Perhaps it’s some survival instinct kicking in.

Having my radio down means I’m on my own to watch for flags and other conditions.

No encouraging voices, no warnings, no advice.

My heart tries to jump out of my chest. Somehow I have to seize control of my fear and shrink it.

I breathe deeply and evenly and just focus on driving as best I can.

There’s no time to think, no time to work anything out.

Now, my brain seems to fill with a high-strung, nervous energy that I can feel…a singing, sizzling energy that climbs in pitch like a musical scale, rising along my spine…zzziiii-eeee-iiihhhh-iiiinnnnnggg….and when it reaches my skull, it goes tink!…and stops.

And just like that, I’m in the Zone.

Totally in the Zone.

The roar of the crowd and the roar of engines recedes, becoming distant…like the sound of a far-off storm.

The announcer’s voice over the loudspeakers becomes a muffled drone, no more consequential than a mosquito or a bee, buzzing outside of a closed window.

All of my being is focused in a tight bubble that encompasses myself and the four-wheeled extension of myself that I am steering with my hands and fueling with my foot.

In my ears, all I hear is the sound of my own heart beating; Just by intending it, I can make my vision narrow to the tiny stretch of track in front of me and a tiny slice of the cars directly in front of, and on either side of, my four-wheeled body.

Conversely, my vision widens when my gaze flicks around, taking in the front view, the rear view, the flagman, the sky, the track ahead, the infield, everything except the roaring, pulsating crowd.

Then it narrows again when I focus on the track.

Yep. Must be survival instinct.

I am on Super Extra Freaky Auto-pilot and it feels fucking great.

Empty mind; just drive.

Just be a machine; just be a mechanical bird in flight among a mechanical flock.

A flock of herons, my mind whispers, and flashes up an image of that flock of paper herons from my dream this morning.

Bringing with it, a flash of grief.

I frown.

Never mind that!

This odd flock of metal-birds-on-wheels that I’m in the midst of right now, is flying in a kind of jerky ballet and I have to pay attention.

Right away, I have to fight the other ‘birds’ to keep my place; fight for the room to pass any of the others without touching them and disturbing our strange flight.

My focus is on finding that legendary groove, that perfect line of driving that’ll give me the maximum speed with the minimum effort.

Some part of me begins marking the laps and as soon as the second one is done and my tires are warmed up, I make my move…knowing, without having to think about it, that this is my best chance to pull ahead.

The early bird gets the worm, after all.

So I spread my imaginary wings and, on the first turn into the third lap, I slide my wheel a quarter-inch, press my foot downwards and smoothly overtake two of my fellow fliers.

Ahh…here it comes…I’m sliding into the racing groove, exactly where I need to be.

Emboldened, I swing further outwards towards the bank, throttle, twitch the wheel, and am instantly rewarded by overtaking a third.

Then, a fourth.

On the straightaway, I hit the gas again and dart back in front of them, closing off their chance to fly ahead of me and push me back in the pack.

In the back of my mind, far off, I hear the sound of roaring.

The drone of the mosquito-announcer rises in pitch.

I hear my name somewhere in the announcer’s droning but I ignore it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this flight.

Back on the straightaway, my fellow-fliers pull tightly around me, trying to encroach from all sides.

I have to maintain my position until the next turn. That’s all I have to do.

Just maintain my position and keep this bird-on-wheels on the wing.

* * *

I hit the gas and take off, nearly smashing directly into the guy right in front of me. What’s he think this is, a Sunday fucking drive? I try to swing to the left, get some air between us, but it’s no go, no go!

Fuck! I drew a shitty starting position but I’m not gonna let that stop me. I need to win this race and that’s what I plan to do.

First lap, second lap…and now, into the third.

My eyes flicker to the pack ahead, seeking out that pink and yellow car. I don’t see her…I don’t see her…then we hit the turn and…holy shit!

Holy shit! She…she must be suicidal…no Marie no, don’t…shit, she’s driving aggressive, she obviously found her groove!

But I gotta watch my own driving here, I’m about to ram the guy ahead again…okay okay, swing wide, swing wide…yeah…touch the gas…yeah…yes! Fuck yes, I manage to pull ahead of two cars, that’s excellent, that’s awesome.

