Everything Changes

by Shey Stahl

  My stomach flip flopped thinking about why I was here when Kurt stepped back and leaned against the wall, his head nodding towards Parker’s room. “He missed you.”

  My brow knitted. “I missed him too.”

  Kurt didn’t anything else and when I cleared my throat, he knew I was feeling a tad uncomfortable and let me go back into Parker’s room.

  I sat on the bed in wondering what I was doing here and more importantly, what he was doing with me. Surely, he’d have women throwing themselves at him these days.

  Women flocked to Supercross races with their tits hanging out and legs spread. It was as though those bikes represented stripper poles to them.

  Before we left for the track, he asked the question I was dreading. “Are you mad I didn’t call?”

  I couldn’t look at him sitting next to me on his bed. I didn’t want him to see the raw guilt I had for letting him leave and the resentment a good part of me still had for him not calling.

  I shrugged.

  He lifted his hand to tuck a loose strand of my hair behind my ear before letting it drop back to the bed. He knew then I wasn’t going to look at him.

  He sighed, stood, and walked over to the window keeping his back to me. “I thought maybe you didn’t want me to…and then after a while I had to know why you let me leave so easily. I thought if you didn’t take my call I would get my answer.” He turned to face me, his eyes on the floor, his hands buried in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “But then you answered and everything changed.” His answer was so real and just as raw as my pain because things had changed again. I didn’t know what group of traffic we’d run into, but things had definitely changed again.

  The day was spent at the Edison International Field with Parker and his mechanic, Collin Seely. Collin seemed like a nice guy but spent a good amount of time staring at the pro hos surrounding the Yamaha tent. A pro ho was basically a groupie for Supercross racers. They spent their time trying to gain the racers’ attention and knew nothing about the actual racing. They were in it for one thing, money.

  I had never been to a Supercross race, and I spent most of the time in awe at the size of everything. It was also thrilling because I was there with Parker who was a star in the series. I learned a lot about his lifestyle that day too and the amount of hard work that went into it. Suddenly him not calling made sense. He raced Saturdays. Sundays were his only day off. Monday through Thursday he was training, practicing, and doing any sponsorship commitments he had. Friday was spent traveling to the venue they were at and then they were back to Saturday night racing. It required commitment and the more they won, the harder it was.

  Looking around at the sheer size of everything, I finally grasped how cool it was that Parker had made it.

  The pits at a pro race consisted of tents for all the major manufactures where the bikes lined up. The mechanics worked on the bikes while the riders signed autographs and made hospitality visits when they weren’t racing.

  Watching him doing interviews with various sports broadcasting stations gave me a little more insight into the change within him. His stance was slightly guarded as he looked around often, giving glances and nods to those that walked by and said his name, though he never actually looked at them. He seemed almost absent in mind but here in body.

  Then his eyes would catch mine as I stood near the Yamaha tent with Kurt and his mechanic. He held me with his eyes, one long intense look after another. I felt like he was trying to tell me what I wasn’t seeing. I felt my face flush and wanted to look away. Only Parker looked away first, his attention drawn back to the reporter as he started talking about the track layout and the setbacks he was having with running a different shock this weekend.

  That was when I became obsessed with memorizing every detail about him from the way his stance shifted often to the way his eyes lit up when he talked about being back racing. You could see it in his eyes and smile that racing bikes was part of his soul and more than just a career he pursued.

  Being a factory rider seemed to be taking a toll on Parker, but then again, this was what he wanted.

  A factory ride was to sell motorcycles by calling attention to the brand through winning. There were advantages to landing a factory ride: huge contracts, notoriety, and job security. Where he once had to pay for bikes, travel, and entry fees, those things were now taken care of.

  On race days, factory riders operated out of well-equipped eighteen wheelers instead of box vans. There were disadvantages too. A factory rider’s contract dealt with salary, injury clauses, testing, promotional requirement, and conduct clauses. Conduct clauses had the potential to end a career early as Parker once saw, but then again, maybe he learned from that.

  With Dusty out for a shoulder injury, I hoped that wasn’t an issue an again.

  Money was also something those guys weren’t hurting for. That was evident by the brand new Chevy pickup he was driving around in.

  On average, the salary for a factory rider was $500,000 a year for good riders. Top riders often garnered boot, helmet, and clothing endorsements that could boost that salary well over a million a year. Did I mention these riders were usually twenty-five and under? That was a lot of money for a kid.

  When they won, most riders received bonuses for winning races and championships as well.

  Winning wasn’t always easy, and when you had a contract with a major manufacture, you were expected to perform and do as you were told. When signing a contract, you gave up any claim that the manufacture equipment is liable for any potential injury. The biggest hurdle seemed to be when they were racing they had to promote dealerships and attend autograph signings. It didn’t matter if they didn’t want to go. If they didn’t, it could result in fines by the manufacture.

  There was no retirement, workers comp, or health insurance.

  And then there was the pressure to win…something Parker was starting to feel.

  Not every rider out there was a factory rider. Actually, there were only twelve in the series that year. The rest were privateers, riders without the financial backing of a factory or major sponsorship. They covered most of their expenses themselves and traveled along with friends working on their bikes.

