Quarter Mile

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This year, I lost someone. Not like they moved away or we had a falling out - I lost them for good. I know there's beauty in it. It's twisted and it's bleak but.. it is there. I know love will come back into my life and do something to fill the gap, too. That love won't be the same, though. It's like a star winking out, bringing forth darkness where once there was radiance. Other stars will come. Other stars will be just as beautiful. Yet, those stars won't hang in the sky exactly like the old one did.

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"Hey! Twenty-two. You're up next." The coordinator spoke in the manner he always did. Like he didn't have enough time for anything, syllables seemingly crunched and crowded together in his rush. As he continued walking past, though, he paused. His eye's ran over the blue paint and the faded golden accents. Though his legs still twitched urging him to continue, he took just a moment. "Your old man's?" he asked.

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The oil from the radiator leak still clung to my gloves. The chill of the winter night highlighted what portions of my skin were now covered in the yellowish fluid. I nodded to the coordinator.

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He opened his mouth to say something, but shut is just as quickly. He returned the nod, and moved briskly onward down the line of cars warming in the pit.

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I'd patched the radiator, but barely. I re-topped off the coolant reservoir, but part of me still expected the thing to blow on the strip. Dad and I never quite got this thing singing like he wanted. There just wasn't enough time. I reckon there never could be, though. As I stepped into the drivers side and lowered into the seat, I could smell it. His cigarettes and the cheap cologne.

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"Next up, roll to the line!" the PA system blared. The clutch slipped slightly as I let off it, gingerly giving it enough gas to crawl forward. Dad always joked about living a quarter mile at a time. I figure this car ought to have one more life in it, even if it was its last.

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The smell of exhaust running a little too rich melded with cabin's scent. It smelled like so many days from the past. The light in front of me gleamed red against the black night, blurred by the smudged windscreen.

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Then, for a moment, yellow.

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Finally green.

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The clutch barely held on as I dumped it through first gear. The motor screamed and howled in the night, headless of its own life. Rubber kissed asphalt, then found traction. My heart beat faster than the drumming of the cylinders within the machine.

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The smile across my face was unrelenting. It was infectious. Every foot brought me closer to the end of the quarter mile, but also let me experience it. In rearview window, the starting line faded to yield to the horizon.

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In the reflection, the stars twinkled brightly.

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[WC: 498]