When I was told I would be covering the Piston Cup race and filling in for Bill while he was away I wanted to cry, out of excitement or fear I still don't know, even now.
It wasn't my first sports assignment by far but going from the local little league scores to covering a Piston race had me nervous the entire month leading up to that Sunday. There wasn't anything special about the date, it wasn't Father's Day or Memorial Day, just a normal Sunday afternoon at the races.
Right.
As many of you know, I've been an avid Piston Cup fan most of my life, this blog was saturated with my obsession at the end of the 2006 season with the unprecedented event of a tie breaker race, Lightning McQueen's disappearance, his abrupt return, the return of The Fabulous Hudson Hornet, The King's horrible crash and Hick's lone Piston Cup.
That was all one race!
So any of you that know me, I'm sure you can imagine how I felt to learn I'd be covering the race at the Speedway of the South.
Now multiply that by one thousand.
My girlfriend on the other hand, who has been with me for the last five years (Katlynn for you new comers, or Kat) has little to no interest in the sport at all. She patiently listens as I rattle off the season's statistics and allows me to inform her of events that took place before either of us were even born.
She came with me last Sunday, if only for something to do. It was a sunny afternoon and surprisingly for the end of July wasn't so humid to make it uncomfortable.
I had to have looked like one of those kids walking in to Disney World, or maybe a Marvel fan walking in to Comic Con but when I was handed a pit pass and some official looking person directed me away from the stands and through the tunnel I felt like I was one of them. I was going to the pits to get in to my car and fly around that track with the best of them.
Kat toyed with the pass around her neck as we walked, she wasn't totally against being there and repeatedly told me that if nothing else it was an afternoon out. She's always up for new experiences and if it only amounted to walking through the sponsor tents and listening to music, she was fine with that.
She'd admitted she doesn't really know the #95 driver from the #8 (aside from the number obviously) and that the only difference in any of the cars is their paint schemes and team colors, but she supports me and my interests the same way I support hers.
I love her, more than anything, but there are times I can't relate to my own girlfriend no matter how hard I try. Life is different for everyone and our past experiences shape who we are. Kat is a lively, fun, gorgeous young woman, but she has her moments, like we all do.
I could see it creeping in, the morning of the race she'd been quiet. No matter how many times I asked if she wanted to stay home or meet me after the race was over, she'd insisted she was fine and wanted to come, even though she has no interest in the sport.
So we wandered through the pits and while I was on cloud nine, I was petrified to actually approach anyone. It could have been a Lightyear tire salesman and I was too afraid to even say hello.
The chaotic atmosphere was entrancing, team colors passing back and forth as crew members brought the cars in to their spaces, crew chiefs checking their headsets, drivers carousing if they had the down time. If you've never been trackside before a race, do it, the energy is addicting. I could have stood there all afternoon, not speaking to anyone just to take it all in.
Kat knows when it's safe to talk and when I'm taking mental note for what I'd like to remember to write on later. Sometimes I jot a note down but usually I'm just in some other world, already formulating my hook and content as the day goes on.
I was dragged from this particular exercise when I realized she wasn't holding my hand anymore. I panicked, looking in either direction as I came back to reality, trying to remember the color shirt she was wearing so I could try to pick her out in the sea of multicolored driving suits and chaos we were surrounded by.
I finally spotted her, walking very purposefully up the line of spaces, weaving around crew members like she'd been on a track her entire life. She was heading for the #95 pit space, and walked right around that recognizable Rust-eze stock car. I of course had run in to a fair amount of people in the process, apologizing profusely and stuttering. My heart stopped as I caught up to her.
Kat, little five foot three Katlynn Anderson, interrupted Lightning McQueen's crew chief from his duties and I wanted to crawl under a rock.
I stood uncertainty behind her. The look she'd given me when I tried to tell her we should leave shut me up. I'm pretty sure my lip was bleeding from how hard I'd bitten it.
Mr. Hudson, Dr. Hudson? Does he have a preference? Hadn't fully turned from where he'd been standing near the pit box, and had his shoulder to us as Kat spoke.
Now, remember, this is Kat, who couldn't care less about this sport, just waltzing up to The Fabulous Hudson Hornet to start a conversation.
