I’m laying in bed, looking up at the mobile hanging directly above. Thirty brightly-colored, origami herons fly there, each tethered at the end of a piece of fishing line.

Kazuko and I made that mobile one rainy afternoon, just the two of us. Amidst giggling and singing and stories of her girlhood in Japan, told in her heavily-accented English, we carefully cut the birds out of sheets of multi-colored construction paper and she showed me how to fold them.

It’s one of my best memories. A warm, cozy afternoon of love and fun, shared between a little girl and her wise old Auntie.

Now, the herons drift lazily in their perpetual flight, their folded wings casting slow-motion shadows on the ceiling above.

Hello Kitty peers down at me from a poster on the wall, while my Hello Kitty combination clock-and-telephone tick-tocks on my bedside table, right next to my Hello Kitty lamp.

I’m laying under my Hello Kitty bedspread…and surrounded by assorted Hello Kitty art, clothing, accessories and kitsch. I’m comforted by its familiarity.

But comfort is followed by confusion.

It’s my childhood bedroom. But…I’m grown now…aren’t I?

Except for my pink tote bag and one or two other things, all that Hello Kitty stuff is long gone, replaced by grown-up items.

Isn’t it?

Am I a grown-up now…or am I still a child?

Creak…creeeaaaak….creak.

I sit up and gaze in wonder at the (long-gone) rocking chair in the corner of my room.

Kazuko sits there, her form hazy and indistinct.

Like the herons, she seems to be drifting, into and out of my vision. Her image is a sort of a cloudy blur. But there’s no mistaking who it is. I feel her love clearly, even though I can’t quite keep her in focus.

“Marie-chan,” she whispers, and her voice seems to be coming from everywhere, including inside my very heart. Her soft, thickly accented voice goes up in inflection, telling me how pleased she is to see me. “Suzumushi! My Cricket!”

My heart fills with so much joy, it hurts. “Aunt Kazuko! Auntie…auntie!” Now, tears fill my eyes. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’m with my ancestors,” she whispers.

And just like that, the joy in my heart dies, replaced with a surge of grief.

I tip my head back and let out a sob. But why? Why does this make me so sad?

Part of me knows the answer, but when I reach for it, it flutters just out of reach, like a tethered bird.

“Don’t cry, Cricket,” Kazuko soothes. “Don’t cry! Auntie happy here! So happy! Auntie never far from you! Now, you listen Auntie, oh-kay? I came tell you…”

Zzzzpppttt.

Her voice disappears in a burst of static and her form wavers, disappears, and then returns. “Don’t follow…” she says, then…

Zssszzzppzzzzt.

“Kazuko! Kazuko? I can’t hear you! Are you in Japan? When are you coming back?” The sadness threatens to overwhelm me. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going?”

“Cricket….”

Zsszzpptt.

“…careful!” Her voice comes back even as her form fades out, then back in, and then all the way out, dwindling away into a speck.

“…Important…listen me… don’t follow…”

Zzzpppttt

“…don’t follow…”

Her fragmented words float back to me, but they do me no good.

I don’t understand what she means.

I wake up with a start, my cheeks wet with tears.

Reality starts seeping back into my consciousness.

It’s 2017, not 2001. I’m not six years old anymore. And Kazuko has been gone for years, just like that little-girl bedroom.

Yet, fresh grief rises in my soul, as if Kazuko died only yesterday.Wiping my eyes and sniffling, I let myself feel it, but only for a moment.

Because today…today’s the big day. The First Annual Maple Mills Charity Automobile Race.

It’s also the day before my twenty-second birthday.

Best thing of all….the very best of all….!!! Tommy, Gavin and I finished the audit just yesterday. It is done, finally. Completely and entirely done, and the results sent to my Dad in a zip file, waiting for his analysis.

I hope I never have to think about it again.

Mark is already up. I hear the shop door open and voices drifting up the stairs. That’ll be Abraham, Freddy and Mason, Mark’s crew and sponsor. We’re all going to go out for breakfast and then head to the track together.

Fear, anticipation, nausea and determination wash through me. For a moment, I lay in bed, staving off the oncoming rush of reality.

What a strange dream that was. What was Kazuko saying?

Don’t follow…?

Huh?