  Most had deals with bike shops to make it, but lining up against factory boys on the starting gate was intimidating when you’re a privateer. You could see it on their faces.

  Why?

  Well not only are they more talented in most cases, but they’ve got their own Supercross tracks to practice on. While factory guys were practicing, those privateers were struggling to make it to the next race.

  Most of my time was spent inside the hauler avoiding everyone. Occasionally, Parker would sneak in, say hello, and then someone else would grab his attention. Jack and Michelle were there, so I spent some time talking with them. They were happy to see me, asked about Addy and my parents, and then confessed they were glad I came, saying I was good for Parker’s mood.

  I hated to think that he would have been acting like I was back home, but then again, if I had the same effect on him that he had on me, the outcome was probably the same.

  I did sneak out when he was on the track to watch him race in the heat races. Heat races were held before the main events as a way to test yourself against the night’s competition. They were only six laps and determined their spot on the starting gate.

  When I got down there for the main event, all the riders gathered in the staging area, and they were just about to start. I stood beside Michelle when Jack walked over with the rest of the mechanics and Collin to hold the pit board. That was the board they used to relay messages to the riders during the race since they didn’t have radios.

  My favorite part was watching them line up at the starting gate, engines revving, bikes rocking as they prepared themselves for twenty laps of racing. Some of the riders had pre-race jitters. You could tell as they rocked their bikes back and forth getting their race face on. Some shook out their hands and arms, trying to loosen up
, while others rolled their necks from side to side or kept their head down, focused on the gate.

  Parker seemed agitated, Collin right by his head yelling orders at him. Parker was adjusting his gloves and goggles when I saw him look my direction. Our eyes stayed focused for a moment before he gave me a nod and then put his head down and stared at the gate.

  A girl wearing tight leather pants walked onto the track to stand about thirty feet in front of them. All the riders focused on her as she held the card that gave the countdown to the race. When she turned it sideways, indicating there were five seconds left, the twenty-four bikes along the starting gate all revved, screaming as they raised the RPMs, the smells of racing gas and dirt surrounding us. The crowd of twenty thousand stood on their feet cheering on their favorite riders, completely engrossed on these twenty-four riders and anxious to get the racing under way.

  A haze of white smoke hovered in the stadium as the bikes continued to rev, each rider aggressively twisting the throttle to warm their bikes.

  Then the nerves hit me. I had never seen Parker race in person. Michelle noticed and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Just breathe.”

  When I saw him race, I truly understood what this meant to him and why he needed to be doing this. I saw a side of Parker in Moab and in that clearing that I didn’t see anywhere else. His love for dirt bikes was what completed him. After his dad died, he needed this to prove he had that talent Dusty was quick to dismiss.

  Parker definitely benefited from his factory ride. Not only did women swarm around him, but the money was flowing. He was a good rider because he could practice whenever he wanted, and he drew positive attention.

  I could see just how much he’d improved. Not that he needed improvement, but I saw it.

  When the gate dropped, Parker got the hole shot but then fell victim to a rider in front of him. He got tangled in the whoops section. He was able gain a few positions back through the sand section.

  When he came back on the leaders, Parker got a good jump on Travis Lahote and Wesley Cameron, two riders he frequently battled with this year. I watched him when he road by us. Collin held up a sign that I couldn’t see, but I saw Parker glance at it before he took the tight corner before the whoops section. After the whoops was a straight stretch followed by two sets of doubles. Mid-air, Parker reached up and pulled away a tear-off and then placed his hands back on the bars to land the jump.

  Most of the twenty lap main was spent with Parker and Wesley, his Yamaha teammate, switching positions. One would lead for a lap, then the other, but they raced each other fair and gave room where it was needed. Not like Travis, who in all actuality, was an asshole and roosted him whenever possible and stuffed him any chance he got.

  Parker, well, he was a clean rider. He was patient and didn’t push the issue, but if he had speed on them, he didn’t hesitate to take the position and get aggressive when he needed. To gain ground after he went down, he did a trick I saw him do a lot on television. When he’d come up to a jump, he’d scrub the top of it—a maneuver where he would take the jump at full speed only to pitch the bike to the side and become horizontal about six inches above the top of the jump—and keep forward momentum, whereas Travis and Wesley would soar over the jump before landing and getting back on the throttle. This allowed Parker to gain the ground he needed but it wasn’t quite enough.

  He ended up taking second to Wesley with Travis right behind him in third.

  When he took the checkered flag, I felt my nerves calm, relieved it was over.

  Parker came back around the track and rode over to the stage. He looked over at me and revved his bike up for me and then nodded. Smiling, I could see the wink even through his goggles.

  Clapping, I could barely contain myself. I had just witnesses my first race and he did so well with me here.

  The top three guys were on the podium, each one interviewed. Parker said little but it was different listening to him talk to the media. “You went down once, second is not bad!” The reporter for ESPN pushed a microphone in Parker’s face.

  “Yeah, it feels good.” Parker smiled taking a drink of Gatorade. “We were all right there, but I had that little extra push. Not enough to get Cameron but Team Yamaha did good. The bike felt great.”

