Cylinder Head – The cylinder head sits above the cylinders on top of the cylinder block. It closes in the top of the cylinder, forming the combustion chamber and is sealed by a head gasket.

 

I was having pleasant dreams, but staying in a house with the Lucifer twins and Emma, those dreams were short-lived. I understood completely why Jameson was jealous that I was an only child after spending this much time around Emma and those goddamn twins.

“Sway ...” an annoying voice chimed in my ear. “Get up!”

“No, leave me alone.” Ignoring the voice, I rolled over to snuggle with my Jameson pillow, wishing it were he and not Emma in the room. Was that really too much to ask for?

“Come on, I need to go to the store.” She pulled on my arms. “Come with me.”

“Why do you have to go to the store?” My arms flopped back on the bed.

“Ugh ...” she sighed loudly, “Aunt Flow is in town.”

Aunt Flow?

Oh yeah, her period; I always referred to it as shark week.

With little effort, I went back to sleep, but the persistent little shit wasn’t having it. She continued to annoy the ever-loving fuck out of me for the next thirty minutes by putting toothpaste on my face until I woke up.

“You’re so annoying.” I sat up in bed, and I could tell that I looked like the living dead by the way she was staring at me. “What?” I wiped the minty fresh from my nose.

Her eyebrows rose in question. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just ... look like shit.”

“Bitch!”

She laughed. “I wasn’t trying to be mean, you look ... sick.”

“I don’t feel good.” Slumping back against my bed, I rubbed my eyes, “and apparently look like shit.”

My senses seemed heightened and not only did I smell minty, but I smelled... popcorn... burnt popcorn. “What’s that smell?” My eyes focused on her appearance; her very bright appearance. “Why are you all orange?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Believe me, I’m not impressed either.”

I waited patiently for her to indulge, but she didn’t, so I pulled her hair. “Why are you orange?”

“Do you have to be so goddamn violent?” She huffed, pushing away. “Listen, I played with fire and got my ass burned.”

“What?”

“My brother... you know that asshole boyfriend of yours... well, he filled my lotion with sunless tanner before he left.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m assuming as a payback or something. After I realized what he did, I thought maybe it wouldn’t look so bad, but then it kept getting more orange and now I smell like burnt popcorn. Mr. Jangles was licking me all night. Long story short... I’m a salt lick for your pussy.”

Yep. She just said that.

“You’re so strange.”

“You’re telling me.” Emma lay down beside me, scrutinizing me with a wide grin. “Why don’t you feel good?”

“Fuck if I know, maybe I have Lane’s flu.” I turned to look at her. “Why are you still here, don’t you have fan club shit to do?”

“Jameson made me stay,” she remarked, her grin still wide. “He said I was to make sure you were okay and now,” she gestured toward her skin, “I realize why.”

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Emma placed her tiny clammy orange hand against my forehead.

I slapped it away, baring my teeth. “Stop touching me. You stink.”

“Sway,” Emma smiled as though she’d solved a crime, “is there a chance you’re pregnant?”

What?

I just had my... okay, well when was shark week?

The real revelation came to me a good two minutes later. I hadn’t had my period since before I left for Charlotte.

Oh my God! I haven’t had a period in seven fucking weeks!

I jumped out of bed with alarm. “Emma!” I yelled. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

She began jumping up and down on my bed reaching for my stomach. “Is there a little Jameson in there?” she cooed, pressing her head against stomach. “Hello, little fella.”

I pushed her backward. “Stop that!”

“Sorry,” she apologized, undeterred by my harshness, “I’m so excited. Let’s go get a test. I want to be there when you find out.”

“Emma, I can’t be pregnant right now.” My mind was going through all the reasons why this wasn’t a good thing and filing them all away in the you’re-fucked-file. “With Jameson gone all the time, Charlie, the track ... this is the last thing Jameson needs right now.”

“If it was the last thing he needs,” Emma scooted toward the edge of the bed, “why was he so careless?”

“I, um... shit... I don’t know.” I threw my hands up. “What am I going to do now?”

“Jameson has always been like a walking billboard for a condom ad.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “He knew damn well what he was doing. Did he ever use a condom?”

“I think... well, the first time, but after that he didn’t.”