Don’t follow what? My dreams? My heart? The Yellow Brick Road?

Footsteps come up the stairs. Mark’s hulking form fills the doorway. He looks in at me, smiling.

“Wake-y wake-y, Miss Marie,” he says softly. He’s wearing his horrible burgundy racing suit already. “The crew’s here. Time to get up, sweetheart.”

So I do.

The sense of grief from the dream fades in the rush and bustle of getting ready to go.

Suiting up myself; then greeting Mark’s amiable crew; then off to breakfast with all its chatter and banter and joking wagers both for Mark to win (Mason and Abraham) and for Mark to lose (Freddy); and then it’s off to the track to prepare.

* * *

Once at the track, I go straight to our garage bay, refusing to look into the stadium seating area.

I’ll have to face that crowd––with all their eyes and noise and the TV crews and the thousands of iPhone cameras––soon enough.

Right now they’re being entertained by the mattress races. The announcer is calling out the positions in old-time style, the spectacle keeping the audience well and properly entertained, by the sounds of it.

Please God don’t let me humiliate myself… or, worse, hurt someone this day. Please don’t let Mark get hurt either.

Amen.

In our bay, Callum, Tommy and I are soon joined by Gavin, who’s volunteered to help crew if needed. As if we could keep him away!

I ask them where Dad is. None of my brothers know.

My heart pangs, but the show must go on.

Now, guests arrive at the track and visit our bay in a steady stream, to wish us luck before taking their seats in the stands.

First, it’s Mom and a gaggle of her friends. She folds me into her arms for a hug and I ask her in a whisper where my father is. She shakes her head and shrugs. “He’s around here somewhere, that’s all I know. Now, listen…it’s okay to be scared. You don’t have to do this,” she whispers.

“I know,” I say, and squeeze her tightly.

She smooths my hair back and wishes me luck.

Mom and her friends leave just as Hamish and his high-school-sweetheart wife, Megan, arrive with some of their friends.

After they leave, I no sooner finish replying to a good-luck text from Bryce in California when Brenda and Rob show up along with Amanda, Nick, and of course Jenny and her boss-slash-beau, Blake.

More excited chatter, laughter and joking follows.

Before they leave, my girls all gather me in a hug circle, Amanda and Jennifer whispering words of encouragement, with only Brenda staying silent this time.

But her heartfelt hug conveys everything she needs to say, no words required.

No one stays for long, but all the banter, laughter and good will helps my anxiety stay at somewhat-manageable levels.

My friend Samantha sends me a short video of her with Mason’s baby son Drew. She waves his chubby fist at the camera while he smiles and gurgles and kicks his legs determinedly. What a sunny little guy he is, so adorable! Of course, a race track is no place for babies, so they’re staying home and wishing us all good luck by video.

The morning passes quickly, too quickly. Our race, the Main Event, is coming up right after lunch.

I go over to Mark’s bay and hang with him and his crew while they eat, and then Mark and I take a little stroll by ourselves.

We find a shady spot behind a trailer in the parking lot. He takes me in his arms. I cling to him and try to control my breathing.

“Hey…hey. You okay, Marie?” His big warm hands caress my back, pressing me against him as if to give me his strength.

I nod, my face buried in his chest.

But a profound shiver goes through my body.

I’m frankly terrified.

Kissing the top of my head, he squeezes me tightly and rocks me a little. “You can do this, Marie. You can do this. But…now, listen carefully, okay…you don’t have to. You don’t have to do this. You know that, right? You don’t have to. It’s not too late and no one will think the less of you.”

I shake my head, unable to speak. They will think less of me if I leave them in the lurch.

I do have to do this.

Despite Mark’s reassurance, I most certainly do have to go through with it.

“Sweetheart…my girl…” His voice is so kind and loving, I fight the rise of tears again and thankfully, they retreat. “You have the respect and esteem of everyone who knows you. Don’t you know that? We all…everyone loves you, girl. It’s okay to be scared. You do not have to go through with this race.”

I take a deep breath and find my voice. “I’m okay, Mark.” I look up at him and smile to prove it. “I’ll be fine. In less than half an hour, it’ll be over.”

He looks deeply into my eyes, his own blue orbs shining their concern.

“Are you sure?”

