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Junior Dragster   

by  Aaron D. Webster © 2008

On a warm Spring Saturday, traffic was backed up on a two-lane country road.

A colorful, chrome-sparkling line of slow-moving vehicles. Race cars, motorcycles, trailers, and All Terrain Vehicles. Some were being driven. Some were hauled inside an enclosed rig, or on a flatbed trailer with car exposed. They all headed toward a gated entrance to the I-57 Dragstrip.

Sounds of tech & tune could be heard. Engines. Burn-out squalls. Echoing patter of PA system. The filtered voice of the Tower Announcer spoke, "Welcome race fans, kids of all ages, and our drivers. Reminding you once again, Time Trials will end around six, then Eliminations begin following our National Anthem. Concession stand's open, serving up ice cold refreshments and the best barbecue in the tri-state area."

A few miles away from the racetrack, across dense countryside, where the echoing voice and noise dwindled in audible range, there was a quiet lonely residential road. Few houses and a few farms with immense acreage. At a three-bedroom home with garage and patio, there was activity. In the driveway, a big moving van was being unloaded. Furniture, boxes, lamps, mattresses, etc. The Holder's (family of four) were moving in.

The mother, Audrey, was supervising her two children. She tried handing a box to daughter Heather but the fifteen year old girl was distracted, using a cell phone. Audrey said, "Phone time, off time, Heather. We need this truck unloaded and returned by six or get charged another day. Call them back later."

Heather said into her phone, "I've got to go. Mom's in her bossy boss mode again. T.T.Y.L." Audrey flexed her back and asked, "Would you like to be in grounded mode? P.D.Q?"

"Not especially, M.O.M."

"Jesse! Where are you?"

The nine year old son exit the garage. He came and helped carry lamps and taped-up boxes into the house. Jesse asked, "When's Dad getting back?"

Audrey replied, "As soon as he's done with his diagnostic therapy and physical."

Heather frowned, "Moving sucks. And now we have to start a new school, and worse, live out here in the boondocks."

Audrey said, "Heather, you've been saying this over and over. You sound like a broken record."

"You mean a glitchy mp3?"

"This is how it is," her Mom sternly explained, "I've now got a better paying job, and we now live the closest we've ever been to a V.A. Hospital. Try to think about someone other than yourself, okay?"

Minutes later, the family's hatchback vehicle arrived. Daniel, a man in his 30s, moved from the car into a wheelchair he set outside the open car door. He then rolled himself to the house. Where Audrey met him with a kiss. Jesse asked, "Did you treadmill, Dad?"

Daniel nodded. "Yep. I ran ninety miles an hour."

"Wow."

Heather smirked, "Nuh unh."

Daniel smiled and admitted, "Twenty miles an hour."

Audrey rubbed the back of her husband's neck as she said, "It's starting to shape up inside. Welcome to our new home, honey."

Daniel pat his hands on his wheels as he said, "Home. Again."

Heather muttered, "Yeah, again."

Audrey added, "The school bus picks them up at seven fifty. At the crossroads."

Heather said, "I'll be so glad when I can drive myself to school."

Come Monday, the two Holder kids were inside the large K-12 Public School. Heather and Jesse's first day. She was in the high school wing, and he was on the elementary side of campus. Heather saw a guy talking to two girls. After the girls moved on, Heather approached him. She was normally shy but she did need to ask someone for directions. It might as well be him. Heather looked at his eyes and she bit her lip when forming the words, "Hi. Do you know where Home Room Four is? I'm new here." The boy answered, "It's at the end of the South Hall. My home room too."

"Both of us? That's a co-inky-dink."

"Co-inky-what?"

The weird word rattled around in Heather's mind after she said it. She shook her head with awkwardness, "Co-in-cidence. Sorry. I picked up that dinky word from my Nana. What am I saying? I got to go. Thanks." She quickly walked away. So embarrassed. To herself, she relived it like a nightmare as she sighed, "Gawd. Co-inky-dink?"

The amused boy caught up with her. "What's your name?" he asked.

No reply.

"Come on. I'm Mitch. Mitchum Shaw. What's your name?"

"Heather Holder."

Walking beside her, Mitchum said, "We all pick up weird words from our nanas. How about this one: Boogie Woogie." Heather laughed. She stopped and looked at him. He smiled. Heather smiled back, "Yeah. I guess we all do."

Mitchum said, "I was once a new kid in school. Been there done that. It's cool."

Heather said, "I ride bus five. That's what it was this morning. Which bus is yours?" Mitchum squared up his shoulders as he replied, "None anymore. I drive to school." Heather looked at his profile and answered, "Lucky."

At the countryside crossroads, came a School Bus. No. 5. Its air-brakes slowed with a hiss of a halt, and out went its metal STOP red flag. Jesse and Heather disembarked. The Holder siblings look both ways and crossed the highway. They had an eighth of a mile walk to reach their house. Heath asked, "So what was your first day like? I think I handled it quite well."

Jesse shrugged, "So did I. Do lockers stick on your side of the school? Hard to open?"

"I don't know."

Jesse said, "Ours do. That kid on the bus, Louie, he's got a theory. Because our lockers face North, an invisible magnetic field attracts and pulls metal just a fraction too much, metal against metal, and that jams up the locker mechanisms."

Heather said, "That's a dumb theory."

Jesse came back with, "I didn't say I believed it. I just said he said it."

A few steps were taken in silence then Heather asked, "How come you don't complain about anything?" He said, "Heather, I'm not bugging a teacher or principal over a stuck locker." She elaborated her concern. "I mean at home. In our family. Packing up, moving around and major life-changing stuff like that." Jesse shrugged, "What difference would it make?" Heather stressed, "We should have a say too. But I'm always outnumbered. You don't take my side on anything, Jesse."

"I'm on Dad's side."

"You feel sorry for him. That's why."

"Don't you? How can you say that?"

"I mean he never stands up to Mom when she makes her bossy decisions."

"He can't stand up to Mom."

"You know what I mean. We left a nice house and a school where all my friends are, just to move here. Which was Mom's idea. Did Dad even venture an opinion to the contrary?"

Jesse kicked a rock, and said, "Big words." She retorted on the beat, "Small kid."

It was the next day. An aging silver-haired man, dressed casual with sleeves rolled up, knocked on the front door of the Holder House. Hearing the knocks, Daniel rolled his wheelchair around a corner of the garage. "Hi. I came to say hi to my new neighbors. I'm Jasper Wynn. From over there."

"Daniel Holder. It's good to meet you. Come around back if you like and get comfortable. Want a beer?" A back patio table is where Daniel was putting together a model ship. An ice chest sat on the ground. He reached in and pulled out a fresh cold beer. Mr. Wynn nodded a thanks, and he opened it. Mr. Wynn identified the model by saying, "Santa Maria?"

"Yeah. In fact it is. I've already done models of the Nina and Pinta."

"It takes concentration and delicacy to put those things together."

"I've got an abundance of that. What do you do, Mr. Wynn? Retired?"

"Not completely," the old man said while studying ship parts. He divulged, "My wife passed away last year. I keep busy. I still do carpentry and a bush-hog and mowing service. I regularly mow some large properties in the area."