Back on the straightaway, I keep my spot. Gotta find my own groove, worry about myself now.

Freddy starts talking excitedly in my ear.

“You’re doing good, doing good. Watch car fourteen I think his gramma’s driving…get around him ay-ess-ay-pee Markus! Holy…FUCK!!” His voice rises so high on that last word, he sounds like a shrieking girl. “HOLY FUCK!! Car oh-two just passed four vehicles HOLY FUCK Mark… this chick has some BALLS!”

Car oh-two, pink and yellow, the only female driver in the race.

Yep. My Marie.

“Ten Four Freddy, dial down the yelling would ya? You’re hurting my….”

“HOLY FUCK!!! She just passed TWO MORE ON THE FUCKING CHUTE!!! YOU BETTER GIDDY-YAP MARKUS!!!”

I grimace. “Freddy! Jesus, would ya…”

In my ears comes a muffled shuffling, followed by Mason’s calm, quiet voice. “Okay Markus, Freddy’s, ah…on break now.” In the background, I can hear Freddy still screaming excitedly as Mason continues talking to me. “You’ll want to…yes, that’s right…that’s right…pull ahead on the outside…excellent! Now, deke back in and then go around the other way…awesome! Grab that groove, Mark! Atta boy! That’s three more guys behind you. Good job, good job, keep it up my man, and you’ll be fifty grand richer in about twenty minutes or so.”

Yep. That’s the plan.

In my mind, I start talking to her.

Marie…I’m sorry, sweetie.

You’ll just have to settle for second or third place, my love.

I’ll try to make it up to you, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

* * *

Fifteenth lap now…and we’ve had some yellow flags. Slowed us down some but not too bad.

Already lost a goodly portion of contenders but I myself am still good.

Yes. Wee Marie is still in the race and I am still good.

No pit stops for this girl, nope, no no. Godspeed to me, Godspeed girl, please God keep me in your hands this day and I promise I’ll never race again, haha!

But for now…right now…It’s just me and the wind and this flock of herons…these roaring mechanical birds.

The laps are flying by…and I’m flying too, my body and mind one with my car, operating smoothly, seamlessly.

My head is sweating and my heart is pounding.

But I’m not afraid.

I’m exhilarated.

This may be my first and last race but right now, I’m in perfect sync with this car. It’s a perfectly functioning piece of machinery.

Heading into the sixteenth lap on the turn, I spread my imaginary wings and overtake three more cars.

It’s so easy, it’s almost like they were all nailed down.

A smile curls my lips.

Flying! Flying…this is so much fun!

Lap seventeen.

Now, other drivers are becoming more aggressive, encroaching on my space more and more.

But they’re not particularly effective. I don’t know why that is, when so many of them did so well at practice, but…who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

Effortlessly, I block them and pass another vehicle.

Eighteen laps, holding steady.

Nineteen laps, maintaining my ground.

Aaaaaannnnd…twenty. I take to the outside, pedal to the metal, and get around another car and hold on…hold it… holditholdit….yessss!

I manage to pull in front of it, as cheeky as you please.

Now, there’s a burgundy colored vehicle coming up fast behind me now. The only burgundy car in the race.

Mark.

He’s making his move, pushing at me from behind, drafting in my wake…now he’s weaving to and fro…testing me…looking for weakness or a way past me.

I’m sorry Mark, but I won’t give you any.

* * *

Every. Goddamn. Lap. is a battle. Every driver, including me, push everything to the limit, straining their vehicles hard for that nice fat purse.

The few that have to pit stop are out for the count.

It’s too short a race to get back into, so they don’t bother trying.

Good.

Yet, I’m beginning to think this race was a bad idea…too many entrants are rank amateurs, either too timid or too reckless…but with the size of this purse, it was bound to attract all kinds.

Frankly, I’m surprised so many of them are driving so poorly today. Unless I’m imagining things, a lot of them did better at practice.

Now we’re seeing some yellow flags; some vehicles limping off the track with smoke trailing from their engines or sparks from something hanging off the underbelly.

NASCAR…this ain’t.

The yellow flags slow the race down, but not much.