I nod. For two more heartbeats, we just look at each other. Then the five-minute warning buzzer sounds, calling drivers to their vehicles.

My heart leaps in my chest, and immediately starts pounding so hard, it’s as if I’m being torn apart by lions.

Oh God. Breathe. Breathe.

Breathe.

And now the announcer’s smooth, glib, broadcaster-voice begins its carnival call. “Aaaaand nowwww, Laayyydees and Gennts! The race we’ve aaalllll been waiting fow-ah!!! Heeeee-ah it comes, folks….Maple Mills Speedway welcomes y’aalll tooooo the Fiiiirst Annual Maple Mills Charity Automobile Race Maiinnn Eeeee-vent!!”

The announcer’s patter fades into the roaring cheers of the crowd.

It’s time to take our positions…but just for a second, I cling to Mark even harder.

Oh God! Please help me.

I’m so scared!

Without a word, Mark takes my face in his hands and for one split second, he stares fiercely into my eyes.

Then he crushes my lips with his own. It’s a deep, searing kiss, and through it, I hear him, clearly and proudly and unashamedly proclaiming what he has not yet said to me in words.

Love.

Of course it is, what else? Love, real love, along with every good wish of his enormous heart.

Somehow with his kiss and all its unspoken meaning, he manages to transfer some of his own courage straight to the depths of my being, where I can almost feel it flowing into my spine, beating back my fear and giving me strength to go on.

Then we run back into the garage building, our hands locked together, until we have no choice but to let go.

* * *

I run straight to my car, which Tommy has waiting by the big doors leading out to the track. He’s standing by the open door, with Gavin and Callum close by. Wearing matching shirts and headsets in place, they’re all looking at me closely, their loving concern written on their faces, crowding around as I climb into the cockpit.

My heart is pounding so loud, it’s drowning out the screaming of the crowd, as well as the words of my brothers as they help me strap in.

Like a well-oiled machine, Callum and Tommy check everything once, twice, three times, calling out the steps as Gavin checks them off on a clipboard.

Tommy is saying something, but it’s as if I can only hear him from a distance. His words are oddly elongated or stretched, as if time itself is slowing down. “Maaaah-rrriiieeee? Yoooouuu oohhhh-kkkaaaayyyy?”

I nod.

Someone hands me my helmet. I pull it on and adjust it as I’ve done dozens of times, my movements mechanical, informed by my training.

My car, the Wee Marie, is running smoothly, and my ear automatically tries to tune into the sound, searching for it among the roaring and rustling of the crowd.

Ahhh…there it is. I hear it!

I hear it, and I feel it, in my feet, my legs and yep, even my butt, its low humming making itself felt in my very bones.

It sounds and feels perfect. Wonderful, and exhilarating, the rumble of that V8 engine evokes a fast drive on a fresh-paved, deserted road, top down and the wind whipping my hair.

Speed.

Thrills.

Freedom.

My love of driving, extinguished these past weeks over worry and stress and too much work, sends a sweet, tender shoot into my soul.

Ohhh…yeah, baby. Yeah! Come on. Bring it…take me to that happy place.

My being tunes in with that rumbling V8, and…yes! Yes! That tendril takes root, and grows! Oh, thank you God, thank you so much, here it comes…that Zen felling flows up my spine from the driver’s seat, flooding my brain with endorphins and beating back the paralyzing fear.

My limbs operate themselves, and I perform all my driver’s checks seamlessly and without hesitation.

As if by magic, my hearing stays in tune with the rumbling of the engine, now drowning out the terrifying, beast-like roaring of the crowd.

In my helmet, the comm system crackles and shrieks, sending a shard of pain into my ears before falling silent. I grimace and shake my head, tapping the side of my helmet.

“Whaaaaat’s wrooonnnggg?” Tommy’s voice is still strangely elongated, and I can’t hear him from inside my helmet like I’m supposed to.

Focused now on getting my car into its starting position, I tap my helmet again in irritation.

“Shhiiiittt,” Tommy says, in that draggy, far-away voice. “Issss yourrrr headsetttt busssttteed agaaaaain?”

I raise my hand and thump my helmet, hard, eliciting another sharp crack from the comm system, and then…just like that, I can hear Callum’s deep, calm voice in my ears. Thank God it sounds normal.

