Page 14 of Happy Hour

“Auntie Sway!” he screamed.

I reached down and picked him up. “Hey buddy, how are you?” I tickled his sides and he squirmed in my arms, letting out a small giggle. “Look, who’s that?” I pointed towards Jameson who walked onto the stage as the track announcer said his name.

“Jameson Riley, driver of the No. 9 Simplex Ford!”

The entire place erupted with screams that was almost deafening as they caught a glimpse of Jameson approaching the stage.

“Where my daddy at?” Lane asked Alley as I handed him over to her.

“He’s in the pits buddy,” she ruffled his honey-dusted hair. “If you watch closely right there you can see him when uncle Jameson pits.” She pointed to Jameson’s pit stall. “He will be the one carrying the jack.”

Spencer was on Jameson’s over the wall pit crew who took the jack around both sides of the car during the pit stops.

Smiling, I took a deep breath when Lane started rambling on about Jameson and how he was going to be a race car driver just like him someday.

My focus wasn’t with this adorable boy but with greatness below making his was on stage. Jameson stopped, waved to the crowd and then made his way from the stage, the vulnerability undulating from his quick humble exit from the overpowering crowd.

This was all so new to him that he hadn’t had a chance to adapt to it. He stumbled through his freshman season so far, though he was doing well, he wasn’t interested in politics of it all and the ever present curiosity into his alluring mystique. Racing, for Jameson, was an outlet for so much more than anyone would ever understand.

Taking in the sights before me, though I mentioned this before, I hadn’t realized just how popular of a driver he had become. Just his demeanor today indicated the change.

Everywhere I looked people wore hats, shirts, jackets, and foamy fingers all with his name and number.

My best friendwasa super star.

Once driver introductions were finished, the National Anthem was sung, jets flew overhead, and the drivers were in their cars, I put on the headset Jimi handed me.

When I was in Daytona, I didn’t get to listen to his in car audio and I was a little disappointed so Jimi let me listen this time. Emma and Alley followed suite in putting on their headsets.

Lane wanted to listen but Alley made it clear Jameson had a potty mouth so he couldn’t listen.

The kid pouted for a good ten minutes just like his father. Lane and Spencer’s personalities were spitting images of each other but Lane resembled Alley with his honey blonde hair and blue eyes.

Eventually my favorite saying was announced over the speakers: “Gentlemen, start your engines!”

And the defining roar that followed vibrated my entire body even in the suite. There’s something to be said about forty-three cars starting their engines at the same time. The smell, the rumbling in your chest when the engines revved, I was in race car heaven.

“All right boys, let’s have good race here. Keep focused.” Kyle said over the radio talking to Jameson and the crew. “It’s a long race, let’s keep our heads.”

All the over the wall crew, the spotter, crew chief, car chief, and driver could speak to each other throughout the race. The only people who spoke directly to Jameson during the race though were Kyle, Aiden since he was the spotter, and his teammate Bobby Cole.

Kyle was able to talk to Jimi if needed, Mason Bryant the car chief who delivered orders to the crew, and other drivers crew chiefs. Kyle also had direct lines to the engine specialist, Harry, and the tire specialist Tony. From time-to-time, engine or tire issues were brought up throughout the race and Kyle could get advice from them when needed.

The cars were making their way onto the track when Terry Barnes, one of the announcers with ESPN tapped into Jameson’s radio. “Hey Jameson, it’s Terry, you copy?”

“Yep,” Jameson said, the radio cracked echoing static.

“So kid, you got the pole, think you got a chance?”

“I think we do. It’s a long race and lot can happen but we’ve got a fast race car.”

God his radio voice was even sexy.

“Well—good luck kid,” Terry said. “It’s a long race, take your time.”

“Thanks.”

Jameson was quiet on the radio for a lap as he warmed the tires and talked with Bobby who was starting third behind him. I watched closely as he scrubbed the tires in a back-and-forth controlled swerving motion they used that warmed and softened the rubber on the tires. They did this for better traction and speed.

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