One For The Road

15: Seconds

As I forced my eyes shut on the living room couch, I could hear the seconds of my life ticking away, thanks to Josiah's surplus of clocks.

How many clocks did one person need, for fuck's sake?

Though the clocks chimed in perfect unison on the hour, I had no idea what time it was. All I knew was that it sure as hell was a waste of my time to try to fall asleep.

I picked myself up off the couch, and I headed for the garage. It was a chilly night even though the temperatures were beginning to warm up in the daytime, but I wanted to see my new pride and joy: the sexy red Chevy Corvette probably from '78.

Griffin would be so jealous.

It was finally all mine, a reward for the ridiculous amount of bullshit I put up with just to keep from driving myself crazy. It was better to let someone else do that for me. Then there was someone to blame.

The interior of the car was tattered and torn, and there was so much dust that my eyes watered just looking at it, but it was mine.

I ran my fingers along the rust. "You're going to take a lot of work, but dammit, you're already worth it."

I assumed that was how Griffin felt about me. Sure, I was a disaster who wasn't worth much, but I looked like I could one day be restored to my former glory.

I wonder how he did in qualifying. The race that weekend was at Kansas Speedway, and Griffin usually qualified well there before technical problems caused his early demise. He always had horrible luck on that track, just like Talladega for me.

I climbed inside the car, and although the driver's seat was ripped up and dirty, it felt good to sit where I belonged.

NASCAR always posted the starting grid on their website, so I scrolled through to find the results of qualifying. The vote for the All-Star Race at Charlotte Motor Speedway was already up, and as soon as I found out where Griffin was starting at Kansas, I'd go back and vote for the person I hated the least.

Any driver who had won a race since the last All-Star Race was eligible to compete, as well as two other drivers who won mini-races to get in, but the last spot was given to the driver with the highest number of votes from the fans. Unlike other sports, we actually tried during the all-star festivities. The winner got a million dollars and a huge ass trophy.

Griffin would start the Kansas race fifth. That was pretty good, and hopefully, he would be able to survive until the end of the race for once. And since Griffin had won a couple races, he was already in the All-Star Race, but like any good American citizen, I had to practice my right to vote for someone.

I scrolled through the options and wondered which one of those fucking idiots was the best option. They were neatly placed in alphabetical order, but they were all my former competition. I only liked a few other drivers, for fuck's sake, and fewer of them liked me.

Landon Hassel. Nice guy, sucky driver.

Joey Laguna. Yeah, right. He was a fucking douche.

Katie Moore.

A mini version of myself looked back at me, and she was dressed up in her Goodyear fire suit with Roger Truscott Racing printed down both sleeves. Of course, when she took that photo, she had no idea that she'd end up unemployed within a few months, so she smiled like nothing was wrong, even though she hated her job.

How couldn't I vote for her? She was fucking adorable and a damn good driver. Plus, she needed a little bit of pocket money to get her new old car up and running.