Page 17 of Happy Hour

“With a few laps to go, nothings gonna change. I’m tight but we’re better on the short runs anyhow.”

“Stay out then.” Kyle told him. “Just keep calm.”

When the green flag dropped, Jameson was in third. When the white flag waved, he was one second behind the fourteen of Darrin Torres and gaining quickly. His last lap times enough to break the track record.

“Your last lap time was—”

“Don’t tell me lap times.” Jameson snapped getting a nose under Darrin. “If I want ‘em—I’ll ask for ‘em.”

Jameson went high; Nancy and I gripped each other tightly as he came out of turn three. We all held our breath when he entered turn four neck and neck with the Darrin.

I literally stopped breathing when they came across the finish line together. You couldn’t tell who won.

Everyone turned towards the screen waiting for them to announce the winner. The instant replay playing repeatedly as they tried to decipher the winner. Within a minute, it was decided.

“Who won?” Jameson asked impatiently. “C’mon! who won?”

Jameson had won by three tenths of an inch.

“You did bud.” Kyle answered. “Nice racing!”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” Kyle laughed. “seriously,”

We all heard was Jameson screaming over the radio causing everyone to break out in laughter in the suit.

“Whew! Not bad for a dirt track racer from Washington!” Jameson yelled, his voice shaking with excitement. “Fuck yeah!”

The crowd erupted into another thunderous screaming fit and I couldn’t help but scream too.

I smiled when Alley and Emma started jumping up and down with me.

We all turned towards Nancy who started jumping along with us and soon Jameson’s Nana, at seventy-two, started jumping.

Jameson swung his car along the front stretch and revved his engine, the rear tires creating a curling cloud of smoke.

I wanted to run down there and throw myself across his hood when he revved his engine, it was as if he was lion and I was a female lioness in heat.

He yanked the window net down, pumping his fist in the air as he did a burn out in the infield holding the checkered flag, grass and dirt soaring in the wake.

Since the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals, I hadn’t seen Jameson win a race in person. And as I sat there watching him, I couldn’t help but cry knowing what it took him to get here.

Witnessing it firsthand, I lived it with him over the years and it was just as much of a reward to see him like this now as it was for him.

He did it—he won the Coca-Cola 600. The preeminent rookie driver, my best friend, captured NASCAR’s longest night.

I think what stood out most to me in that moment, was here Jameson was, doing that he loved, doing what he was born to do and I loved that I was here sharing it with him. I felt as though I was a part of that.

The rest of his family and I made our way down to victory lane to wait for Jameson.

When he pulled the car in, you could barely hear anything besides screaming fans.

I studied his every move as he stripped away his gloves, neck brace, removed the air tube from his helmet and then unbuckled his helmet.

Collecting himself, he leaned his head back against his seat for a second before removing his helmet.

When he finally removed it, he ran his fingers through his mop of sweaty hair. That’s when I got a good look in his eyes for a moment. That arresting fire, that intense self-assured stare, was glistening with tears.

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