by Stahl, Shey
“Oh, well that’s just fucking great. My first attempt at parenting and look what happens!” I wailed reaching for my trusty box of Kleenex. “I can’t do this.”
“Just get another one for him.” he suggested trying to reason with me. “Why are you babysitting a hamster anyways?”
“I’m not so sure that will work.” I ignored his babysitting question. “Wouldn’t he notice if I replaced Blubber?”
“Doubt that.” He snorted. “Last week he had his pants on backwards for the majority of the day and didn’t notice. What makes you think he’d notice a new hamster?”
“It’s just that’s a little more work than I wanted to put into this whole babysitting thing.” I replied sardonically. “Do they stuff hamsters? Maybe if I had him stuffed, Logan would never notice.”
“Yeah because having him stuffed would clearly be less work than buying a new one.”
“Jerk.”
“So anyways,” he said, changing subjects. “I’m really missing you.”
It was times like this that I was reminded of what he meant to me. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders right now while my problems were nowhere near the magnitude of his but here he was, just listening. And here I was complaining about a dead hamster but he was just listening.
I could sense the fear, the pressure and the overwhelming anxiety in his voice. I decided the only appropriate answer here would be sending a picture of the funbags.
This helped of course, and led to another amazing episode of technical support. We were getting really good at tech support these days.
After we hung up I decided hamster sitting was not in my future and would be handing the new purchased hamster over before I could commit another homicide. I couldn’t have two on my conscience, one maybe, two, no way. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.
Charlie came to visit later that night while I watched Jameson on Trackside Live. Jameson was entertaining, handsome and left me crying because I wasn’t there with him.
“Hey what’s the matter with you?” Charlie asked handing me the Chunky Monkey as a peace offering.
“I’m sorry I just...had a long day and I miss Jameson.” I told him sobbing as I continued my rant. “And then I was babysitting Logan’s hamster and the son of a bitch died on me...and I miss my dirty heathen. Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve had sex?”
Charlie was not prepared for that last statement. He didn’t answer, just laid back on my bed and continued to watch the show as if I never said anything.
“Why is this pillow purring?” He finally asked after a good thirty minutes of silence.
“Because...you’re on Mr. Jangles, dad,”
Another few moments of silence passed and Charlie chuckled. “You know that hamster died last week. Logan just refuses to get rid of it.”
“That dirty fucking liar.” I glared toward the television contemplating my retaliation.
Before Emma left for Homestead with Lane to watch Jameson’s final race, she bought me a few movies. Me, being board to the point of insanity, turned on Father of the Bride.
Now before I had this idea to turn on the movie, I was in a euphoric mood at the idea of spending some time alone. Charlie and Andrea took the Lucifer twins to Seattle for the day, so it was just me. Although Van was nearby, he agreed to give me some space this afternoon.
Prior to turning on the movie, I got myself some snacks. Van was also kind enough to stock the freezer with more ice cream. Not that this was his responsibility, but I think he’d become just as hooked on the shit as me. Wavering between Chunky Monkey and Banana Split was somewhat time consuming and a vital decision to be made.
“You’re pregnant and eating for two. You should just eat both.” I told myself. “Yes Sway, excellent idea.”
So I took both pints of ice cream and trotted back to my room to watch my movies. I then decided that I also needed some pizza rolls so that sent me back to the kitchen. After I had a variety of foods to choose from and a Thomas Kemper cream soda, I started the movie.
This was one of those moments again where I could distinctively say, “That’s where you went wrong in life.”
I was bawling by the time the first movie ended, and not in a normal way. It was more like heaving. So there I was heaving, and groaning and drooling and then contractions started. Not bad, but enough I took concern in my stability for the day. I couldn’t gain any sort of control over myself.
Four hours, an entire bag of pizza rolls and two pints of Banana Split and Chunky Monkey later, I was half way through the second torturous movie—Father of the Bride: Part Two.
I couldn’t tell you why I started the second movie.
Stupidity maybe?
The words “Not Prepared” was a goddamn understatement.
I actually had to stop the movie at one point in fear I was heading for preterm labor just based on my anxiety levels.
By the time it was over, my face was so swollen from crying that I could barely see, let alone breathe normally. It was similar to the sound a pig makes when it’s trying to breathe, only worse.
Tissues surrounded me in my bed, along with empty Ben and Jerry ice cream tubs. After spending the better part of the day hysterically crying while eating ice cream and pizza rolls, I had to evaluate my life. I got knocked up and I became an emotional bed ridden retard.
I nearly pissed myself when my cell phone rang but smiled when I saw it was Jameson and then that brought another round of pure hysteria that I couldn’t be there with him for his last race.
“H-h-hello?”
“Sway? Jameson asked alarmed. “Are you okay?”
“No!” I sobbed into the phone wanting him here to comfort me. “I’m watching Father of the Bride, part two!” The words “Part Two” came out in a rather drawn out dramatic way that I deemed completely necessary for the situation.