“Did you tell him you were on birth control pills? Did you guys have that discussion?”

Now that I think about it, we never did. How could we be so stupid? He never asked if I was on the pill, why would he not?

Oh God, what have we done?

Moments later, I was puking with Emma holding my hair.

Another forty-five minutes later, we were in the aisle of the Olympia Top Foods grocery store looking over pregnancy tests. We drove to Olympia because I didn’t want any one in town to find out. With Elma being a small town, people talked.

Looking over the tests, I couldn’t believe the selection they had. It was overwhelming.

“Which one do I get?” I asked Emma, who was currently slurping down her second mocha. “Stop drinking those. That’s why you’re so short.” I ripped her drink out of her hand and began drinking it.

“Hey,” she reached for it. “You can’t drink caffeine anymore, and I can’t get these on the East Coast. No one makes coffee like the Northwest.”

“I can’t have caffeine?” I asked incredulously. “Why the hell not?”

“Nope, or sushi or chocolate... there’s a whole list of things Alley couldn’t eat when she was pregnant with Lane. It’s not good for the baby.”

“Well, fuck, it’s like you have to stop living.”

“Pretty much,” she agreed and threw all the pregnancy tests in the cart. “Let’s go.”

Emma went on to explain the details of Alley’s pregnancy since I wasn’t around for much of it. She made it out to sound like some sort of parasite feeding from your body until it took everything you had.

An entire carton of orange juice, nine pregnancy tests, two boxes of tissues, and a half pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream later... I was most certainly pregnant.

All the tests were positive.

Every. Single. One. Of. The. Motherfuckers.

Some had smiley faces and some had positive signs, where others just simply spelled the word out in big fat pregnant letters.

I was then curled up on my bed, with Emma, while I cried it out. I wanted to call Jameson; I wanted to scream at him and his camshaft, but then I sat there and cried.

My number one thought was, How could I have let this happen?

I was on birth control... we used condoms... well, no we didn’t. We were pretty fucking careless caught up in our pornographic, dirty-talking, heathen escapades.

We were stupid, that was what we were.

Still, I was on birth control... how could that have happened?

Ninety-nine percent effective my ass. Damn you one percent, damn you.

Mr. Jangles was curled up with us and then it dawned on me, he ate a few of my pills last cycle. “This is all your fault, Mr. Jangles!” He ignored me and snuggled closer to Emma—his newfound friend.

I wanted to tell Jameson, but decided on waiting until I saw him in person. This was not the kind of news you told someone over the phone that was for sure.

“It’ll be okay, preggers,” Emma tried to assure me, walking out into the living room with me. “Everyone loves a baby. Even my pathological asshole of a brother would.”

Charlie, who was watching ESPN in his chair, immediately took notice of my appearance. I was still wearing my pajamas, my face was all red and blotchy, and God knows what my hair looked like by now.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, and I could have sworn on a stack of Bibles he looked at my stomach. His eyes shifted to Emma. “Why are you so orange?”

“Jameson,” she answered, casually strolling past toward the coffee.

“I see.” Charlie looked back at me, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I answered quickly, avoiding direct eye contact. “Why does anything have to be wrong?”

“You just... look like shit!”

“Thanks, Dad,” I muttered, walking into the kitchen. That was the second time I’d been told I resembled feces today.

While pouring myself a glass of water, Charlie walked in.

“Sway, what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”

“Nothing Dad, it’s nothing,” I lied, slurping the water. “I have the flu.”

“Sway,” he began looking down at my stomach, again, “the worst thing in life you can be is a liar.”

I laughed. “When I was sixteen you told me the worst thing in life I could be was a slut, which is it?”

“You’re right,” Charlie paused for a moment contemplating, “the worst thing in life you can be is a slut and then a liar. Remember that, for when you have kids. Slut will be number one and then liar is a close second.” Once again, he looked at my stomach and then walked away.

Well, that was strange, but surprisingly reassuring that he was still Charlie.

The next few days were spent avoiding Jameson’s questions over the phone as to why I was so distant, and containing Emma from telling their whole family before I was able to see a doctor or tell Jameson.

Concerned with my lack of conversation on the phone, he was going to fly here after Pocono, so I thought I could tell him then.