“Testing,” he’s saying. “Testing. Can you hear me, sis? Testing.”

I nod, and give a thumbs up.

“Speak up, ya doorknob,” Callum says, leaning into the car and smiling. “I need to hear you, too.”

“Ten-four, Rubber Ducky,” I blurt out. All three of my brothers chuckle over the headset.

“I hear you all,” I say, and my voice comes out much more calm and confident than I feel.

“Good,” Callum says, giving everything a last look before leaning back out of the car and shutting the door. “Listen up for your last-minute reminders.”

“Ten four,” I say.

“One: Remember, this ain’t actually NASCAR, alright? There are only twenty-five laps on a short oval track. There will be no starting drive around the track and you will drive directly to your designated starting position in an orderly fashion. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Two: I repeat, there are only twenty-five laps. You don’t need to stop for gas, you do not need to scratch your ass. You do not need to take a nap, you do not need to stop for cats.”

I smile.

“Do your best not to need a pit stop, Marie-chan. If you do, try to wait for a yellow flag. This will be such a short race, there may not be any. Let’s hope there won’t be any red flags, either. Copy?”

Marie-chan? Did he just call me Marie-chan?

Naw…why would he do that?

A shard of this morning’s dream comes back, bringing a sense of foreboding; the creak creak of the rocking chair…and Kazuko’s whisper: “Don’t follow.”

“Marie? Do you copy?”

“Copy.”

“Three: Once again, there are only twenty-five laps. That means that the purse here equals two grand per lap. Some of these guys would cut your throat for a lot less. Be careful, Marie. Do your best but mainly, survive. Just survive. Okay baby sis? That is a direct order from your family. Copy?”

A lump rises in my throat. “Copy.”

“Good.”

“It’s go time. I’m heading out.”

“Ten-four,” comes Callum’s calm voice. “Good luck.”

I look around at my brothers and give them a high five. At that moment, Callums gaze moves to somewhere behind me and he freezes.

Then a wide, incredulous smile creases his face.

“Maggie?” I hear him say in my ear. “Wha…? What are you doing here?”

Maggie? His ex-wife…that Maggie? She came to see the race?

But there’s no time to think about that. I have to get moving.

I drive to my position at the starting line.

* * *

Heart pounding, sweat trickling from my temples and hairline, I wait in position with all the other drivers, the field staggered according to the random drawing.

In the background, the announcer is babbling in his droll, glib way, giving the statistics of all the race entrants. I hear my name mentioned as the only girl driver, and the crowd goes wild. I lift a thumbs up so that people in the stands can see me, then I quickly put my hands back on the wheel.

Survive. Just survive.

All the drivers by now are well aware that the track here is a mid-range, or regular track, and therefore we can pretty much trust the surface.

It’s a good track, and although its surface will be affected by temperature, moisture and other variable, we’ve taken it all into account and don’t expect any surprises.

There’s no question that all the drivers here intend to put the pedal to the metal and go all-out.

Problem is, with only twenty-five laps, it could easily turn into a free-for-all.

All I know about Mark’s position is that he’s somewhere in the field behind me. I also know that my relative position ahead of him and other drivers will quickly amount to nothing if I don’t drive well.

I flick my gaze to my rear-view mirror and see cars pulling into position in the last row, well behind me. Then my eyes flick back to the flagman, high above the track in his box.

The seconds tick down as the crowd grows quiet, nervously anticipating the appearance of that waving green flag.

In that hush, in that calm before the storm, my eyes fix on the flagman as my spine continues to glow with that welcome sense of peace.

A drop of sweat trickles from my scalp down my neck. Without thinking, I push my helmet violently upwards and scratch the back of my head with one gloved hand.

When I push it back into place…uh oh.

Crack…zzzzztttt….followed by radio silence.

Oh no…don’t tell me the fucking headset broke again!

“Callum…Tommy…can anyone hear me?”

Nothing.

Shit!

The flagman holds up the green flag, letting it hang high in the air for one second…two seconds…three seconds…four… and then, in a sweeping arc, he waves it, hard and fast.

With a roar, the crowd surges to its feet.

No choice now…time to fly!

My foot stamps on the throttle and my car leaps forward.

And my focus narrows, intent on threading a path through the pack ahead.