Disclaimer: I own nothing
Speed Racer is a trademark of Speed Racer Enterprises Inc.
I'd like to own Emile Hirsch, but no one's put him on Ebay, dang it!

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When I was a young girl, my grandmother always used to tell me that things get worse before they get better. Slay the dragon; then get the happy ending. I suppose she was right, because living with the Racers was the closes thing to the best as I could get. One look into Speed's eyes in the morning could tell me that.

But things weren't always so great: like in sophomore year when he asked Twinkle Banks to the semi-formal instead of me. And, in junior year, when I got kicked out of my parents' house. I will attest that those experiences were less than enjoyable.

None of that mattered now, however. I, Patricia "Trixie" Shimura was the one-and-only (unless he had a death wish) girlfriend of Gregory "Speed" Racer. We had been official for little more than a month. Being able to know he felt as deeply for me as I for him was an indescribable joy. Mind you, I had been his girl friend for nearly nine years before we became an item, and known him for thirteen.

I remember the first time I saw Speed rather vividly. It was back in our Kindergarten days. Momma and Dad had driven me to school in a black BMW. I was wearing a little pink backpack with a nondescript princess on it whom my parents claimed was Cinderella. I was wearing little red croc shoes and a white polo shirt with a ascot wrapped around the collar. It was held in place with a teddy bear head ornament.

"You be good, Patricia," said my mother. "We'll be here at one to pick you up."

"I love you!" I squeaked.

"We love you, too, sweetie," said Momma. I blew them a kiss and off they went, the black paint of the car gleaming in the bright sunlight. Once they were too far up the street for me to see them anymore, I looked to the other cars in front of the Annville Elementary School, scouting out the other kids.

Up to the curb pulled a little red car. Four people were inside: a mom, a dad, a young boy my age wearing a helmet, and another, older boy. I assumed it was their older son. The son my age, however, was the only one I cared about. I had determined already, after one look, that I was going to marry him. Only, back then, my vision had me with longer hair and him still wearing the helmet.

"I'm not getting out," squeaked the little boy. It wasn't a protest; it was a statement of pure fact. His mother got out of the passenger seat and click-clacked her high heels over to the door. She gently opened it and grabbed the boy's hands, "Honey, you have to go."

"I'm not going," he shook his head.

"It'll be fun!" she tried to assure him. "Sweetie, don't you want to meet other kids your age?"

"Nope."

"He doesn't need other kids," said the older boy. "Little bro's got me!"

"That's right!" the boy said happily. "I've got Rex!"

"Rex, sweetie, you're not helping," said the mother. Rex snorted. She turned back to the youngest, "Rex has to go to school, too. Now come on."

"Listen to your mother, Speed," muttered the father from the front seat.

"No," said Speed.

"Honey, you're being downright difficult!" said the mother. She pulled Speed out from his legs. He latched onto the car door and started to whine, "WAAAAAAH-HAAAA!"

His mother, out of shock, dropped him. He ran back into the car and crossed his arms, repeating, "Not going." The mother clenched her fists, sobbed from frustration, and finally gave up, "Fine!" She went back into the passenger seat of the car.

"But you're going tomorrow," she told him.

"Nope," he said.

The doors closed, and they drove back home. The last thing I heard was Rex saying, "Way to win 'em over, little bro!"

With a bit of a disappointed sigh, I went into the school building.

He was back the next day, and that time, he did get out of the car ... and right into a little soapbox car his father had made for him. I thought it was positively adorable. My father was head of a car company, so I, too, was surrounded by automobiles as a child.

I didn't gain my confidence streak until about third grade, and that was when we were formally introduced, but I ha already had my sights set on Speed Racer. Now that it was official and he liked me back, I didn't know what to do with myself!

Maybe I should build myself a time machine and tell five-year-old me about this, I once thought to myself.