By Wednesday, he was threatening to skip the race and fly home if I didn’t tell him what was wrong. I couldn’t justify telling him over the phone.

I made an appointment with my gynecologist and got in the same day. They didn’t have much going on in Elma so you could get same-day appointments.

Emma insisted on going with me, which I was sure was a bad idea. My theory was confirmed when my feet were in the stirrups and Emma conveniently moved south knowing damn well I couldn’t catch her in time. It wasn’t exactly comforting since I was exposed with my bling pad on display for her and the doctor.

“Sway, that looks really good,” Emma praised, “what did Jameson say?”

The doctor gave a look of both confusion and wonderment, mixed with fright. I’m not sure what he was more frightened from, Emma for checking out her friend’s crankcase and her very bright complexion, or me, for “blinging” out my girlie pad with Jameson Riley’s number and a checkered flag.

Dr. Sears gave me a smirk and continued his exam. “Judging by the size of your uterus, I’d say you are around nine weeks pregnant. Since you don’t know when your last period was, I’d like to do an ultrasound to confirm this.” He held up a wand, put a condom on it, and violated me.

Emma giggled, “That’s fun.”

“Emma!” I snapped. “Shut up.”

“Hey, Sway,” she exclaimed louder than I felt necessary, pointing once again to my crankcase. “They even use protection here.”

Christ Almighty, they could hear her in New York.

“Get the fuck out of here Emma, right now!” I yelled abruptly, shocking Dr. Sears.

Emma, of course, did not leave; instead, she came back up toward my head and rubbed my scalp.

“Calm down, you’re emotional.” She kissed my forehead. “It’s to be expected, my love.”

“Emma,” I warned.

“Yes?”

“Stop touching me.”

The last thing I wanted right now was Emma touching me when there was a foot-long wand align boring my crankcase.

“Okay,” Dr. Sears interrupted our silly fight, “that right there,” he pointed to a flickering bubble on the screen, “that is your baby, and there’s the heartbeat. You are roughly eight weeks, three days.”

I was speechless. Now if only that same speechlessness would plague Emma.

“Oh my goodness.” She was rubbing my head again. “When’s her due date?”

“March seventh,” Dr. Sears answered and pushed a button on the screen.

The baby was jumping all over the place, flailing around. The tiny flickering on the screen confirmed to me that there was in fact life inside of me. A life created by crazy-irrational-break-your-heart-logic from my dirty car-talking heathen.

Do they have support groups for crazy irrational pigizzles who get knocked up by their dirty heathen out of wedlock?

If they did, I’d be attending meetings after this. Of all the shenanigans I could get into, I get knocked up, and at one of the worst times.

The door shut behind Dr. Sears, and Emma brought me out of my self-pity trance when she snapped a picture with her phone. I ripped her phone out of her hand. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Showing Mom, she wants to see her grandbaby.”

“YOU TOLD HER?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t tell anyone else.” She looked at me as though there was absolutely nothing wrong with this.

“Fuck, Emma.” I punched her shoulder after removing my legs from confinement. “Did you ever think that maybe I should tell the father first?”

“You can tell him later.” She waved her arm around. “Mom isn’t going to say anything. Besides, he’s racing right now.”

“What do you mean racing?”

It’s Wednesday, why would he be racing?

“He’s racing at Lernerville with Justin and Tyler. It’s a charity event.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” I was sad I didn’t know, or maybe he’d said something and I wasn’t paying attention, which was possible. I definitely had my mind elsewhere these days.

Emma shrugged. “It was last minute, I guess.”

Later that night, after kicking Emma into the spare bedroom because she wouldn’t keep her goddamn hands off my stomach, I called Jameson.

While I waited for him to answer, I laid on my stomach, staring at the black and white photo of our baby. It felt so strange to say our baby. I never imagined I would be pregnant with Jameson’s baby. Hell, I never imagined I’d be pregnant with any baby.

“Hey, beautiful,” Jameson answered after a few rings.

The anxiety hit me hard in that moment knowing I had something I wanted to tell him, but couldn’t. It was if I was lying to him, and I did not like that.

I could hear the sound of engines in the background drowning out his voice, and the breaking in the call reception.