"You have some nice land."

"Seventeen acres," the old man said, "This is a nice place right here that you have. It's good to see a young family move in here. You getting settled? Anything you need?"

"Healed legs," Daniel jest, "But other than that, we're okay. My wife and kids are in town. Two kids. I'm just sitting out here enjoying the peace and quiet on a nice day."

"That it is. This county is ideally a nice region," Mr. Wynn said with appeal. "Not much ice in the winters. Few tornadoes if ever. No flooding. A nice spot on the Earth."

Daniel was glad to hear that. But he couldn't help but ask, "So, what's there to do around here?"

That Saturday, Mr. Shaw showed them: An 1/8 mile track. Guardrails and chain-link fence along both sides. The Finish Line/Shutdown Area ended with an acre of sand and dirt. There, the pavement curved back as a U-turn. Return Road had an E.T. Shack where drivers stop to pick up their race result paper slips. That area lead back toward the Tower as a wide paved region: Pit Road. Filled with parked vehicles, trailers, golf carts, drivers, crew, wives, friends, family, etc. On the Spectator Side was parking, a concession food/drinks building, and two sets of metal grandstands filled with people of all ages. Three Holders (minus Heather) sat with Mr. Wynn on the bleachers.

The voice on the P.A. system said, "Foul light on Pit."

Jesse asked, "What's the foul light mean?"

Mr. Wynn explained, "That guy rolled through the beam before he had the green light. Leaving too soon is a foul. Automatic loss." Jesse did a confused double take, saying, "But he reached the end first." Mr. Wynn explained, "Because he left first, but not when the Tree said to go. You can be faster and still lose the race. If you run faster than your dial-in, it's called a Break-out. Drivers can lose because of that. An electronic timing system decides the outcomes. Back in my day, drivers simply took off when someone waved you to go."

Here, Audrey showed her first and only sign of interest and reference. She said, "Like Natalie Wood did in Rebel Without A Cause. Like at Thunder Road in Grease."

Mr. Wynn nodded, "Exactly. Just like that. But later they invented a big funny-looking round clock that stood between the lanes. Then they invented a computer to do it with LED bulbs. Last year, two guys raced each other and technically both won."

"How's that?"

"Pit lane was clearly ahead. But the computerized equations gave the win to the other guy. Because he ran a better dial-in and had a point zero, zero, zero something difference. That race was a humdinger."

The Tower Announcer was then heard, saying, "Up next, second round of Super Pro."

Daniel said, "These are the really fast ones."

"Yep," Mr. Wynn advised, "Hold your ears."

Two S/P cars lined up at the starting line. Their fat tires were still hot from the loud, smoky burn-outs they did in preparation. The green bulb flashed, and the cars went flying past the bleachers. One of them popped its parachute, billowing behind. The two scoreboards showed data which was repeated by the Tower Announcer. "Rally Parts Lane wins with a five point nine. Hundred and twenty-seven miles an hour. Other lane, a six thirty two."

Mr. Wynn told his three guests, "Anything running a four or five is fast. I mean fast. Most of the foot-brake cars run sixes, sevens or eights. Nitros oxide kits give them extra power boosts. The difference of a second makes a big difference. The normal everyday cars run nines or slower. Tens. Elevens."

Jesse was impressed with how much the man knew about the sport. He asked, "How much do the parachuters cost?"

Mr. Wynn replied, "A rail costs about thirty grand. Maybe more, even over fifty thousand dollars. Depending."

Daniel asked, "How much for those kid size motors?"

"They cost about three to five thousand."

Jesse was surprised by his father's inquiry. He took that as something more than Daniel intended. For Jesse, that question of child-size motors had meaning. Meaning Jesse. The boy said, "I want to race. I'm serious, Dad."

Mr. Wynn said, "It's ten dollars to entry and run here on top of the five to get in."

Audrey interjected, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Daniel said, "You're too young."

"No, I'm not," Jesse corrected, "This pamphlet says that Junior Dragsters are kid drivers ages eight to sixteen. That's my demographic."

"Your what?"

"Come on, Dad. You understand where I'm coming from, don't you?"

"Drop it, Jes," said his mother. And she meant it.

"Well, then, why did Dad ask how much one costs?"

Audrey clarified, "Never mind. It's not happening."

Mr. Wynn looked at the boy, and mother and father, and he felt enough comfort and familiarity to tell them something. "My son started racing here when he was thirteen. He ran three different cars eventually. Raced on other tracks too until he was nineteen."

"See," Jesse said, taking this as a point on his side.

"He died at nineteen, Jesse."

"Died? Out here?"

No, not here," Mr. Wynn explained, "Not this track. But a tire blow out and sand-pit flip hurt him bad and he went into a coma. He died in a hospital."

Audrey cleared her throat and spoke up, "Okay, that's enough. No offense, Mr. Wynn, and I'm truly sorry, but this topic is closed. Jesse, you're not racing."

Jesse looked at the old man's weathered face, and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Wynn."

Daniel said, "Just watch, son, as a spectator and stay back. And keep the earplugs in."

That night, in Jesse's bedroom, he played a video game. On second thought, he neglected it with disinterest. He instead looked at his souvenir pamphlet from the I-57 Dragstrip, seeing its exciting blurbs and graphics. Jesse could hear the conversation from earlier today echoing in his memory. The voice of his father asking that most intriguing question: How much for those kid size motors? Then the sad story the old neighbor man began telling: My son started racing here when he was thirteen. And he couldn't mistake the voice of his mother with her definitive input: Drop it, Jes. Jesse dropped the pamphlet. It fell to the floor.

Mr. Wynn sat alone on a wide wooden swing on the lit-up porch of his house. His thoughts were reliving the lifetime he's had up to this point. He sighed. He yawned. In the yard, someone suddenly emerged from the shadows. The boy from next door stepped into the light.

"Hey Jesse. What sends you over?"

"I have to know. Did he win?"

Mr. Wynn was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "If you're free Saturday, why don't you come over and help clean out my garage. The barn. I'll pay three dollars an hour. Job's yours if you want it. Lemonade and sandwiches provided."

"Okay, Mr. Wynn. Thanks. But you didn't answer my question though."

"My son? I saw him win many times. I was a proud pit pop. And when Wyatt lost one, well, that was the either or. Part of life. Just try again."

"I get it. That's cool. What about his last race? That one. Did he win? I mean, the official outcome."

"Saturday."

The barn/garage was deep and cluttered with a lifetime of stuff accumulated. The old guy led the way through stacks of antiques and heirlooms. He said to Jesse, "There's so much junk in here. Records and eight track tapes. Do you know what those are? And forty years worth of auto mechanic tinkering. I need to get this place organized. Should put all of this stuff on internet auctions like bee-bay. Like this old thing here. Let's get this tarp off of this." Mr. Wynn went to a long lumpy tarp that covered something about three feet high and seven feet long. He and the boy each grabbed an end of the tarp. It slid off, releasing puffs of dust, and revealed a Junior Dragster fiberglass chassis. Two small skinny front wheels. But missing back wheels. The seat cavity contains a few stashed items: a football, a spare steering wheel, and two empty soda bottles.

