Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
What a fucking day.
I knew I had it in me, but if you would’ve told me when I was twelve that I’d be signing sponsor contracts after one of my first major races, I’d have looked at you like you were insane.
All of the stars have aligned this weekend, each of them big ass balls of burning gas in the sky are laid out like a road map for me.
Pointing me down the right path at every turn, they even sparkle and cheer for me from thousands of light years away.
The professors at school say stars likely died before their light ever made it to Earth but you know what?
Who gives a shit, they’re dotting the sky like colorless traffic signals and that’s good enough for me.
After dropping the boys off, I decided it was time I went for a drive—needing to be alone to process all of the crazy shit that has happened this weekend.
I chose to take the backroads tonight, abandoning the straightaways and interstates, choosing dips and curves over topping out my speed. It’s so damn easy to get lost out here, to feel the road hum under the tires, the air whipping through the rolled down windows, and peace.
It took all damn day but I’m finally calm; the threat to Ivy, Gene manhandling Nadia—the anger has passed.
I’ve made a new bed to lie in and I’m going to do it with my chin held high.
I refuse to allow the guilt of what I’ve done bar me from a good damn life with her.
Just one more day, one more mass with ma, one more night’s rest at home, then I’ll have Nadia all to myself.
I’m ready.
Pantera comes over the radio, a little harder than what I normally listen to but this song is a major exception.
It’s a Black Sabbath remaster and almost as good as the original, so what do I do?
Turn it up of course. The autotune and warm pre-summer air steals my voice, my subconscious guiding the car through the woods between gravel roads.
Some of them I take because they’re shortcuts that connect to more winding blacktops, others lead me to old stomping grounds that I like to reminisce over.
At the back of the Manning property, for example, sits a worn-down cabin the football team used to hang out at and do stupid shit—many times ending with hangovers and a few black eyes.
Boys are just as hormonal as the girls, when you pack a bunch of raging guys into a small hut in the middle of bum fuck Egypt, fights ensue.
Luckily, I never found myself in one of them because my tastes were more refined than cheerleaders with easy skirts.
Another good spot is the creek running through town where we loved to swim, as long as we went to the north side.
The south has more pollution and trash we didn’t want to get wrapped up in—no one takes care of things anymore and let it go to hell.
One summer I broke my collar bone jumping off of the tire swing that was strung up from a tree that hung over the water.
Since then, someone has cut the tire down, preventing kids from having a good and safe time there.
It’s a bummer really, the more people destroy, the less people have to do and that leads to problems all on their own.
We also used to have a skating rink, I remember going to a birthday party there one year and seeing Nadia with her dad.
He had his arm draped over some young girl, saying god knows what, while Nadia zipped around the rink.
She fell down and the lacquer covered floor rubbed through her pants and right to the skin where it broke and bled.
Back then, girls were gross. They had germs and if they weren’t into boy things I stayed far-far away—my mom was the one who ran over to help pick Nadia up from the floor.
She cried and cried, her skinny arms over my mom’s shoulders, clinging to her like a Koala bear with her clunky skates tapping my mom’s hips.
At the benches, they sat down together as my mom consoled her.
I stayed away. I kept my distance as I watched ma treat her better than her own flesh and blood ever had; I’m pretty sure that’s the day my mom fell for her.
Sometimes I can’t believe how entwined our lives are.
We've existed at the edge of each other’s bubble for the majority of our childhoods, then practically forgot the other existed.
Hell, I didn’t realize who she was until I brought her home to meet my mom for the first time.
It’s no secret, my mom was so happy to see her again.
She even told us story after story that we shared but couldn’t remember.
It wasn’t too long after that I started dating her, giving her all of the free time left over from football and school—I was wrapped around her fingers then too.
The road I’m on now, Darby Parkway meets Ridge Road at the stop sign coming up.
While Darby is nice for unadventurous rides, Ridge is the fun one.
It’s a blast to drift down, the gravel is never set right which allows the wheels to slide with ease.
Each intersection collides with another black top before opening back up to gravel again.
I’ve run up and down this road more times than I can count, if I wanted to I might be able to take it with my eyes closed.
Let’s be honest though, I’m not the smartest guy but I’m sure as fuck not stupid, it’s best to keep my damn peepers open this late in the evening.
I still want to play though.
Pulling onto Ridge, I downshift and gently pick up speed, testing for any grooves that may have been carved into the dirt by heavier trucks—then covered by rock instead of grated and resurfaced, that would make too much sense.
When I don’t feel any, my speed increases as the first S-curve comes up.
Adrenaline pumps rapidly through my veins right as I move into the bend and give the car more gas, throwing her ass out to the right, my hands instinctively counter steering.
The second I’m through to the other side, I yank her to the left and repeat, coming out of the curve sideways.
Straightening her up, we take off again. Force from the acceleration digging her tires into gravel and kicking up dust behind us.
Gripping the steering wheel, a laugh bubbles low in my gut—elation.
Unbridled joy and excitement in doing my favorite fucking thing.
A sharp C-curve is coming up next. I’ll need to hug the inside of the turn without letting the wheels slide off the road, a challenge I always found terrifying but have conquered many times over.
Flicking the brights on, the headlights illuminate everything several yards ahead of me—ensuring the way is clear.
Trees no longer shroud the roads edge in bleak shadows; no, the proverbial red carpet has been laid out and is waiting for me to burn rubber down it.
Right as the angle of the road begins to dip, Delinquent finds her own rhythm and pushes her nose deep into the curve as I press on the gas.
Crunching and rasping gravel groans outside of my lowered window, the slide so damn smooth I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it.
Almost as buttery as driving over sand and having the shifty ground anchor you into place through the remainder of the turn.
Emerging from the curve, Ridge opens up straight where I can gun it again.
A plume of dust and debris flying into the air behind me the faster I go—leaving a trail, no my mark, carving my name and existence into a world far too busy to notice a regular fuck like me.
I can only imagine what the future holds, what changes and events will take place as I grow older and live the life I tailor made.
Too many times I catch myself dreaming about all of the things I’ll get to do when my career takes off, the experiences.
How society will shift, advances in technology, healthcare, war and government, everything.
Hell, even when I inevitably change. Then throw Nadia into the mix with me?
I can’t wait, let me get home, get off this fucking road and sleep so I can rush through tomorrow and race back to her.
Working through several more turns, Ridge begins to straighten out and lose its edge.
One short stint, then another, until they start elongating the further I get around Hazelwood like a halo—or bullseye depending on how you look at things.
The ground transitions easily to half rock and half blacktop.
Delinquents weight and speed disrupts the earth beneath the roads edges, causing them to crumble and fall away a little at a time, adding to the normal erosion.
Cheap towns and counties refusing to fix roads less traveled, like these, in this very condition.
Hazardous as they may be, we still drive down the damn things.
Were it me managing the budget, Ridge would be in tiptop shape all year round, just so I can spend nights like these cruising up and down it without a care in the world.
A field opens up to my left, the home of millions and millions of yellow cone flowers and the critters that hide within the stems and grass.
Their sweet scent floats through the open cab, a too-bright moon lighting up the inside of the car as it spills unapologetically through the windshield.
On the outskirts of the pasture sits a protective border of metal cattle bar to keep trespassers off grazing land, which has since emptied with the death of farming.