy. Spencer, Aiden, Van and Jameson were doing god knows what with Lane and the twins, and Alley and Emma were...actually, I had no clue what they were doing besides annoying me.

  The next person that asked how I was I would probably punch them.

  It seemed everyone downstairs didn’t know that if they were in the kitchen, I could hear them through the vents. When I was younger, this worked in my favor on many occasions to know when my dad was coming upstairs. I always had just enough time to hide any discriminating evidence.

  Aiden and Spencer were arguing about something but I couldn’t decipher what.

  I laughed when I heard Spencer grumble. “Excuse me while I find my balls. I’ve missed placed them somewhere.”

  “Get used to it dude.” Aiden said. “Your wife is having a little girl in four months.”

  I shuffled through the box of Rachel’s belongings that had been left up here and noticed an envelope, marked with my name. I’d never seen it before and it remained unopened.

  Once I opened it, I’d wished I hadn’t.

  Again, this was another one of those times where I was crying and not in a normal way, only this time it was amplified by my post-pregnancy emotions and the loss of my father. Shit-storm is the only word I can think of to put those few moments into perspective for you.

  So the dictionary described feeling sharp sorrow but grief can look like a lot of things that bear little resemblance to sharp sorrow, as the dictionary will tell you. The thing with grief was that it looked different on everyone.

  I watched everyone once I made my way downstairs observing how grief looked on them and wondering if that’s how I should be acting. Was I responding in the ways Elisabeth Kubler-Ross described I would?

  Andrea was standing in the kitchen, baking with Nancy and Alley. When you think about it, it’s not only death that you’re grieving. It’s life and the changing of your life.

  Our lives would forever change by one moment.

  You begin to wonder why it has to hurt so badly but the thing you have to remember with anything, is how quickly that happy right now can turn on a dime. I knew that well.

  I also think that’s how you stay alive. When it hurts so much you can’t breathe, that’s how you survive. That’s how you move on from that numbing feeling. By remembering that, someday, somehow, you won’t feel that way. It won’t hurt this much and eventually, you’ll find solace.

  When I walked into the living room later that morning, I found Jameson in Charlie’s old chair with Axel, intently watching the NASCAR race.

  I smiled knowing he missed the race for me.

  He seemed fine with it, or maybe he was feeling the same as me. Charlie was a father figure to him as well. His expression was blank as he stared at the television as if he didn’t have any more room for thoughts.

  Noticing how everyone around me was acting, I also knew that grief comes in its own time for everyone and in its own way.

  Don’t be surprised if you don’t feel the pain right away. It’ll come eventually. Believe me when I tell you it will come...eventually.

  The best you can do, the best anyone can do, is to be honest with yourself and don’t deny how you feel. Just feel something, anything, because feeling is the first step toward healing.

  I couldn’t find the twins but I had a feeling as to where they were.

  When I opened the door to Charlie’s closet I found them, crying in the corner holding each other.

  So far, since I’ve met them, I’ve never once felt bad for them...until now.

  They may be the Lucifer twins, but they were still only six-years o
ld and had just lost their father, the only father they knew. It brought me back to when my mom died and I was sitting in her closet during the funeral, alone.

  Nobody was there to comfort me but here they both had each other...and they had me.

  The really shitty thing, the very worst part of the grief that consumes you, is that you can’t control it. The best you can do is just let yourself feel it when it comes and let it go when it passes.

  I sat down with the boys, pulling them into my arms.

  “S-w-w-way...” Logan cried against my shoulder. “P-P-P-Pleassseee not leaveeee u-u-sss,” He hiccupped and cried louder.

  “Don’t worry.” I told him. “Who else would annoy me the way you two do?”

  “We...miss him.” Lucas cried, throwing his arms around me.

  For me, I think the worst part about feeling this way was the moment I felt among the living again, it started all over again. And every time—every goddamn time—it took my breath away, crippling me.

