A Tale in the Making

The black boot slipped perfectly upon my small, dancer-like legs. The black and pink checkered gloves were so broken in; it felt like I was missing a layer of skin when I took them off. Soon the doors to the track would open, and then this slow moment that seemed to have no end would speed up, and the next half-hour or so would feel like minutes.

I opened my locker. On the top cabinet, in front of my pink helmet, was a photograph of two children. One, a girl in pink, was me. The other, a young boy in a white and red helmet that was ever-so-present I was convinced it was glued to his head once, was someone more known to the general public—Speed Racer. I looked at the picture and smiled.

He and I went back a ways, to about third grade. I am the daughter of the head of a very successful race car company. I was, I'll admit, a spoiled brat. However, Daddy was always working and, as such, he had no time for me. The maid walked me to school each morning and I walked alone back home.

On my first day of fourth grade, I stood expectantly in the company garage watching my father work under a Mercedes. I whined, "You promised to drive me to school today."

"What was that, pumpkin?" he asked.

"School!" declared I. "You said you'd drive me to school!"

"Was that today, sweetheart?" he inquired. I rolled my eyes and sucked my teeth. I knew what that meant. He tried to assuage my disappointment with a feeble explanation of, "See this car, honey? This car is going to be yours some day! Don't you want it to look nice?"

"But, Daddy!" I moaned.

"If you let me off the hook," he offered, "I'll buy you a pony."

"I don't WANT a pony!!" yelled I. "I want you to drive me!" I stomped my feet and screamed, "Oh, forget it!" And I ran all the way to school.

The only thing I liked more than school was the idea of flying. All I ever wanted to do was sprout wings and soar. With my shoes pitter-pattering as I dashed, I almost didn't touch the ground. The wind in my hair put a smile on my face.

"Vroom! Vroom!" called a voice suddenly. "And he wins! The crowd goes wild!! AHHH!! AHHH!!" I could recognize that voice anywhere. My grin widened. I looked inside the school gates to find Speed in his little soapbox car, the red helmet slightly misplaced on his head.

Okay, so maybe there was ONE other thing I liked more than school.

Speed was the cutest boy in our class … at least if you had asked me. He wasn't a genius, but he was very sweet and his family was SO nice. He caught sight of me. His imitation of a roaring crowd ceased, and all attention was focused on me.

"And who is waiting for him at the end of the track? Why, it's Trixie!!" he added.

"Hi, Speed!" I said. He was the first boy I ever really liked. Going the summer without him had nearly driven me into an elementary depression. I kneeled in front of his car and admitted, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," he replied. "I thought about you all summer!" If there was one thing I could be sure of, it was Speed's feelings for me. As I was the daughter of a driver myself, I was probably the only girl who ever remotely understood him.

"I want to give you something!" he said. He reached into his pocket and gave me a small toy car. It was from his collection, which I had seen so many times I no longer had to close my eyes to picture it.

"But this is your favorite car!" gasped I.

"I know," Speed said. "But I want you to have it."

"Oh … Speed," I wistfully said. Something had changed between us after that. Our friendship had gone to a deeper level.

"You're still coming over tonight, right?" he asked.

"Of course!" I proclaimed. Every time I came over, the Racers treated me like family. Mom Racer cooked my favorite meal, and Pops let us pretend to drive the Mach 5, the high-speed racing car. Sometimes the Racer house felt more like home than home actually did.

Things didn't change in high school.

"Dad, you promised to give me a driving lesson this weekend, remember?" asked I. He made a noise of feigned regret, "Um … this weekend's not good for me, dumpling, how about next weekend?" He handed me an oiled wrench, "Hold this?"

I looked at my light pink clothes, but still took the wrench. I just held it at arm's length. I explained, "Dad, it's a three day-weekend. That's why I asked you to do it this weekend."

"Sweetie, just wait," he offered, "I'll buy you that private jet you wanted so much."

"I wanted a HELICOPTER!" yelled I. "Do you know me at ALL?!"

"Then I'll get you your helicopter," he said. "Please, Patricia …"

"I'm going to Speed's house," I said, placing the wrench on the hood of the car. "I'm sure he'd like to spend the weekend with me!"

"Sweetie, who is this boy?" asked my father. "What do his parents do?"

I had fought for nine years not to tell that. I knew he'd never want me associating with rival companies. But before I could think of my ploy, the words slipped out of my mouth, "His father owns Racer Motors."

So much for that.

"WHAT?!" he yelled. "Patricia? Patricia!! Come back here! You stay away from that boy! PATRICIA!!"

I stood outside the house and waited until Speed, with his strangely perfect hair, drove up to the curb in the white and red Mach 5. Self-satisfied, he said, "Hey, Trixie, check out my new wheels!"

I fingered the door handle, asking, "So, Pops finally let you have the Mach 5."

"Sure did," he concurred, a toothy grin flashing at me. "Hop in." He pushed out the door. I was admittedly excited. I'd never been in the Mach 5 when it was moving before. I threw my books in first, and then crawled in myself.

He seemed to notice my distress, because he commented, "You seem blue, Trixie."

"My father won't teach me how to drive," I explained. He looked at my disappointed face, and I guess it tugged at his heartstrings, because he concluded, "I'll teach you."

"You will?"

"Yeah!" he said enthusiastically. He pulled the car over, "Right here, right now." I sputtered, "Wh--what?! Speed … I …" But he unbuckled both our seatbelts and I lost the will to say no. we tried to shift seats and I ended up falling in his lap. There was an awkward silence, laughter, and then we went into our places. Though Speed didn't teach me everything I know about driving, or racing, he sure gave me my start. During that driving lesson was when Speed leaned over and kissed my cheek.

Not long after, I was on the Racer porch with luggage. At six in the morning. I knocked furiously on the door. Speed opened it, tired face a lot less happy to see me than it usually would have been.

"Trixie?" he asked. "What are you … it's six in the morning …?" he said, too sleepy to finish his sentences.

"They kicked me out!" I wept.

"Huh?"

"Daddy told me to chose between the family business and you," I explained. "I chose you. Please, Speed, I've got no place else to go."

He took my bag immediately, saying "Come on in. I'll talk Mom and Pops into something permanent in the morning."

I threw myself on him in a hug, "Oh, Speed!"

At my locker, I pushed the picture aside, revealing a small red toy car. I pushed it a little from side to side and chuckled. I pulled out my helmet and placed it on my head.

"All drivers to your cars," said a voice over the PA. "All drivers to your cars."

There was my cue.