It was always gonna be a short contest.

And my car is a dream machine thanks to Mason and his crew.

Well, and me too, of course.

The color won’t win any beauty contests but it’s a winner mechanically.

“Fifteen laps and no red flags,” Mason’s voice says in my ear.

At that moment, a car bounces off the retaining wall and slides all the way across the track to the infield.

“Yellow flag, just a yellow flag.” Mason says. All the drivers slow down until it’s clear that there’s no debris on the track.

“He’s fine, he’s out and walking around,” Mason confirms.

I’m mid-pack. Time to step it up and catch up to the front runners.

I can see that Marie is driving well, steadily overtaking everything in her path.

Sixteen laps now…with Mason’s steady voice feeding me calm, succinct instructions from time to time–while Freddy screams himself hoarse in the background–I watch in amazement as Marie’s Barbie House-colored car passes yet another three entrants.

It’s amazing how her vehicle seems to float daintily past them.

Lap seventeen and I’m right behind the bunch of cars Marie just passed.

Now, too late, they’re stepping on it…shit, they’re really pushing her! Forming into a tight pack, they’re menacing her from behind…which leaves an opening for me to sneak into.

I twitch my wheel to pass but Marie twitches hers simultaneously, blocking not only the cars behind her, but my route forward as well.

Damn!

Now she’s passed another one, leaving me struggling behind the pack.

On the eighteenth lap I start sneaking around them on the turn, and I hit it hard on the straightaway, passing two of them by the start of the nineteenth lap.

Marie holds her ground, flying along steadily, using all the real estate of the track like a pro.

I’m so fucking impressed with this girl.

My girl.

Lap twenty…here it comes. Time to put my money where my mouth is.

I’m gritting my teeth so hard, I think a little piece cracks off one of them. Oh well, so much for my perfect smile I suppose.

For some reason, the thought makes me cackle like a madman.

Pedal to the metal, I take to the outside and scream along the straightaway, flying down that chute as fast as I dare. This is it, baby, I’m coming for ya…sorry sweetie, but…shit!

No!

Shit shit shit!

She swings in front of me, the garish little-girl colors of her car belying her guts and valor.

When I pull to the right, she blocks me.

Pull to the left…blocked again.

Damn, she’s good. What happened to the scared young woman I held in my arms only a little while ago?

Twenty-one laps and she holds ‘er steady. There are two cars in front of her…I need to put myself in there and make it three. I twitch my wheel…but…dammit! She fucking blocked me again, almost touching my right front bumper!

I back off, swallowing hard.

Lap twenty-two and that’s it, I have to get out front now…now…now!

Desperate to gain ground, I take the farthest outside position I can and put it into overdrive. Right at the same moment, Marie does the same.

She scoots ahead, putting herself in second place.

Fuck!

But wait…hang on…hang on…okay, go!

There’s just enough of an interval between cars to take a chance, and….vvvvrrraaoooooowwww….accelerating out of the turn, somehow by the grace of God––and Freddy’s fuel-mixing skill––I scream into place beside her, bank it, bank it, and hold on to that outside position on the chute.

The crowd is going wild. The announcer is freaking out, his voice getting hoarse from screaming.

Lap twenty-three and we’re still behind the car in first place. It’s a fire-engine red Mustang, sporting a herd of galloping black ponies with fiery red eyes on each side.

A beautiful car, whose driver is a guy from Akron, I believe. He drew a good starting slot and has hung unto the lead it gave him.

Good show buddy, but your part is over now.

Because it’s time for me to take the lead…and I’m getting in front….now!

* * *

Getting down to the nitty gritty. Still no red flags.

Even for a short one, this race has gone extraordinarily well.

I’m acutely aware of Mark’s presence beside me. Risking a glance at him, I see that his lips are drawn back from his teeth…what the…is he…laughing?

It looks like he’s laughing his ass off!

No time to think about that…gotta worry about the red Mustang just ahead.

It’s large in my vision, seeming to fill every inch of it. Entry number seventeen.

Slowly, unbelievably, he starts drifting to the right and outside, just as we’re rounding into lap twenty-four.

Did he fall asleep or something?

Naturally, Mark and I swerve towards the inside.