Jesse's eyes lit up. He asked, "Wow. This was your son's?"

"Mm hmm. It'll be a chore to fix up. We'll roll it out into the light of day as soon as this other stuff gets cleaned out first." Later, the garage was emptier than before. The racer was moved near the entrance, so sunlight could hit it. Jesse looked at its every detail and contour and seam, and simplistic gear gadgetry. He asked, "Does it still start?" Mr. Wynn replied, "It needs a new motor. And new wheels. Maybe your Dad will be interested in helping."

Jesse said, "That would be great if he would. I'll help. I want to make this thing look new again. And driveable." Mr. Wynn touched the two empty soda bottles, causing them to clink, as he recalled why they were kept there. And then he looked at the neighbor boy and said, "Maybe that's why you moved here. For that very reason."

"Whatever. Can we paint it a different color?"

"Have at it. What color?"

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it. Well, I need to get home." Jesse started walking away.

"See you around, Jesse."

Jesse was gone.

"Son."

The Holder family were at the table eating dinner. Audrey inquired, "So what did Mr. Wynn have you doing over there?" Jesse spoke between bites. "Just cleaning out the garage." Audrey asked, "He didn't have weird stuff there, did he? Nothing inappropriate?"

"I don't know. What's that mean?"

Daniel agnized her interrogation style and interrupted, "Audrey. Give him a break." She responded promptly, "We don't know the man very well. He could be an oddball." Jesse came to the neighbor's defense. "He's cool for an old guy. Dad, he said you can have his record collection."

"What's he got?" Daniel asked. Jesse said, "I don't know. Some old time music. Platters, Beach Boys, and Elvis, and a Hank Waylon somebody. He's got some band with a funny name. Line-rid Sky-rid."

"What is it?"

"Line-rid Sky-nerd?"

"Lynyrd Skynyrd. That's a real band."

"No. Forget it," Audrey decided. "We have no room for any dusty old albums. And we don't have a record player anyway." Heather looked at Jesse. She got his eye contact and gestured toward Mom, indicating this is one of her bossy moments. Heather said to her brother, "See?"

"See what?" Audrey wanted to know. Heather moved her food around and answered, "Nothing."

Jesse said, "He's got a record player too. I think they belonged to his son."

Audrey did a ‘tsk tsk' with her teeth and lips before saying, "What a shame. His son would be alive today to listen to those records if he hadn't been a daredevil." Having not gone to the racetrack with them, Heather was clueless. She asked, "His son got killed?"

Audrey replied, "Racing. Like a fool."

Heather said, "God, Mom. Can you be even more judgmental about people? Dead people too? It's not a very flattering trait of yours." Everyone was quiet for a moment. Audrey looked her daughter in the eyes. There was a tension building with her ever since the move here. "What's wrong with you, Heather? Everything all right at school?"

Heather's reply was curt. "Yes, Mom. It's peachy keen there. The greatest school I ever went to."

"Don't be sarcastic. I understand it's a very nice school. With a high graduate turn out."

Jesse said, "She's already got a boyfriend."

"I do not. You little twerp."

"Then who was that kid I saw you walking with out front?"

"Don't make a big deal about it. Jesse saw a guy from my Drama Class. We're in a play together." Then Daniel perked up, "You are? When were you going to tell us?" Heather spoke between bites. "It's just a dumb play." Her Mom asked, "What is it? When? We'll come see it."

"That's what I'm afraid of," was Heather's reply.

"Come on, hon. Share some info. Who do you play?"

"I'm the hero's ex-girlfriend. Daughter of an archaeologist."

Her Dad was impressed, "The leading lady. That is too cool. Congratulations, Heather."

Audrey asked, "When's it happening? The date? Is there a real performance to attend?"

"End of May sometime."

That Friday afternoon, Jesse and Louie rode bikes to the racetrack. Jesse wandered around Pit Road, looking at cars and haulers. He approached a Sponsor Rep who stood under a tent. His table set-up had sticker decals, ball caps, and t-shirts with a sporty logo: Shazam Rally Parts . Jesse asked, "Excuse me. Do you have two of those bumper stickers to spare?" Sponsor Rep replied, "Decals. Sure. Here." Jesse was handed two cool-looking adhesive decals. Jesse said, "Thanks." When he got home, Jesse sat down and wrote on the wax paper backside of a decal. He then put that decal inside an open model box at his father's hobby work station. The penned message read:

Dad,

for your wheels

J

Later, Daniel found the decal. He called Jesse to the garage. "Cool. Thanks, son," he said and they stuck the decal on the wheelchair. There it remained. "What is the top speed on this thing?" Jesse joked. Daniel swiped his son's hair, with a chuckle. But he didn't know about his son's visits to the racetrack, nor the restoration efforts in the barn at the Wynn Farm.

Spanning a few weeks, Mr. Wynn and Jesse restored the small dragster vehicle. They bought replacement wheels. They painted places that were peeling. They tuned up the engine. Fired up the motor. They rolled it out one day and Jesse climbed in. He drove a few yards. It died. More mechanical work. And a few days later, they tried the engine. It started and idled, sounding healthy. Jesse and Mr. Wynn admired their hard work with the vehicle cleaned up and ready, outside. With an aura on it from the setting sun, beautiful colors reflected off the chrome trim.

"Good job," was all Mr. Wynn could say. Jesse looked at it from many angles and asked, "So when can we take it to the track and really run it?" Mr. Wynn had anticipated that question. He paced and said, "I don't feel right taking you if your folks don't know or approve."

"Yeah but –"

"Instead I could haul it over there and let one of the regular drivers who can fit in it, make a few test passes with it." Jesse frowned and turned the steering wheel. He said, "Somebody else drive it first? Well, Mr. Wynn, it is yours and you have the right. I understand."

"You're a sensible kid, you know it?"

"I'd like to see the test pass happen."

"Next weekend. Okay?"

"Okay."

Daniel sat in a regular chair at the dining room table. There, he was making a scaled-down model of a '63 Corvette. Jesse had been to the kitchen for a snack, and seeing his father's interest in a car model this time, Jesse was tempted to reveal the secret of the fixed-up Junior Dragster next door. He wanted to tell him. To boast of the work that had been done and the plans for it to come. But all he mustered up was a "Dad..." and a "Nothing. Forget it." And Jesse went to his room.

Daniel shrugged it off and continued glueing pieces together. Getting glue on a finger, he wiped it off on a paper towel. That's when stuff got moved by accident and a little rubber & plastic wheel rolled off the table. It bounced across the floor. To the kitchen linoleum, where it rolled a loop-de-loop and many revolutions in one spot. Winding down, it finally stopped. Lying there. Some ten feet away.

Daniel looked at the prodigal model part and said, "There you went." He moved his chair and got to his feet. He tried to walk, toward the kitchen, to retrieve the model tire. He took a few slow struggling steps. Jesse came back and suddenly noticed this. He watched. His face lit up. "Dad. You can do it, Dad." And Audrey entered the room. Her face paled. "Daniel? Stop."