  “Can we come live with you?” Logan asked after a few minutes, still crying with an extreme amount of snot coming out of his nose. His arm rose to wipe the snot on the sleeve of his black jacket.

  I’ll admit they looked adorable in their little suits.

  “No,” I told him in the nicest voice I could. “I’m afraid I’d murder one of you...but I love you guys. So...” brushing his chocolate hair out of his eyes, he looked up at me. “I think it’s best if you stay with your mom, here in this house. And for Christ sakes, have her cut your hair.”

  Lucas looked over at me, ignoring my comment about his hair as he too pushed his out of his eyes. “We don’t have to move?”

  “No...this is your house to stay in,”

  I stayed in the closet with Logan and Lucas for close to two hours before Jameson came looking for us.

  We were in our second game of “Go-Fish” by the time he found us.

  I watched the twins make their way down stairs, thinking of the way grief had looked on them and realizing that even though everyone looked different, and acted differently to the grief and sorrow, there were still five stages regardless of the appearance.

  When the denial slowly moved to anger, we usually want to bargain for more time, more of anything. Then comes that blinding depression.

  But then, just when you think you can’t take much more, you finally reach acceptance. You can try to avoid it as I usually do but the reality is, sooner-or-later, you have to accept they’re not coming back.

  Whether it’s anger, depression, denial, or blame; none of that will bring them back.

  Blown Motor – Jameson

  I sat there watching the race on TV with Axel—Justin was racing for me. It sucked missing the race but there was nowhere else I’d rather be than with my family.

  Axel whimpered in my arms, snuggling closer to me after I fed him his bottle. Poor Sway was in no condition to be breastfeeding today. It was comforting to me that just so much as taking care of our son today was helping her through all this.

  The announcers on TBS caught my attention as they began speaking as to why I wasn’t at the race. It started by them talking with Justin as he stood on the grid next to Bobby before the race.

  “Now Justin, you raced for Jameson back in late July last year after his wreck in Pocono...how do you feel being in these full sized cars again.”

  “I’m wondering where the wing is?” Justin teased glancing over the car as though he was inspecting it. “Oh,” he pointed at the spoiler. “That must be it.”

  Bruce, the announcer laughed. “Yeah, that must be it. Can you handle this beast?”

  Justin laughed again.

  “You tell me.” He pointed at the tree in the infield of Rockingham where it read number nine as the number one starting position.

  “Fair enough,” Bruce nodded. “Well good luck today without the wing...do you think you can pull off a win here for the Riley family?”

  “I hope that we can.” Justin nodded with a smile. “It would be great to win here today for that team. They deserve that much.”

  The broadcasting station then cut back to the regular tower announcers where they talked about Charlie and what happened.

  Leaning back in the chair, I placed Axel against my shoulder to burp him, hoping he didn’t puke on me. I couldn’t handle the puke on me, it was repulsive.

  “That family has had its fair share of turmoil in the last year.” Rocky said, a former Cup driver that was now broadcasting the races for TBS. “Here you have Jameson involved in that wreck in Pocono last July and in a constant battle with the former driver of the No. 14 Wyle Product Chevy.” I found it entertaining that even the news reporting stations wouldn’t even say his name these days. “Then his wife was involved in a horrific accident in the grandstands in Loudon in September of that same year. Having just given birth to their first son; this was not the kind of heartache his, Jameson, and the family wanted.” Rocky explained.

  I hated that they were discussing this on national television but it is what it is. It came with the territory. Everyone wanted to know why I wasn’t racing this weekend and for the fans that supported me every week, they deserved to at least understand why I wasn’t racing.

  “Jimi Riley, owner of the Riley Simplex racing released this statement Wednesday morning that said: “We appreciate all your support during our family’s time of need. Jameson will not be racing this weekend in Rockingham. Justin West, driver of the JAR Racing No. 9 Simplex/Power Plus Outlaw sprint car, will fill in for the Rockingham race. Jameson will be back in the car for the Las Vegas race.”