Time to battle it out between us.

But number seventeen corrects himself, pulling directly in front of me at the last possible second.

Shit! I have to decrease the pressure on the throttle to avoid touching him, and for the remainder of the twenty-fourth lap, he manages to keep me in check while Mark slowly pulls ahead of him on the inside.

White flag! Here’s the white flag now, last lap, last lap…I have to do this, I have to find a way around the Mustang and Mark’s burgundy Chevrolet.

For a moment, I wanna cry.

Never have I missed the guidance of my dad or my brothers so bad.

I swerve right…fuck it, I’ll just fly past the Stang on the outside…and I make it, just barely.

Jesus! That was close! My car rocks wildly for a second, trying to fly away, but I get it back.

I get it back, thank you God.

Come on come on just a little longer.

Twitching the wheel to the left now, I slide in front of number seventeen and block his ass, my lips set in a grim line, sweat pouring down my neck into my suit.

Now it’s just Mark ahead.

If I just stay right behind him until the first turn, I can draft for a bit…ride his slipstream and maybe gain a valuable half-second that way.

Then, I can get past him on the inside on the very next chute.

And take first position on the home stretch…I know I can do it!

I know I can do it if I stay…just for a minute…in his slipstream.

Maneuvering my vehicle carefully, Mark and I both accelerate into the turn…and I manage to get directly behind him.

If I draft behind him, just another few seconds…just follow closely behind him and then I can fly past like a heron.

A heron? No, a rocket. Fly past like a rocket is what I mean.

My mind empties once again, and my world shrinks down to my car, Mark’s car, and the wheel in my hand.

All goes quiet and still…and I swerve minutely in my position behind Mark.

In the silence, Kazuko’s dream-voice speaks in my head:

Don’t follow, Cricket! Don’t follow!

What? Don’t follow?

Follow? Don’t…draft?

Is that what that means?

With no more time for thought, my hands simply…obey the voice, twitching the wheel to the left, as my foot presses down on the throttle to provide enough thrust to get out from behind Mark’s car.

But Mark twitches left too, blocking me.

Instantly, I twitch my wheel to the right. I’m firmly in second place on the outside now. It’s hard to pass on the outside but…shit! I gotta try…just try!

I give the engine all the throttle there is to give, standing on the accelerator and gripping the wheel so hard I’m sure my palms will be bruised come morning.

Here I go…standing on it…push…push…!!!

It’s not enough.

Everything slows down into super-slow-motion now.

Mark flashes across the finish line, checkered flag waving, with me just slightly behind.

And–POW!–his car blows a tire.

He spins frantically out of control, tires screeching on the track.

Mark’s car spinning, checkered flag waving, and I’m too close to his car…too close.

So close to the spinning vehicle that our bumpers make the slightest contact––tiiiinnnngggg––– and it sends my car out of control, careening to the right…straight towards the tall green safety barrier wall.

Slower now, everything happens even sloowwweerrrr now.

All I see now is greeeeen, the green of the safety wall, looming large in my vision, filling it as the wall approaches in sickening and unstoppable slow-motion.

THUH-DOOM!!!!

My car bounces off the wall, jarring me so hard that my ears ring…not just ring but shriek….shriek in a pitch so high it’s eye-watering.

The concussive force creates a shock-wave so hard, it makes my whole body go numb.

I can’t feel my hands or my legs or my ass in the seat.

Numb.

And that’s the last thing I feel.

My consciousness shrinks almost all the way down now to nothing now, and the numbness spreads to my emotions.

Calm.

I become calm, super-calm and peaceful….more peaceful than I can remember ever feeling before in my life.

It’s quite nice. I like it.

And at the same time, my field of vision begins doing a nauseating, slow-motion kind of flipping. I notice, calmly and peacefully, that my vision is flipping because my car is actually flipping, and I also notice also how strange it is…how strange that it’s flipping so slowly, I actually have time to observe how strange it is.

Check it out…over and over we go…yes, how strange, I calmly observe.

I see the green wall…then sky…then the blackness of the track…then sky again…then track…then sky again.

Then…a far-away crunch, and the far-away sound of screaming metal.

And then…

Nothing.