  “Were you getting frustrated when you couldn’t get around your teammate there at the end?”

  Parker smiled again when Wesley nudged him in the ribs, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “It was great...” he pushed Wesley off him with a laugh “...as the track got rough, it was hard to find a line, but once we found it, we had it. I’m good with second.”

  It seemed strange to see this side of Parker, the side that was in the spotlight because he often avoided it. Now there was no way around it.

  After a podium finish, I thought he’d be in good spirits. Instead, he seemed uneasy back at the Yamaha tent and eventually had a few words with Travis about what he thought of his stuffing tenancies.

  There was no time to really talk to him after the race with Collin needing feedback on the bike, Jack talking to him about an appearance he was making tomorrow, and the other riders congratulating him.

  I didn’t actually get to talk to him until we were leaving the track.

  “Nice finish,” I told him back at his apartment the first time we were alone. I knew my flight was set to leave first thing in the morning. I needed to let him know I was proud of him because I was...am...whatever.

  He smiled, kicking the front door shut with his foot and dropping his bag in the entry way. “Thanks, Ro.” His gaze turned heated when he looked down at my legs and leaned against the wall. “Kurt won’t be home tonight, so I was hoping I could show you a proper goodbye.”

  No more words were necessary.

  Once back in his room, actions took over and we both gave everything we had to one another.

  His kisses told me he felt what we had. His passion spoke of what would never be. His touches gave me what I needed. That night, I felt as though I was the only one. I felt as though we were the only ones.

  February 2, 1998

  I often worried what we had that summer would be gone once we were together again. But in his arms, regardless of the time away, every emotion and feeling I had back then returned. The morning I left, the light brought with it the doubt we didn’t want to feel. It was in the air, the breath in our chests, and the beat of our hearts consuming our actions and words.

  There were just some things we didn’t do or speak of. We avoided it and lived for what it was in that moment, undefined.

  I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted to hold on desperately to those times as they were the best in my life. I think Parker was doing the same.

  I knew the nagging feeling was a hint of what was to come, but I couldn’t stop. I wanted to guard myself, but instead I was an open book waiting to be judged by the spotlight of his lifestyle. I knew I would be judged by his lifestyle too. I knew Kayla was waiting to bring me down. Every other girl at that stadium the other night that gave me the look that said I wasn’t good enough for someone like Parker O’Neil.

  The goodbye between us wasn’t what I thought it would be. We didn’t say much but what was said kept me hanging on hope that he was going to call again.

  “Can I see you again?” he asked in the car on the way to the airport.

  I nodded, tears streaming down my cheeks. I wanted to flood my head and heart with the memories of our summer and then last few days instead that moment but it didn’t work.

  Parker pulled me closer, his hands wrapped around my shoulders in the backseat of Jack’s BMW. Luckily, he had the music so loud he couldn’t hear what Parker was whispering to me.

  I nodded and more tears flowed. Parker’s hand reached to brush the tears away, his forehead pressing to the side of my face as I felt his hair brush against my cheek. “I love you, Ro, I do. Please remember that.”

  I wish I could say that I did remember that, but it was hard. Being with him and then
leaving broke my heart all over again.

  I didn’t say anything; I just kissed him. It was wet, mixed with my tears, but he let me kiss him. His mouth was hesitant at first, trying to make sense of the meaning behind my kiss, but soon he didn’t care that Jack was in the front seat. He pulled me closer, so close I felt like he was trying to keep me with him, give me a little piece of himself, or maybe take a piece of me with him.

  I felt like no one knew this pain, not even Parker. No one understood what I was feeling. That kiss gave me a little bit more to go on. Parker needed me in a certain way, the same way I needed him.

  His hand trembled against my cheek, his eyes clouded over like the sky. “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes…” My words shook with my body. He walked me to the gate. Jack stayed in the car seeing what a wreck I was.

  Parker looked like he was barely holding onto his own composure. “Ro…” His chin quivered, his eyes glassy and ready to spill their sadness down his flushed cheeks. His black hat provided a shadow over his face, but it didn’t hide the pain etched into every feature. His brow furrowed trying to find his words. Reaching inside his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper that had an address and a few different phone numbers on it. “Here’s my number…please call.”

  I nodded, my face buried in his sweatshirt. Parker pulled back with a light laugh and peeled the sweatshirt over his shoulders and handed it to me. “It’s my last one…you keep it. I want a piece of me with you always.”

  “I wish it was me with you,” I admitted.

  He nodded as though that was his way to keep from crying. “I know, Ro…believe me…” He lifted his hand to touch the side of my face, his thumb brushing over my trembling lips which were wet from my tears. “I wish it was you with me too.”

  “Now boarding for flight 2489 to Seattle Washington,” the ticketing booth announced.

  We both turned to look at the door opening, knowing our time was up.

  Parker turned back to me, crushed me to his chest, and I felt the sharp intake of breath he took when my sobs picked up. People around us stared, but I didn’t care. My heart was breaking or already broken. I could feel his body tense. His arms wrapped around my body and squeezed a little tighter as if to tell me he doesn’t want to let go.