  “With everything this family has been through you only wish that they can get a break from all this heartache at some point.” Rocky said looking to Larry, the other announcer in the booth.

  “We haven’t talked a lot about this family in the past but on both sides Jameson and Sway’s families come from a long line of racing blood.” Larry said conversationally. “You’ve got the Riley side where Jameson’s grandfather, Casten Riley, who, from the ground, built one the largest sprint car/stock car engine manufactures in the mid-west; CST Engines out of Bloomington, Indiana. Jimi, Casten’s son, followed in his footsteps into the Outlaw series and then came Jameson who has made NASCAR history in just one season. Now you look at the Reins family and Charlie’s dad, Luke Reins, who raced sprint cars around the Northwest until he passed away from diabetes in his late 40’s. In the spring of 1987, soon after the passing of his wife, Charlie bought Grays Harbor Raceway, which happened to be the first track his dad Luke ever raced. Now Jameson owns the track and his wife, Sway, is heavily involved in the day-to-day operations. Racing is a huge part of their family and always will be.”

  Rocky spoke up again as I moved Axel back to my lap where he sprawled out stretching after his milk-meal. “You know we haven’t talked a lot about this over the years but we lost Ron Walker last year in Williams Grove and now the racing community loses another great track promoter, Charlie Reins. When he took over ownership of Grays Harbor, he was quickly drawing in the track sponsors and cars flocked to the shady side.”

  They went on to talk a great deal about track promoters and how the racing world wouldn’t be what it is without these guys selling the sales the way they did.

  Ryder showed up after that. I thought he’d be in Ocala, so when he walked in wearing a tie, I choked on my beer.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Ryder smiled down at Axel, “Nice to see you too.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t good to see you man...just caught me off guard.” He leaned forward and patted my back before removing the blanket over Axel to get a good look at him.

  “Sid is driving for me tonight.” He said sitting next to me. “I leave in the morning but I wanted to stop by.”

  I knew why he came. Racing in a sense is all about who you know. We get introduced to car owners that way, sponsors...that’s how the sport operates.

  Look at what happened to me at the Ch
ili Bowl when I was introduced to Tate.

  Ryder knew Charlie from back in the days when he started racing quarter midgets in the late eighties. At the time, Grays Harbor was one of the fastest tracks around and everyone wanted to race there. It wasn’t uncommon for the kids from the East to venture out to Grays Harbor.

  So every year Ryder came out a few times at least and got to know Charlie. Charlie then introduced Ryder to Sid Donco who owned Donco Controls.

  Donco Controls has been sponsoring Ryder in the USAC divisions since he was fourteen years old. Right there goes to show you it pays who you know and treat everyone with respect in this industry. You never know when you could be working for them at some point.

  Ryder and I made small talk for a few moments before I focused on the television again as they started the pre-race activities. Ryder laughed when he saw Justin. “He looks awkward.”

  “He’s looking for the wing.”

  “I bet he is.” Ryder laughed.

  Spencer walked into the family room where we were sitting holding Lane by the ankles. They sat down in the chair next to Axel and me.

  Lane looked over at me as the race began.

  “Can I hold him?” his expression was anxious.

  It was hard on the kids. I’m sure they had no idea why all the grown-ups were crying.

  “He just ate.” I told him. “Are you sure?”

  Lane seemed to contemplate this for a moment before nodding. “I want to.”

  Spencer helped him and soon Axel was sound asleep in Lane’s arms. I decided it was time to stretch my legs for a moment and then find Sway. I left her in the attic this morning, knowing she needed some time alone. I wasn’t really sure what to say to her. She was only twenty-three and both her parents were now gone—nothing I said would be comforting.

  When I walked toward the front porch, I heard my name mentioned from a group of women talking amongst themselves. I recognized the one as Mallory and the other looked to be Jen, our new media relations for Grays Harbor.

  “How’s Jameson holding up?” Jen asked Emma who approached them.