Daniel took a few more steps. Jesse said, "He's doing it, Mom. You're just fine, Dad. You're okay." Audrey was worrying. She demanded, "Jesse, shut up." Daniel slipped, and fell to one knee. He told his wife, "Don't say that to him." At this point, Heather appeared and watched. Audrey approached her husband, saying, "Honey, get back in the chair." Daniel reached down and picked up the model tire.

And Audrey reached for his shoulder. "Don't touch me," he said.

"Help him, kids. Don't just stand there."

"Stop. Everyone. Back up. I'm doing it myself." Daniel gets to his feet on his own. Stable footing. His arms balanced him. With steady equilibrium, he stood stoic and looked at his family. He said, "This is my house and I'll walk anywhere I want to walk in here. Anytime."

Heather's reaction was "Wow." Upset, Audrey asked, "Daniel? What's wrong with you?"

Jesse smiled and said, "You tell her, Dad." And then came Mom's reflex reaction. She backhand slapped Jesse's mouth. It startled him and a cold chill came over everyone.

"Audrey?"

"Mom? What's wrong with you?" Heather was shocked.

Audrey touched her son's face, gently, and she said, "I'm sorry, Jesse." Then she left the room. Daniel sat down in the table chair. He mumbled, "Walk anytime. All the time."

Over at the Wynn residence that night, the lit porch is where the elderly man sat in a swing. And Jesse sat on the edge of the steps. Downcast. Not much to talk about, it was quiet save for the crickets in the night, and a creak of the swing's chain suspension.

Suddenly, Mr. Wynn said, "Look. A shooting star."

"Where?" They looked toward a shared focal point. A tiny white sliver raced across the black sky. "Make a wish," Mr. Wynn said. Jesse looked away, and muttered, "That wish almost already happened."

Inside the garage, Daniel sat in his wheelchair at a work station. He spray painted the car model. Heather came out here to see him. "Dad." Daniel advised, "Hold your breath. Don't breathe this stuff. How does it look? I got a little too close here. It globbed and dripped."

"Dad, can I talk to you?"

"Any time. You know that."

"Mom has changed a lot in the past couple years."

"You think?"

"She apologized to Jesse again while ago."

"Did he forgive her?"

"Yeah. I heard him say so."

"That's what matters."

Heather paced and said, "The way she reacted was way out of line, but the way she discouraged what you did is out of line too. The idea of you trying to walk, she's spooked by it. She doesn't want you to try? I don't get it." Daniel answered, "I know. It's an issue she's got to work out."

Heather suspected, "She thinks you're not capable of walking again and having everything back to normal. I bet she'd deny thinking that way, but that's it."

"I know, Heather. She's pessimistic. She's given up hope."

"I haven't." Heather hugged him.

"Thanks, babe."

"So, that's a cool model, Dad."

"When it dries, you can put it in your room if you want."

"Every time I look at it, I'll think of how much you love me."

"How's the school play coming along?" He asked.

"All right. I'm slowly learning my lines. It's not a serious script. There's goofy funny stuff in it."

Her Dad said, "We could sure use some laughter, don't you think? And lighten the load on our heavy hearts." His daughter agreed. "That much is true." He said, "Break a leg. That's the old saying."

Later, Daniel was alone watching television in the living room. The TV channel broadcast the 1927 silent film epic "Wings." During the scene where the sweet girl next door paints a shooting star on a guy's new convertible car, Jesse entered the front door. Coming home. Daniel put his hand out, palm up, for a five slap and said, "Pardner. A little late, aren't you?"

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Hey. Thanks, son."

"For what?"

"Everything. And your hope. Encouragement. Your confidence."

"I love you, Dad. You're the man."

"Get to bed."

Audrey read in bed. Daniel wheeled himself to the doorway, from the hall. He came in and closed the door behind him. Audrey watched as he rose out of the wheelchair. To stand. To walk toward the bed.

He said, "You maybe don't realize this, Audrey, but allow me to explain it to you. See, your fear and your pessimism and complacent attitude is trying to keep me down."

"What? I don't mean to –"

"Despite a few scars and nerve damage, these legs are still here, attached."

"I know."

"These are the same legs that ran to catch a metro bus route going out of my way just so I could sit by you on your way to campus. These are the same legs that steadied my stride as I carried you over the threshold in our first apartment."

"Daniel."

He made his way to the bureau, in struggling steps. He declared, "These are the same legs that will walk our daughter down the aisle on the day she gets married." Audrey was now in tears. She said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for doubting all of this. For getting –"

"Getting what, hon?"

"Getting used to you being...having impaired mobility."

"Yeah? Well, none of us should get used to it. Least of which me." At this point, Daniel sat down on his side of the bed. After a successful walk from the door to the bed. Audrey said, "I'm proud of you."

He replied, "I'm proud of me too." He laid down. She put her arm across his chest, and looked him in the eye, closely. Tenderly close. Daniel added, "These are the same legs that will chase after the grand kids running loose. One day."

"I believe it."

"Do you? You do? Finally? Because I know you didn't before. If we can't share that hope, then what else can we? Except sharing resentment over it. That's no good." She kissed him then rest her head on his chest. She said, "I feel your heartbeat." He sighed, "Beating fast after all that exercise from the door to here." She said, "Got you warmed up, huh?" She looked him in the eye, knowingly. He smiled and turned out the light.

Friday night at the Dragstrip was a Test & Tune open track. Escorted by Mr. Wynn's directing, Jesse rolled toward the white paint starting line for a bye run. The Tower Announcer said, "A test pass in the spectator lane by Jesse Holder. Age nine."

The Tree staged accordingly. The pinnacle blue light atop came on meaning the contraption was Tower Ready. Lower, two twin yellow bulbs lit. One then the other. One second later, the three vertical descending bulbs sequenced in a rhythm: yellow, yellow, green.

Jesse was gone. Zooming down the track. He has the accelerator peddle floored. The digital scoreboard first displayed the reaction time: .545. The Tower Announcer reported, "He cut a great light. A five forty-five react." At the big end, Jesse crossed the finish line. When he broke that set of photocell beams, the scoreboard showed new data. It read: 11.114. The elapsed time of his run.

On Pit Road, Mitchum and his Dad unloaded his own impressive rail from a trailer hitched to a pick-up truck. A few friends approached them. "Hey Mitchum. Hey Mr. Shaw." One kid said, "I thought you weren't driving a Junior Dragster anymore." Mitchum frowned and said, "That's next year. Dad won't let me drive the Super Pro car yet. But I'm getting too big for this thing."

"Mitchum, that kid who just went beat your best reaction time."

"Are you serious? Who?"

One kid pointed and said, "Him."

"Who is it?"

"Jesse somebody. He just cut a five forty. Forty-five."

Mitchum's response was a bad word. His father said, "Watch it, son."

At Jesse's parking space, Mr. Wynn turned the motor off and Jesse hopped out. He asked, "How did I do?" Mr. Wynn said, "The best reaction time I've seen in a long time. Especially for this old crate. A bit more tech and tune and we'll nail the right dial-in." Jesse asked, "We could set it for what I just ran. Right?" Mr. Wynn said, "We could. But that means you need to run the same way again to –"

"Match the same numbers. Same time." Jesse took a sip of his soda and then said, "This is so cool. I wish my Dad was here to watch. But I'm still afraid to tell him." Mr. Wynn said, "He might understand. He's welcome to come along. I'll pay his way in."