“Hey, handsome, where are you?” I rolled over on the bed. Lying on my stomach was starting to make me sick again; either that, or it was the five slices of pizza I consumed on my emotional eating binge.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologized. “I’m at Lernerville with Tyler and Justin. It’s a charity event. Mom and Emma scheduled me for an appearance, and then, of course, I decided to race.” He chuckled softly. “Tyler, knowing me, already had a car ready when I got here. Ryder even showed up. He’s back racing full-time.”

Ryder Christensen was a USAC driver that he grew up racing with who had suffered a horrific crash at Knoxville a few years back.

Ryder, Tyler, Justin, Cody, Weldon, and Jameson were all in the same age group and had spent years battling against each other through USAC. A strong bond had formed between those boys.

“Oh, how’s it going?” I leaned over placing the picture inside my nightstand. “Good to be back on dirt?”

“Sway,” he sighed contently. “I’ve missed dirt track racing, so much. I wish you were here with me though; it’s not the same. All the boys say hello.”

It was entertaining to me that he thought he wouldn’t miss dirt track racing. He grew up where dirt track racing was all he knew. Steady and determined, that love led him to what he thought he didn’t want, NASCAR.

“Are you still flying home after Pocono?”

“Yeah, I have to meet with the contractor for my house on Monday, but Alley said she’d do it for me so I could be with you until I need to leave for Watkins Glen on Wednesday.”

“I can come with you to that race,” I suggested.

“Really?” Jameson sounded relieved.

“Yeah, I’m not really needed here for a couple weeks. We need to talk so I’d like—”

Jameson interrupted me. “That would be ... great. Sway, honey, I hate to cut you off, but my heat race is up and I can’t hear you very well. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Okay, I love you.”

He chuckled. “I love you, too.”

Hanging up the phone, I slumped back against the bed.

Before long, I reached for the picture again. Every time I looked at it, my hand fell to my stomach for confirmation. I didn’t look pregnant. Sure, my chest was enormous, but other than that, my stomach was still flat. The prominent ridges of my hips bones were still present, and though I was surprised I had them, the muscles in my stomach were still defined.

I didn’t resemble a pregnant woman, emotionally yes, but not physically.

The next few days passed quickly. I spoke to Jameson twice, both times he was arguing with Kyle or Mason while we talked, so it wasn’t much of a conversation.

On Saturday night, Emma helped me out at the track, and I wished she wouldn’t have. She wanted to redesign our whole public relations setup.

To make my night worse, I ran into someone I never thought I’d see again.

Mike Tanner, a guy I had a one-night stand with. Let me tell you something about Mike Tanner—he was the reason women had one-night stands. You couldn’t stand him longer than one night. 

“Hey, Mike, what are you doing here?” I asked, and immediately felt stupid for asking when I realized he was in a racing suit, helmet in hand.

“I’m racing on the Northern Sprint Tour and The World of Outlaws on a limited schedule for Quincy.” He gave a cocky shrug. “Tonight I’m going back to my roots and racing an outlaw late model. What are you doing here?” Mike asked with excited eyes.

“Oh, well my dad... actually, my boyfriend owns the track. I’m the General Manager.”

“Really? Who’s your boyfriend?” he asked. I could tell by the look on his face he was disappointed there wouldn’t be a repeat performance of the last time we’d met.

“Jameson Riley.”

Mike laughed. “Like in Jameson Riley the Winston Cup driver?”

I wanted to punch him in the face for acting as though I wasn’t good enough. With all my bitchiness, he was lucky I didn’t.

“Yes,” I snapped rolling my eyes, “Jameson Riley, the race car driver.”

Mike began nodding his head in an arrogant way that really made me want to punch him. Mallory, his saving grace, appeared before I could go around assaulting the drivers.

“Hey, Sway, I need you to go control Emma,” Mallory ordered breathlessly. “She’s rearranging the office and something about repainting.”

Mallory, Mark’s only daughter, was good people. I would hate for her to quit over Emma, or my shitty attitude these days. Mallory began working for Charlie shortly after Mark took the job seven years ago. I loved her, and even though she was ten years older than me, we got along great. I absolutely loved her husband Bryce; he was amazing. Bryce was no Jameson, but he was a pretty cool guy.

So I definitely wanted her to continue working here.