“Oh,” was all he said. I don’t think he was “prepared” for my answer. There was a lot of unpreparedness happening today.
“I’m having an emotional break down!” I managed to say between my pig snorting and wails. “I want my daddy to see me get married! Can you come home like tonight? We can get married in the living room.” I suggested, still crying.
“Honey, I would do that for you if I could but I can’t.” he explained in a tormented voice. “You know this is the last race, right?”
“Yes.” I wailed again. Even though this was good news to me, it didn’t help my hysteria. To think that I could control my emotions while being pregnant was just downright preposterous.
“Sway, honey calm down,” Jameson soothed in his velvet voice.
“I’m sorry...” I paused taking in a shaky breath and then hiccupped. “I just...shouldn’t have started watching those movies.”
“Are you better now?”
“No!” I sobbed again. Just the thought of the movie made me cry again.
This went on for a good twenty minutes, me being fine and then all of a sudden breaking down again.
Eventually I did calm down, only after Jameson sang Can’t help falling in Love over the phone while I ate yet another pint of ice cream.
“I have to go now honey, I have to get to practice,” he told me after I made him sing the song once more. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes,” I said in a ridiculous attempt at trying to actually be a big girl and not be a pathetic-love-sick-emotional-knocked-up-pigizzle. It was a failed attempt and I was losing it. “Good luck and bring home that championship!”
“I’ll try, are you going to watch it on TV?”
“Are you serious? That’s probably the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me.”
“I know.” he laughed. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Be careful and I expect you to blow me another kiss from victory lane.”
“I will.” He said and hung up.
Once again, I broke down into hysterical tears because he was there listening. The biggest race of his career was t
oday and he just listened to me for an hour complaining about a movie without bringing up his own problems. That right there showed what type of person he was.
Looking back on those last three weeks apart, I saw what he’d become. Inside he was still the man that could make me burn with a single look. He was the man that held me while I cried, the man who kissed me until I was breathless, and still the boy that captured my heart surrounded by methanol and clay. And when combined with what he’d become, he was unstoppable, unavoidable and an overpowering greatness that no one stood in the way of.
Splash N’ Go – Jameson
I woke up the morning of the final race in Homestead, a mess and stared at my ceiling, wondering why Excedrin couldn’t just walk out of my bathroom cabinet, hop onto my bed and summersault its way into my mouth. I had no intentions of getting it myself. I had a headache from hell but I was inclined to think it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t had sex in a really long fucking time. Talk about tension. I needed relief badly.
Spencer enjoyed this the most and every chance he got, he brought up the word penetration. Who knew he could use the word in context that much. If I wasn’t so irritated, I would have actually been proud of him. I wasn’t though—I was just annoyed.
When I got the text from Sway wishing me good luck I jumped out of bed with an alacrity my body hadn’t seen in three weeks.
Cal, who drove my motor coach for me to the various tracks, made coffee. I went through my normal ritual of drinking a few cups and mentally trying to prepare myself for the biggest race of my career when my dad walked into my motor coach.
“How did it go?” He had gone to the arraignment the other day.
“Better than I expected but,” he took a seat across from me reaching for a slice of bacon Cal set on the table, “you won’t be happy,”
“Why?” I growled back at him, this was not improving my mood or helping with my insane headache.
“Chelsea, well, she only got two years at a women’s correctional facility.”
“What the fuck?” I shouted, losing my temper once again. My dad patiently waited for me to calm down before he continued.
“Mariah got ten years and is being charged with a felony. Gordon, well he had a good fucking lawyer and got away with two years.”
This was not what I wanted for these fuckers but at that point, after everything we’d all been through, I was relieved that Darrin was gone and that no other lives would be destroyed because of him. I was relieved that Mariah, Chelsea, and Gordon were at least punished for their involvement but nothing would be sufficient. I wanted them to get life in prison but things don’t always work that way, especially when you’re dealing with the criminal justice system.
What the hell is wrong with me? Why aren’t you freaking out about this?
Look at me, growing up. Sway would be proud. I smiled to myself that she has this effect on me and that I’m no longer ruled by my incredible hulk tendencies. Hah, well I wouldn’t go that far, but I am making considerable progress.
“Who are you and what have you done with my son?” he asked staring at me intently.
I just laughed taking some bacon. “Blame the girl.”
“Huh, who knew a girl could have this effect on you...why didn’t I ever think of that?” he muttered rhetorically walking out.
Once he left, I proceeded to get ready for the drivers meeting but I had a big fucking problem. I was missing my lucky shoes, well, one shoe.
“Where’s Jameson?” I heard Alley ask as she walked inside panicked. “He’s supposed to be at the drivers meeting.”
“Something about only having one shoe,” Spencer told her as he and Aiden continued to play the Xbox. “He’s back there somewhere.”
“Jameson?”
“Yeah?” My head was buried inside the closet looking for my other Puma shoe. “Have you seen my black Pumas?” I tossed a pair of boxing gloves over my shoulder.
Who packs this shit in here?