"Am I ready for competition?"

"Oh, you will be," the seasoned mentor emphasized, "Remember to focus on your lane and the Tree. Not watch the other guy. The bulbs should be peripheral in your sight. You know what that means? Your focus is directly ahead. But over here to your side, whichever eye because of whichever lane you're in, those lights can be seen peripherally. Don't look right at them. But see them anyway. Get it? And then go. Go. Go."

In the next half hour, five motorcycles and a dozen Foot Brake cars ran. A 1953 Bel Air made a pass as a Test Car. In the staging lanes behind the Tower, Mitchum gunned his idling engine in Lane 2. And Jesse pulls into Lane 2, behind him. Mitchum stood up and looked back at Jesse. Mitchum said, "You want to race?"

At the starting line, Mitchum was in the Spectator Lane. Jesse in the Pit Lane. Mitchum looked over at Jesse. Jesse looked at Mitchum. Then their eyes looked straight ahead. The Tree sequenced. Both scoreboards showed data. First, the reaction times. Spec: .680. Pit: .550. The race over, the boys turned onto the Return Road, Mitchum in the lead. The scoreboards showed final data. Spec: 10.920. Pit: 11.280. The Tower Announcer, getting this directly from the indoor computer screen, said, "Win going to the Spectator Lane, Mitchum Shaw."

In Jesse's bedroom that night, he looked at his E.T. slips. He had four small paper strips with columns of ink jet printed data. A start of a collection. Suddenly, Heather entered, closing the door behind her. She said, "You were racing? At that racetrack?"

"Uh, what do you mean?" He hid the E.T. slips. She said, "You were driving a race car tonight at that track near here. Your name was announced on the sound system. Duh. They know your name there?" Jesse answered, "I had to sign a tech card I filled out. It's a rule. How do you know?"

"Mitchum told me about it."

"Your boyfriend. Mister big mouth."

"He's not my boyfriend. He's a friend. And come to find out, he races there, and he raced you?"

"He beat me."

She smirked. "Serves you right, twerp. Why were you even there? Where did you get a race car?"

"It's called a rail."

"I don't care what they call it. How did you get inside one anyway?"

"It's a secret."

"Bull."

"Don't tell Dad. Let me tell him. I've been wanting to have him come out there and watch me." Heather wadded up a sheet of notebook paper and threw it at him. She said, "Good luck with that. You're in so much trouble that it hasn't even fazed you yet how much trouble you're in."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Dad would understand."

"Well, yeah, maybe he would. But Mom will go ballistic."

"Don't worry about it, Heather," Jesse said as he picked up the wadded paper and threw it back, "Mind your own business. So what else did your lover boy Mitchum tell you?" She replied with a grin, "He raced you. And he beat you. Ha."

"He won't always be able to say that."

"What's that mean?"

"It means I'm going to beat him one of these times."

"Twerp." And she exit, with a door slam.

Another week went by. Jesse did test passes with Mr. Wynn accompanying him. Jesse's parents did not know. Yet. Heather knew and never let Jesse forget it. The next Friday night, Jesse arranged to stay all night at Louie's, and of course, Louie went with them to the racetrack. The trio were eating barbecue sandwiches when Louie took a look at his cell phone which he had left in the truck bed. He said, "Jesse, I got a missed call. It's your Mom. She tried calling."

"What for?"

"I don't know."

Mr. Wynn said, "Call and find what she wants."

"What if she wants me home now?"

"We'll have to leave."

Jesse took the phone, and he entered a Port-A-Potty and closed the door. A minute later, Jesse came out in a hurry. Without the cell phone. Louie said, "Well? Did you talk to her?" Jesse had a glazed-over look on his face as he replied, "Yes. She wants me home. I didn't finish chores and I'm in trouble. She's picking me up at your house in about fifteen minutes." That glazed-over look was contagious. Mr. Wynn had it next as he said, "Fifteen minutes? Let's load her up."

"This is so not good."

They ramped the vehicle up onto the trailer. Mr. Wynn tied it down. Louie asked, "Where's my phone?" Jesse admitted, "I accidentally dropped it."

"In there? In the –"

"Sorry."

Mr. Wynn's truck & trailer hurried to Louie's home, letting the boys out. Mr. Wynn said, "Better luck next time, boys." And he drove away. Mrs. Holder arrived. Both vehicles passed each other. Jesse gulped seeing that happen. As Jesse got in his Mom's car, he said, "Sorry about the phone." Louie frowned. "I still had prepaid minutes on it."

Back at the track, Mr. Shaw returned from the concession stand and he told his son, "That Holder kid has left." Mitchum shrugged, "So? He's no real competition anyway. He's just the little brother of a girl I go to school with." Mr. Shaw said, "It clearly bugs you, his reaction times being so damn good. Yours are getting sloppy, son. Maybe you're not ready yet for the price and power of a Super Pro car."

"What?"

Then came the day Jesse anticipated. He just picked his moment and the time was right. Or wrong. Either way, it was time to let his father know. Daniel was under the hatchback car, changing the oil. Jesse crawled under the car beside him. "Dad. I need to tell you something."

"What? Is this about your grades?"

"No. My grades are actually okay. I like my teachers."

"Well, that's rare. But that's good. So what is it you have to tell me?"

"I'm a Junior Dragster."

"A what?"

"Junior Dragster. For the past two weekends, I've been signing in and driving at that raceway."

"You what?!"

In the barn, Mr. Wynn and Jesse showed Daniel the restored racer. The old man said, "I didn't like the idea of you not knowing. I would race it myself but I can't fit inside it. And there are a few guys at the track experienced who could test her out, but I trusted Jesse to, more than I would anyone else."

"I worked hard restoring this, Dad."

"That he did. He pitched in and helped and learned a lot. And he can handle her real well. Your son has the aptitude. His reaction times are incredible. He could be darn good with practice." Daniel shook his head and sighed, "Jesse. Jesse."

Mr. Wynn looked Daniel eye to eye and said, "You can hold me responsible, Mr. Holder. I instigated it. It was my doing. See, this used to be my son's when he was a youngster. And it's been cooped up in here in the dark for decades now. I just hated the idea of it gathering dust and not giving anyone the joy and thrill of racing it."

"Do you understand, Dad?"

"Yes, I do."

Mr. Wynn said, "You are most welcome to go along and join us. But if you forbid him to drive it again, I'll understand and respect that. And he won't anymore. But I couldn't let another weekend go by and you not know about this. Daniel."

Daniel wheeled himself all the way around the racer and asked, "You really sit in that, the motor running, and zoom down the track?" Jesse smiled and replied, "Yep. Topping out around fifty three miles an hour. It's safe. And a lot of fun. Like riding go-carts."

"They're not as fast, son."

