Page 103 of Happy Hour

Really though, how upset could I be about that when I used him for the same reason? I knew this wasn’t going to change anything and I fell anyways. I fell hard into this crazy-irrational-break-your-fucking-heart-logic.

Support group—here I come.

The next day it was back to reality and racing. I was thankful for the distraction the race weekend could provide.

The rest of the evening in Savannah, and this morning, we never spoke about what happened that night. It was probably a good thing because if I heard him say he loved me again, I’d start balling just as I did that night.

Jameson was racing in Sonoma California at Infineon Raceway, known to some as Sears Point. It was a two and a half-mile road course with a series of twelve complex twists and turns that go up and down hill. The track was noted for turns two and three that were banked on the driver’s right, providing a challenge to the driver because ordinarily the turn would be on their left.

Jameson wasn’t particularly fond of the track, as with any road course, but he managed to get the pole for the race so he obviously figured something out.

On Sunday morning, my last day of the pit lizards crazy-irrational-break-your-heart dream, we were all sitting around eating breakfast outside the teams hauler when Jameson’s phone beeped twice, letting him know someone was calling him.

He glanced down at the screen turning his head sideways. “I’ll be right back.” He whispered to me and then walked inside the hauler to take the call in private.

All of us looked at each other in confusion and then went back to eating.

About twenty minutes later, Jameson stepped out with a calloused expression. Walking past Spencer at the door, he moved to sit next to me again.

I thought he’d continue eating because let’s face it—the boy could eat. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his eyes fixated on his feet.

Concerned about the sudden change in his demeanor, I set my plate down on the table in front of me and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Who was that?”

He didn’t look away from his feet, just titled his head in my direction and whispered back. “Charlie.”

Why would Charlie call Jameson?

I just nodded becausenowwas not the time to discuss this with his entire team and family nearby. I thought we would get a chance to be alone sometime throughout the day but on race day, it wasn’t happening.

All the times I’d tried calling Charlie the last few days, he’d never pick up but yet he was calling Jameson?

Something was definitely going on. And though I intended to find out, now just didn’t seem like the most appropriate time to do so.

Walking with Jameson to the drivers meeting, we couldn’t make it two feet without a fan wanting an autograph or a reporter seeking an interview.

It’s not like this was anything knew, but Jameson seemed more annoyed with it this weekend than he had in the past. I constantly found myself wondering when I needed to interject before he snapped.

I stood outside the media center. Drivers, crew chiefs, and car owners were the only ones allowed inside for the drivers meeting.

Once the meeting ended, his mood hadn’t improved.

Just like the rest of the hounding media, the determined Ashley Conner caught up with him as we were walking back. I wanted to rip out her stupid black hair when she touched his arm to get his attention and I wanted to hump his leg when he cringed and quickly pulled his arm away from her.

“Hey Jameson, how do you feel about today’s race? You got the pole for the eighth time this year. Can you pull of back to back wins?”

Jameson and I kept walking with her following closely but Jameson offered his standard answer he’d given every other reporter this morning. “I think we have a chance. You have to have lots of forward drive here. You can’t be slippin’ the tires. The track’s gonna get slippery today, similar to yesterday during practice. We’ll see how we are on the long runs. Hopefully we can be in position at the end to pull off another win.”

Watching him today with all the demands reminded me of how much Jameson gave up for this dream of his and how much his words to me last night were true.

I’ve watched Jameson for the past eleven years doing what he loved, racing.

I don’t think anyone ever realized how much of his childhoodandnow his adulthood he gave up following his dream not to mention his social life. Growing up, he never attended school functions or played sports, it was always racing,everyweekend.

During the off-season, he was preparing for the next season and working for his dad at his sprint car shop. There was never a time when I could honestly say he was a normal kid.

After all, that hard work that led him here, his dream came true. But that dream came with some hefty sacrifices at times. Jameson couldn’t just blow off work and decide to call in sick one day because he just didn’t feel like going.

He had commitments that most twenty-two year olds didn’t have.

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