“Seriously?” Alley asked; her hands on her hips. “You’re running late because of your black Pumas?”
I didn’t answer, just continued to hunt for the said missing shoe. Eventually I asked, “Who packs this shit?”
“I do asshole!” she yelled sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Where’s my shoe then?”
“Fuck if I know.” Her phone beeped so she looked down. “Why do you need it so bad?”
“Because,” I groaned. “I’ve won seven back-to-back races with those shoes on. I need that shoe!” I proclaimed raising my fist in the air like I was leading troops into battle. Alley laughed. I hardly thought this was funny.
Leave it to me to depend on a shoe to win a race.
Finally I found the shoe and was hauling ass toward the media center for the drivers meeting.
It was the same shit as every other week at the drivers meeting but the day seemed to pass quickly
“Hey Jameson, how do you feel about today? Do you think you have a shot?”
“Yeah, I do.” I told the reporters huddled around. “I love Homestead. You can pretty much choose any line you want and make the car stick with the progressive banking. So yeah, we got a shot at it.”
When I exited the media center, the reporters were once again in my face asking me my thoughts on this afternoon’s race but this time, the subject changed rather quickly, catching me off guard.
“So how do you feel about the sentences handed down to Gordon Reynolds and Mariah Fowler?” Ashley asked suddenly.
Of all the reporters out there, I knew she’d be the one to corner me on national television. Part of me was surprised she didn’t help them.
“After what they did to my family—I don’t think it’s steep enough.” I told her continuing to walk toward the grandstands with as much indifference as I could pass off. I should have shut the fuck up after that, but I didn’t. “They nearly killed my fiancée and unborn child. Ten years is not even close to the punishment Mariah deserves and two years for Gordon,” I snorted. “that’s just a slap in the face.” My eyes narrowed at her, the indifference was gone and she knew it.
I’m not sure what my expression was, let’s face it, I’m not looking in the mirror—but the expression on Ashley’s told me she saw what I was intending her to see.
“S-s-so you’re getting married in a few weeks, right?” she stammered, her face flushed as our pace slowed to barely moving.
“Yes I am,” I stated proudly walking away.
Prior to the race, I had a meet and greet for the Children’s Hospital. This was always my favorite part about these meet and greets. I loved seeing all the little smiling faces that would give anything to meet you.
One particular little boy was talkative so I encouraged him further by asking questions. I learned through our in depth conversation that his name was Harlan, and he wanted to be a race car driver who was also a boxer.
“So you’ve got the boxing chops, huh kid?”
His bright blue eyes lit up. “Yes, I do!” and then he proceeded to punch me in the stomach with his tiny fist.
I didn’t flinch of course and instantly saw the disappointment on his face.
“Hold on, I wasn’t ready.” I told him and then rolled my neck from side to side, bouncing on the balls of my feet like a boxer. “I’m ready now, try again.”
When he hit me again I fell to the floor and pretended to scream in pain, this just provoked all the kids to dog pile me, not at all what I planned for.
Thankfully Alley rescued me from the attack and it was time for the race, and more importantly, to get into race mode.
She handed me my iPod as I attempted to drown out the screaming fans, Spencer and Aiden fighting over the last RedBull, and my dad ranting about how I needed to stay focused while threatening to take away my phone.
“Hey dipshit,” my dad said with a smirk yanking my headphones out. “You focused?”
“I was until you interrupted me.” I replied with a smile fumb
ling with the headphones before handing my iPod to Alley.
Jimi slung his arm around my shoulders and squeezed once. “You got this, I have no doubt.” He whispered. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks dad.”
“Remember, this is what you’ve dreamed about, this is it. You’ve earned it.” He patted my back. “You’ve already proven yourself—finish it off.”
I’ve never really thought about what this would all be like.
What would it be like to win eleven races in my first Cup Series? How am I supposed to feel about this? I also never really thought about what it would feel like to have the chance to win the championship in my first season. I never thought about this because really, I didn’t think it would happen.
You don’t realize this kind of dream until it’s happening. You don’t recognize it until you’re right in the middle of it. Surrounded by the screaming fans and the warm Florida sun, I was right in the middle of it. This was what I’ve been working for since I was five.
When I pulled out of my parents driveway five years ago, that afternoon, somewhere between Portland and Chico California, I thought about turning around, but it was Sway who kept me going.
We were sitting outside a Chevron, filling up on gas, when I freaked out and decided I was insane for even thinking I could do it. She was there talking me off the ledge and convinced me that this was what I was meant to do. Without her, I might not be standing on this grid, here today.
I smiled to myself when in that exact moment, standing here on pit road when I was having those same doubts and fears—a text message from her came through.
You can do this! Believe in yourself and believe in your dream. You were born to be a champion!
She was right and in that moment, with the sounds of Linkin Park blaring through my headphones, I realized my biggest day was here. This was it, this was the now or never, the do or die, time to step up and play the game. It was time to show everyone who had ever doubted me that I was born to do this. There was no holding back now.
This would be my eye for an eye.