"Are you going to stop me from driving it?" Mr. Wynn and Jesse looked at Daniel, awaiting his reply. He looked at his son, and at the neighbor man, and he appraised the racing machine. And the next time the track was open, Daniel was there too, with them. He saw Mr. Shaw and Mitchum pulling their own racer. Jesse waved. Mitchum did not wave back. Daniel asked Jesse, "So that's the kid Heather likes?" Jesse replied, "Yes. He's not very friendly. I guess he thinks he's a big shot." Daniel said, "If he comes around to the house to see her, he's definitely going to sit down for a confab."

Jesse looked toward the staging lanes and he decided, "I want to go stage again. But should we wait for Mr. Wynn?" Daniel said, "I can get you there." He held out his hand for the rope. Jesse fed a twelve foot rope through the eye-hook on the front of the dragster, then gave an end to his father. Daniel began wheeling himself, pulling the vehicle. Jesse held the other rope end, walking alongside. He said, "Thanks Dad. I knew you'd understand about this racing thing."

"I was a kid once."

"And a soldier, too."

"I know what it's like to want to do exciting stuff."

"Just think the trouble we'll both be in if Mom finds out about this."

"When. Not if. She'll have to find out sometime."

Jesse imagined, "It'd be great if I could win a trophy or something before she does find out. She couldn't just stop me if I was already a winner."

Being paired with Mitchum, Jesse fired up the engine, and climbed in. Daniel removed the rope and coiled it. He said, "Go for it, son." The Staging Chief waved each boy into the burnout box. The Junior Dragsters pulled forward onto the racing pavement. Mitchum in the Pit Lane. Jesse in the Spectator Lane. The announcement went, "Two Junior Dragsters at the starting line. Mitchum Shaw squaring off against Jesse Holder." At the starting line, Mitchum looked over at Jesse. But Jesse did not look at Mitchum. He looked straight ahead. The Tree sequenced. The wheels rolled. Each scoreboard showed a reaction time. Spec: .514. Pit: .590. The final data read: Spec: 11.000. Pit: 10.889.

Later, as Jesse, Daniel and Mr. Wynn ate barbecues, the boy said, "If all I can run is elevens and that kid can run tens, then he'll always win." Mr. Wynn corrected him, "Not necessarily." Daniel said, "The other driver could foul out." Mr. Wynn said, "Exactly. Sometimes a driver gets jumpy and fouls on the starting line. Right there, it's over."

Jesse studied on that and said, "Yeah, but is it possible to make this engine go faster and run tens?" Mr. Wynn said, "You cut another great light while ago. Keep on doing that, Jesse. When you leave the starting line is just as important as when you cross the finish line."

Meanwhile, elsewhere on Pit Road, Mitchum looked at his own E.T. paper. He said to his father, "I have a five ninety. And last week, a six eighty. And he's got a five fifty. And a five fourteen." Mr. Shaw shrugged, "But you won." Mitchum explained, "That's not the point, Dad. I can always beat a guy running slower than me. It's the reaction times that bug me."

Mr. Shaw advised, "Don't sleep on the Tree, son."

Mitchum resented that blunt advice. He wadded up the E.T. slip and tossed it away. And with a tone of mockery, he parroted his father's words. "Don't sleep on the Tree, son."

The next set of Junior Dragsters racing that night was Mitchum vs a girl named Bailey. Jesse chose to do a bye run. Then later, it was Jesse vs Mitchum. The older boy won, again, but Jesse again, had the better reaction time. And again, Mitchum wadded up another E.T. slip.

Jesse stood in line at the concession stand. A young girl came along and stood behind him. Jesse looked back at her. She wore a pink trimmed one-piece yellow uniform. He asked the girl, "Are you a Junior Dragster too?" She nodded and said, "I'm Bailey Netherton."

"Jesse Holder." She said, "You have a really nice racer." Jesse replied, "Thanks. You too. Mine belongs to a neighbor. I helped him restore it over the past month or so. He hasn't had it on a track in a gazillion years." Bailey said, "You and I haven't gone up against each other yet." Jesse replied, "Not yet. But we've both been beat by that other kid."

Bailey said, "He's a jerk. But a real good driver. He's probably got a dozen trophies already." Jesse asked, "Do you have any?" She answered, "Two. But one's a consolation prize from a night I had no one to compete with, and so they gave it to me by default. I figure I didn't really earn that one. Do you have any?"

"Not yet."

The next Monday, Audrey was driving alone, headed home. She passed by Mr. Wynn's residence. Looking, she spied the racer on the trailer. She said to herself, "That's one of those little ones that children race." Her intuition went into effect. Audrey knew and she confronted her son and husband. And they admitted it. Jesse has been driving it. She said, "Is this region motor-happy or what?" She was outraged. She went down the road and confronted Mr. Wynn on his porch. "How dare you?" she said, "Mr. Wynn, you had no right to go behind our backs, and encourage and assist my son's foolish interest in racing. Which he was never interested in before moving here anyway. How dare you. You had no right to get him involved in your own nutty hobbies. Dangerous hobbies. Stay away from him."

Mr. Wynn never got a word in edgewise, and respectfully, he didn't try. He foreseen some version of this complaint and now it was happening. After Audrey spoke her piece, he said, "Yes, ma'am. I suppose you're right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm." And she backed away, toward the car, and said, "Yeah? Well, there was harm. His arm's hurt and there's a trust issue here that's damaged. Stay away from my son. From my kids." And she slammed the car door, and drove back to her own residence. Mr. Wynn sat down on the steps, and he exhaled sadly. He didn't know yet what she meant about Jesse's arm, but he wasn't going to pry. Not now. He looked over at the doghouse set in the shade of a tree and he spoke to his quiet pet. "Leave well enough alone. But I didn't."

That night, Audrey locked Daniel out of their bedroom. She sat in bed reading, and at some point, he came along on the other side of the door and knocked. He said, "Let me in my own bedroom." She ignored him for a while, then he knocked again. She said, "Go sleep on the couch. Go sleep in a race car. Go sleep under the bleachers." Daniel got the hint, and so he slept on the couch.

A day later, a County Sheriff Car idled in the driveway of the Wynn residence. The Sheriff gave a folded document to Mr. Wynn. An hour later, after the old man had read and re-read, and read yet again the wording of the Restraining Order, he telephoned the Holder residence. Over the phone, Daniel said, "I'm sorry about this. I had no idea she would react this way. I personally think it's carrying things too far. I'm sorry." He hung up. Audrey appeared, suspicious of that call. Knowing the answer, she asked, "Was that him?"

Daniel looked at his wife and all he saw was a cold countenance. He said, "You filed a restraining order against him?"

She nodded. "For endangering our son. Corrupting a minor. It's a serious violation."

"I can't believe you did that. How overboard extremely paranoid can you get, Audrey?"

She said, "I did what is best for my son."

"He's my son too. And I've seen him race, and he's good, and he's happy doing it."

Audrey addressed that, "Yeah and you went there with him behind my back, Daniel. How can I respect that? How can I trust you?" Daniel responded, "How can I respect you filing a restraining order on that nice old man? That's going too far. I can't believe it. You take the cake."

She paced and said, "I'm not discussing this right now. I've got shopping to do."

"Yeah? Buy a conscience."

