Page 15 of Happy Hour

“All right Jameson—two laps to green bud,” Kyle said over the radio. “Your pit road speed is gonna be at 5400.”

“Copy that, 5400.” Jameson acknowledged. “So when I come out of four, that yellow line, is that the line for pit road?”

“Yeah,” Aiden replied. “Start breaking after the wall when pitting. You’re pitting right after the No. 16 pit.”

“10-4,”

I felt like my heart was in my throat by now, it was all so hard to grasp. Daytona was my first NASCAR race but this was the Coca-Cola 600, a night race.

Not only did it bring back the summer we shared but it also reminded me of what it took him to get here. That alone was enough for me to get all riled up.

Ask anyone in the racing community and they’ll tell there’s just something about a night race that leaves everyone with a high and Jameson was on the pole, which made it even more exciting.

I also think it had something to do with the fact that I’ve always loved a Saturday night at the races, reminded me of the good ole days at Elma with Jameson racing.

Humming with anticipation, my legs were starting to shake.

Thankfully, I took the heels off and opted for the flip-flops for now or I’d be on the ground with these jelly legs.

“Breathe, Sway,” Emma whispered in my ear.

Annoyed with me, the butterflies in my stomach were trying to fly their way out. I couldn’t even look at Emma. My eyes fixed in submission on Jameson as he swerved back and forth at the front of the line.

The second pace car separating the cars pulled off allowing the field of forty-three cars to bunch together tightly and double up for the start.

It was different seeing them double file on starts when growing up I was used to the 4-wide solute the sprint cars put on. It’s definitely something to see and a sight you’ll remember.

The lead pace car in front of Jameson and Tate Harris kept position leading the cars down the backstretch, its lights out indicating the last pace lap.

“Here we go Jameson, coming to the green flag here.” Kyle told him. “Watch your shift. Don’t spin the tires.”

“Jameson, it’s Aiden.” Emma smiled so wide I thought her face would stay that way. “Kyle’s right, coming to the green this time,”

We all held our breath as they came out of turn four to the green, the pace car darted onto pit road.

The entire crowd was on their feet screaming, as were we in competition to the reverberation on the track. The cars remained side-by-side as they crossed the start finish line with a roar.

“Green flag, green flag,” Aiden chanted with hurried edge. “Outside one...Harris is high...outside middle...outside rear...clear.”

Cars darted for position; some shifted high, some low, all with the same controlled but aggressive movements. Tate and Jameson remained in line until turn two.

By turn four, Jameson had a two-car lengths gap between him and the rest of the field.

“Nice Jameson, good start.” Kyle praised. His main purpose throughout the race besides making the calls on the pit box was to keep his driver calm and collected throughout the race. “Stay focused, hit your marks.”

Letting out the breath I’d been holding, I relaxed slightly as the race fell into a rhythm of green flag laps.

Jameson was quiet on the radio, said little unless he was asking where someone was at on the track and the occasional remark of, “What the hell is that guys problem.”

Growing up racing sprint cars and midgets where in-car radios were never allowed, he usually didn’t say much over the radio. That was until he was upset about something. With a race that spanned six hundred miles, it was bound to happen at some point.

It was long race. They didn’t call it NASCAR’s longest night for nothing. It broke up the time to be able to hear what was happening over the radio and the pit stops were always entertaining. Jameson was such a hothead with them.

On lap two-ten, the caution came out for a wreck right in front of us that collected the four and the ten of Tate Harris.

“Cautions out...car spinning in turn one...go high.”

“Who’s spinning?” Jameson asked.

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