I laughed at Mallory describing what Emma was doing on our way back up to the office.

“You should have never left her in there alone,” I finally told her.

It was a late night at the track, but eventually we managed to wrap everything up and head home where I once again, fell asleep as soon as I was in bed.

Sunday morning I woke up with Emma in my bed.

“How did you get in here?” I asked harshly. “I locked the door.”

Emma shrugged, blowing off my rudeness. “The window.”

“What are you, Spiderwoman?” I attempted to roll over, but stuck to my sheets. “Why are we all sticky?” I could see Emma’s skin glistening.

“I... spilled something,” she replied softly. “I think.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she avoided my penetrating glare like the plague. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Emma?”

“Sway?”

“What. Was. It?” I seethed.

“Uh... I should... go check on the twins.” She bolted for the door. “I think I hear them in my room.”

“Emma!” I yelled after her.

Glancing around the room, it was trashed. It looked like someone hosted New Year’s Eve in Times Square in my bedroom. “Emma!” I screamed again.

Still no response.

Killing her seemed like a grand idea. And as I looked more closely around the room, the idea got grander.

When I moved, I stuck to the sheets like one of those flytraps. No matter how I moved, the sheets moved with me.

What the fuck is this shit?

It smelled like alcohol, but I couldn’t be sure. It was crusty and sticky and in my hair, on my body. It strangely resembled... nah... it’s not that, or was it?

It had better not be that!

I got out of bed, wrapping my bathrobe around myself in search of Emma. I found her, in the bathroom, washing her own hair.

I stood there with my hands on my hips. “What the fuck is all over us?”

“Huh?” she eluded as though she didn’t hear me correctly.

“Don’t huh me. Why does my room smell like a distillery and why are we all sticky?”

“It... was an accident.” Her eyes were wide with panic. “I swear.”

“What do you mean it was an accident?” I scorned stepping closer to her. Trying to be intimidating, I held up a hairbrush as though I would smack her with it.

“Okay... I climbed in your window... I was a little drunk.” I gave her a skeptical look. “All right, I was very drunk,” she admitted. “I wanted to celebrate with you so I brought some champagne.”

I sighed heavily. I knew where this was going.

“Then I realized that you couldn’t drink... so I opened the bottle and it sprayed everywhere. I tried to drink all of it so you wouldn’t be mad at me, and then I don’t remember after that.” Emma smiled. “I mean... I did drink an entire bottle of champagne, by myself. I have no idea why we’re all sticky. Maybe it’s from the champagne, but I can’t be sure. When I woke up I was underneath your bed.”

I shook my head again. “What am I going to do with you?”

This was like the time Jameson and I caught her with beer on her sixteenth birthday. She was so afraid Jameson would tell Jimi and Nancy, which he never would, that she drank a 24-pack of beer, by herself.

She puked for ten days straight.

I wasn’t about to let the little twit get away with this, though, so we spent the next four hours cleaning up my room. We then realized we missed the race and our cell phones. I found mine in Logan’s room, with nineteen calls to Europe.

It’d be a miracle if I allowed those little shits to see seven.

After telling him this, my threats going nowhere, I made my way into the living room to check the race knowing I missed the majority of it. I watched the highlights and read the headlines across the bottom of the TV, as nausea rolled over me.

“NASCAR Winston Cup driver of the Simplex Shocks and Springs number nine, Jameson Riley, has been air lifted to Pocono Medical Center after a post-race crash that involved him and Darrin Torres, driver of the Wyle Products number fourteen. Jameson, who won the race, was doing a burnout in the tunnel turn when Darrin crashed into him, on the driver’s side. NASCAR has declined to comment on the incident, stating the crash is currently under investigation. Darrin Torres, after being treated for minor injuries, walked away from the wreck declining to comment, as well. There have been no updates as to Riley’s condition.”

Like a slap in the face, they then showed the crash, over and over again, as they debated how it could have happened.

There was nothing left of his car.

The video showed Jameson’s car coming out of the tunnel turn after doing a burnout, and the next thing you saw was Darrin’s car smashing into the side of him, at full speed coming out of the straight stretch.

“Oh God!” Emma choked running for her cell phone.