"My conscience is clear. Jesse wouldn't be hurt if it wasn't for a strange old man trying to resurrect his own reckless son vicariously through our son. Our impressionable son. That is disturbing and an endangerment. And that's why I did what I did. Would you want some neighbor guy teaching him how to bungee-jump or parachute or something else ridiculously dangerous?"

"Audrey, how fast do roller coasters go? Fast. And kids ride them all the time. The Junior Dragsters only go about fifty miles an hour."

She gestured with arm waves, saying, "And how many children drive that on the highway? None. Little kids are not allowed to drive. Duh. I can't believe there's a loop hole blind spot with racetracks allowing kids to drive fifty miles an hour."

"It's the parents who allow it. They sign a release. As Jesse's father, I will allow it. I don't see a problem with him racing."

"You don't, huh?"

"Go watch him sometime."

"Go look at his arm. He's hurt. And it wouldn't have happened if –"

Jesse appeared, eavesdropping. He spoke up. "Mom. It's not the track's fault."

"What? Go lay back down."

Jesse persisted to make his case. "No. Listen to me. It's not Mr. Wynn's fault. It's my own fault. I was on my bicycle goofing around on a bike trail through the woods. I didn't get hurt at the track."

"But you were on your way there, right? Same thing," she rationalized then added, "And stay out of these strange woods. You are so grounded. For your own good."

Daniel said, "Son, you did right speaking up just now. Explaining what really happened. The truth should never get lost in the heated debate of emotions and assumptions. But it's okay. Go get some rest."

Audrey grabbed her purse, and car keys, and said, "I've got shopping to do." Her voice trailed off in a mumble of a grocery list as she exit the house. Jesse, being concerned and confused, asked, "Dad, what about Mr. Wynn? He's been restrained? What's that mean?"

Daniel explained, "Police have informed him that he cannot come within five hundred yards of you. If he does, he could be arrested." Jesse got bug-eyed. He asked, "So he has to move his house? He lives closer than five hundred yards, doesn't he?" Daniel said, "We'll get this straightened out. Just go kick back and relax, and keep any weight off that arm." Later, Jesse looked out a window where he could see Mr. Wynn's property in the distance. "Sorry, Mr. Wynn."

Mitchum's car was parked in a quiet spot outside of town. He and Heather sat inside, talking and kissing. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and said, "Why don't you tell your brother to give up his lame idea of racing."

"Why? Think he's not good enough?"

"Oh, it's easy. Anyone could do it. A trained monkey could drive one of those kid cars."

Heather joked, "Like you?"

But Mitchum took umbrage and sternly specified, "Hey, next year, I'm driving Super Pro. You just wait. There's a bad-ass door-slammer my Dad's having prepped for me. I'm graduating from kiddie rails to go run against the big dogs, for points and big money purses. Starting next season."

"Well, great. Good luck. What different does it make to you if Jesse races anyway?"

"Every time I beat him, it just makes him a loser. I'm dating a loser's sister?"

"Excuse me?" She got out of the car.

"Get back in," he said. Heather pointed at him and made her point. "Beating him doesn't make you a winner. Especially if you're just a egotistical jerk no matter what."

Mitchum snarled, "Don't lecture me. What do you know about anything, drama girl?"

"Take me home," she said, reaching for the car door.

"Walk home. You're just a tease anyway." He drove away, leaving her here. She ran after the car. He did slow down - but to toss her purse out the window. He then peeled out, and sped away. Gone. Heather picked up her purse. She took out her cell phone and dialed home. "Pick up. Pick up. Jesse? Is Mom and Dad there?" She heard, "No. They went to Rob and Carol's to play pinochle or something. Where are you at?" She answered, "I'm stranded. Outside of town. I don't know. About fifteen miles from home. I don't know how many miles. I need a ride."

"What happened? Where's your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend. He left me here. We had a fight and he took off without me. Now I'm on foot and all alone."

"I'll ask Mr. Wynn to go get you."

The Holder car pulled in the driveway, Audrey driving, Daniel passenger. They were getting out right when Mr. Wynn's pick-up truck arrived. Heather muttered, "Oh, great timing." She and Jesse got out of the truck. Livid, Audrey demanded to know, "What's going on? Why were you with him? You're supposed to stay away from him. That means you too, Heather."

Heather walked past her Mom, not even wanting a confrontation. She went in the house. Jesse explained, "Her boyfriend ditched her somewhere all alone." Now Daniel was livid. "He did what?" Jesse looked at the kind neighbor and said, "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Wynn." Mr. Wynn nodded and he glanced at Audrey, seeing her cold expression. Saying nothing, he drove on to his own residence.

Audrey interrogated, "What happened? Why were you riding with him? I want an answer now." Jesse said, "She called and said she was stuck without a ride. Mitchum Shaw dumped her somewhere and took off. She needed a way home. So I asked Mr. Wynn to go get her. And he did. He is our friend. Even though you treat him like scum." And with that, Jesse had said all he intended to say about it, and he entered the house.

Daniel wheeled himself to the door, saying, "That rotten little punk. Shaw's father is going to hear about this. No one dumps my daughter off left alone."

"Daniel, just relax. Calm down."

"What are you saying? I can't stand up to his father? I should just ignore what his kid did? And let him get away with it?" Audrey looked toward Mr. Wynn's residence. She said, "Maybe moving here was a bad idea."

A few days later was another big Race Day. And the showdown. On Pit Road, Daniel spotted Mr. Shaw, Mitchum's father, and he wheeled over him. Daniel said, "Shaw. You got caller I.D. and won't answer my calls? Do you know your son stranded my daughter alone at night, left to walk home?"

Annoyed, Mr. Shaw said, "Yeah, I know all about it. She shouldn't have pissed him off."

"What? That's your reply?"

Jesse ran over here, imploring, "Dad, forget it. Leave him alone."

Mr. Shaw put his fists to his hips and provoked, "What are you going to do about it? Get me one of those to sit in and then we"ll have a fair fight." Daniel kept his cool while his own fists were gripping the chair's arms. Then suddenly came music and a girl's voice over the racetrack sound system drowning out whatever insults were said next. "The Star Spangled Banner" was being sung live by Hollie, a high school girl. The crowd, one and all, stood and removed their hats, and looked toward the flag pole near the Tower. The two arguing men were interrupted by the common courtesies of the special moment. Daniel stood, with Jesse help. Mr. Shaw simply walked away, making a threat in the process. "Stay down at your own pit space. And keep your squirrely daughter away from my son."

Later, as the sun was setting, it was First Round Eliminations in Junior Dragster following Trophy Bike. Jesse and Mitchum waited at the starting line. Daniel, Heather and Mr. Wynn watched. The Tower Announcer said, "Shaw has thirteen trophy wins in his five year racing career. He plans to join the ranks of Super Pro next season, his tech card reads. Jesse Holder is a new racer. This is his first season. He had a five-oh-two light in time trials today. Best reaction time so far today. Hear that, drivers? The nine year old in the Pit Lane has the best light thus far."

Mr. Wynn flinched and looked up at the Tower window and said, "Don't say that. It'll jinx it." The Tree sequenced. A red light glowed on one side. The scoreboard for Jesse's lane read: .500. The scoreboard for Mitchum's lane read: .489.

The Tower Announcer reported, "Foul on Mitchum. It's over. Hey, a perfect light for Holder. A five hundred even. Five tenths of a second and he's moving and grooving. And that in itself wins him tonight's bonus prize. Best Reaction Time."

Daniel and Heather whistled and cheered. Mr. Wynn watched, withholding excitement. He was concerned about Elapsed Time and Break-outs even though Jesse had already won. Mr. Wynn stared down the track, and said, "Come on, son."

Meanwhile, Audrey returned home and discovered no one there. She went all through the house, saying, "Daniel? Heather? Where is everyone?" She sat down, rubbed her temples, and let the silence have its way. She said nothing aloud, but a rehearsed narrative was there in her mind. So many concerns. So many complaints. So.... then it dawned on her. Where her absent family may be.

Second Round Eliminations in Junior Dragster. Mitchum and Bailey raced each other. Jesse waited next, going by himself, again earning Bye Run privilege. The announcement went, "Bailey Netherton, age twelve. Her second year in drag racing. She's facing Mitchum Shaw who lost last round and returns on a buy back." This race outcome was Mitchum winning. Coasting into the shutdown area, he was grinning greedily at the victory.

Daniel asked Mr. Wynn, "How many buy backs can a racer get?"

"Usually just one. It costs fifteen dollars. Why? You think Jesse would even need it?"

Daniel smiled, and Mr. Wynn followed suit.

"Jesse Holder going alone," came over the speakers. "He has the bye run, being last round's winner." When Jesse left the starting line, the voice reported, "Cuts a five oh nine light. Amazing consistency with this kid." Later, in Third Round, Jesse and Bailey raced each other. As they motored along toward the finish line, the Tower Announcer said, "Bailey's buy back run. She cuts a five forty light. And the win goes to...Jesse Holder. With a five oh five react plus he matched his dial. Bailey broke out, going faster than her dial-in."

Later, Mitchum and Jesse raced, again. "Tonight's Finals in Junior Dragster Class. Holder versus Shaw. Here they go. Another great light. Holder with a five-oh-one. Wow. Shaw redeemed himself with no fouling. But the advantage is to the younger driver. It's not over yet. This heads up race will be decided at the big end. At the finish line. It's close. And...."

The racers crossed the finish line. Neck and neck. Jesse first. The scoreboards showed 10.720 for Jesse, and 10.722 for Mitchum. "Holder nails it. Perfect dial. A ten seven to Mitchum Shaw's ten seven. What? Seventy two with a zero and seventy two with a two. There's two thousands of a second's difference there. Now that is an awesome heads-up race, my friends. Winner: Jesse Holder." Jesse's crew of three cheered.

On Return Road, Jesse slowed down with Mitchum behind him. E.T. Shack Official, a woman, handed Jesse his paper slip. She said, "Congrats, kid. Good race." Jesse gave her a thumb's up, and he drove on. Next, Mitchum was handed his slip. E.T. Shack Official said, "Good race." But Mitchum just drove away, in smoldering silence. Along Pit Road, the Sponsor Rep for Shazam Rally Parts waited for Jesse to come by. Mitchum was tailing a few seconds behind. "Hey, Jesse. Stop." Jesse slowed and idled at the man's request. The question Jesse was then asked was, "You don't have a sponsor, do you?" Jesse shook his head no. Sponsor Rep said, "You're impressive, kid. And I like your maturity and sportsmanship qualities as well. We'd be proud to sponsor you."

"Cool. Can I get a ball cap?" Sponsor rep handed him a cap, and tossed him a t-shirt.

Then Mitchum arrived behind Jesse. And waited there. Sponsor Rep noticed this and told him, "Go around. We're busy." Snubbed, Mitchum went around.

Wearing the cap, Jesse rolled in and parked at his pit road parking space. Pats on the back and hugs and handshakes happened. He handed the t-shirt to his Dad. Daniel said, "That was a great race, Jes."

"Are you a proud pit pop?"

"You bet I am."

Heather said, "I'm glad you won, Jesse."

"Why? Because you don't like that kid anymore?"

"No. Because you're my brother."

Jesse gave a high five to his neighbor, the man who started this ball rolling. "Mr. Wynn, I have a real sponsor now. You have a sponsor. We do." Mr. Wynn said, "You bet we do. I'm proud of you, kid. You really drive like an ace. And keep on –"

Mr. Wynn stopped talking.

He saw Audrey approach. She's here? Daniel, Heather and Jesse were dumbfounded to see her. Audrey now stood in their midst. She had everyone awkward and attentive to her presence. Daniel asked, "How long have you been here?"

Audrey said, "I saw that. I just saw that race."

"Mom. I –"

Audrey fought back tears as she confessed, "I found myself rooting for you. I couldn't help it. I wanted you to win."

Jesse walked over to his Mom. He looked at her and said, "And I did."

They hugged.

Daniel felt a lump in his throat. He said, "You better go up to the Tower and get your bonus prize. You cut a perfect light and the announcer said they have a prize for that." Jesse held her hand and said, "Let's go get it, Mom. Come with me." They began to walk away together.

Audrey stopped. Looking back, she asked, "Mr. Wynn, will you go too?"

Mr. Wynn smiled. He joined them and they walked on.

Daniel smiled. "That's what matters," were his words, and spoken aloud just not to himself, or to be heard by Heather, but to declare it to a higher intelligence witnessing this moment. Daniel knew, deep down, that the trio he watched going toward the tall advert-decorated Tower at the racetrack had reached a solution. The three of them felt a healing to the hurt and bitterness over the boy's enthusiasm for an old man and an old machine. Now resolved, there was a new found appreciation of each other's concerns and confidences. United in friendship, mutual forgiveness was the due course.

"That's what matters."

Heather sat down inside the dragster. She asked, "Dad, you ever thought about putting an engine on your wheelchair?"

He replied, "Uh huh. And stabilizer bars behind me. A nitros kit. And a seat belt. I bet this baby would run sevens."

Heather gripped the steering wheel. She said, "Maybe I could be a drag racer too."

Daniel looked at her. "Here we go."

Heather then discovered something. She winced and said, "Uh. I'm stuck. I can't get out."

Her father said, "Seriously?"

"Yes, Dad, I'm stuck."

"Well, hon," Daniel spoke while straw-sipping his ice tea cup, "you better put on sunglasses." She scrunched up her nose and responded, "Sunglasses? At night? Why?"

"To keep bugs out of your face."

"Bugs?"

"If you can't get out, you'll have to ride home outside on the trailer."

"Huh!?"

Sometime later, a new picture was added to the Holder Family photo album.

An 8x10 image taken at the racetrack which showed eight persons gathered together. Holder Family, Mr. Wynn, Louie, and the Sponsor Rep. Heather was beside her date, the guy who kissed her in the school play. They were photographed standing around the Junior Dragster vehicle. Jesse was clad in a one-piece zippered racer suit, with gloves, and he proudly held a trophy. The photograph clearly showed the nose of the vehicle and there was a model racer that Daniel had built and glued there. Jesse had discovered that unique hood ornament when he woke up one morning and found a note reading:

J,

For your wheels.

D