I could hear Charlie and then Andrea yelling for me, but I ran to the bathroom just in time to reach the toilet.

I didn’t realize that Charlie was holding me until I felt him take my hand. “He’s alive, Sway,” he assured me, forcing me to look at him. “They air lifted him to the hospital.”

I was paralyzed, numb, and my body shaking with each sob.

Emma’s voice broke through the pain; I turned in Charlie’s arms.

Reflecting my own, her face was blotchy and red, tears streaming down her cheeks. Our worst fears, for the situation we tried so hard to control, came true.

“Sway,” she reached for me, “Wes is coming to get us. He will be here in two hours. We need to get to Olympia.”

“What did Alley say?” I asked Emma once we were on our way to Olympia.

Knowing myself, I knew I needed to be on the way to see him before she told me what happened or else I wouldn’t have had enough sense to function.

Emma took a deep shaking breath; it wasn’t easy for her either. “Alley said he was doing his victory lap, did a burn out coming out of the tunnel turn and then Darrin hit him. Spencer saw Darrin coming around the track and tried to warn Jameson but he’d already unhooked his radio. Apparently Spencer was one of the first ones to the car afterward.” Her tears spilled over once again. “His belts were loosened, but he at least kept his helmet on.”

Charlie turned up the news radio when they announced information on Jameson. Since everyone else was with him, it left us relying on them calling us to find out his condition.

We listened as the ESPN reporter spoke of the crash, “Jameson Riley, NASCAR’s hot-headed rookie, was air lifted to Pocono Medical Center after his win this afternoon. While doing a victory burnout in the tunnel turn at Pocono International Raceway, Darrin Torres, driver of the Wyle Products number fourteen, hit Riley’s Simplex Ford number nine on the driver side. Riley had apparently loosened his belts after he took the checkered flag. Track officials said he was unconscious when they arrived. He was immediately air lifted and is currently listed in critical, but stable condition. No comment has been made by the Wyle Products team, nor was Darrin available for comment. There were no other cars on the track so it remains a mystery as to why Torres was even still on the track still when he hit Riley.”

“These two have had encounters in the past and without a comment from Gibson Racing, it leads us to believe that this was some sort of retaliation on the number nine. Darrin and Jameson had been battling for the lead the majority of the day, but when Jameson pulled away around lap two hundred, Darrin was unable to catch him. Twenty minutes ago NASCAR announced in a press conference that Torres has been suspended for the remainder of the season. Gordon Reynolds, Director of Competition, announced minutes ago that fines would be assessed with extreme severity. It was also announced that Gibson Racing would be allowed to replace the driver of the number fourteen.”

“Jesus,” Charlie mumbled, turning down the radio when Emma’s phone rang.

“Hello?” she answered immediately, searching through her bag for tissues. “Okay... yeah, we are almost to Olympia...” She was quiet listening to what I assumed was Spencer and handed me a tissue. “Yes, Sway is coming, too... okay... see you in a few hours.” Emma hung up and turned toward me. “He’s okay, Sway.” She leaned forward to capture my gaze. “Don’t stress out in your condition...”

I nodded.

“Spencer said they will need to do surgery on his wrist and put in some pins, but he’s going to be fine. He’s got six broken ribs, a broken wrist, a fractured radius, broken collarbone, and a punctured lung.”

I gasped.

“Jameson will be okay; he’s still unconscious, but the doctors said there is no brain injury... just a concussion.” Her eyes narrowed. “Sway.” She made me look at her again. “He’s fine. You need to relax and not stress out right now.”

All I could do was nod.

Here, I just found out I was pregnant, and now the father of my baby was in the hospital.

I could be told he would be all right, or at least I prayed he would be, but that didn’t stop that paralyzing numbing feeling from returning.

My mind wandered to a few months ago, knowing the change that occurred within myself. In a few short months, I went from being what I thought I’d always be to him, to being pregnant with his child.

A child I never knew I wanted until right now.

A piece of him was now inside me creating a link between us, or maybe it was strengthening the one already there. What I never understood until right then, staring off at the passing headlights, each illuminating the change within us, that the link was now a lock.

I knew, then, I couldn’t settle for just a taste with him.

A taste would never be enough.

I had a thirst I never knew I had, to a substance that was vital.