"I saw the patch."
What did that even mean?
Hudson must not have really understood what she was saying either, as he'd glanced up from getting the headsets in order to offer a polite, if somewhat bemused smile.
She was determined, though, I'll give her that.
"The Network. I saw the patch."
I stood there looking uncertainly between the two as Hudson set the headset down and turned toward her fully. It was only then that I noticed what she was referring to.
On the right shoulder of that iconic jacket, under the small 51, was a white logo I recognized.
I only recognize it because of Kat.
The Lone Twin Network is an international support group to those who have lost a twin. I'll never know how that feels but I've seen the effect it had on my girlfriend when she lost her sister in a car accident.
I'm close with my siblings, but I'd never seen a familial friendship like that before. There's a bond between twins that can only come from sharing a birthday and Kat struggled for years afterward. She still does. That loss is the one thing I can't relate to, and I can't provide her the understanding that The Network does.
She stood there wringing her hands together, voice thickening as she continued.
"I joined two years ago, are you- I mean do you sponsor...or are they-?"
"I support them."
You could have knocked me over with a feather. In any brief interview I've ever seen, Hudson is generally stand-offish, or gruff at best. I didn't know he ever spoke in any other tone.
There was a sudden, visible, and immediate understanding between the two. I couldn't even hope to comprehend what I had witnessed transpire in less than ten seconds as Kat had nodded her understanding. When it was obvious she was struggling he carried the conversation while I stood there like a deer in the headlights.
"Brother or sister?"
"Sister..."
"Me too."
In two years I'd done my best to give Kat the support she needed, she'd found The Network through a grief sharing group but because there are only around a thousand members worldwide she's only ever had support through message groups and a few phone calls. She'd never spoken face to face with someone who'd dealt with the same kind of tragedy.
I had no idea when the race was supposed to start, and I'm sure we were holding up the crew of #95 but I wasn't about to tell her we needed to go. I ended up taking a few steps back to leave the pit space, we could move on whenever she was ready.
I was a little dumbstruck. I had walked in to this stadium with stars in my eyes, the way a child views their favorite superhero. Indestructible, cool, and without a care in the world.
Kat was drying her eyes and smiling over whatever it was that Hudson told her and I was more than a little shocked to see her automatically reach forward and hug the man. Those who have been fans of the sport for years would be terrified to do such a thing, but he took it in stride and returned the gesture before handing her something. I could tell she was apologizing for taking up so much time, but he waved it off before they parted ways.
I started to look at everyone differently once Kat joined me again. Every face told a different story, every spark in the eye spoke of different hopes and dreams and heartbreak somewhere along the way. These people I'd held on pedestals were just that, people. No one there was super human. They just happened to have really cool jobs.
Kat was different the rest of the afternoon. She was more interested, almost more at ease in general. She asked if we could walk through the sponsor tents when the race was finished and I wasn't that surprised when we left with a few items licensed to #95.
I asked her what she'd been given, and when she looked at me in confusion I reformed the question, asking what Hudson had handed her.
"Oh." She reached in to her pocket and pulled out another white patch, one that matched the one Hudson had added to his jacket. "He was given two, but only got around to adding the one on..."
That was so much better than my signed pit pass.
I have to admit, aside from the usual known statistics and the comeback story, I know very little about Jesse Hudson, but I'd just come to the realization that these people weren't superheroes, legends maybe, but not superheroes.
Well, Kat might say differently.
I have some research to do...
I was distracted with this discovery the entire afternoon and I'm sure my article suffered for it, but this blog post is far more important than any sports article.
I'd love to keep writing on everything that happened that afternoon, but the race is starting and Kat won't stop reminding me.
She looks good in a Rust-eze ball cap.
Sean Stine is a writer for the Cornwall Gazette, in Cornwall, Tennessee.
If you'd like to support The Lone Twin Network or other organizations, please visit the Piston Cup Official Website, or Give .org.
Lightning closed the article and opened the Piston Cup app on his phone, navigating through until he found the charities Piston Cup supported and started scrolling through the logos.
He hadn't intruded, but he'd seen the girl talking to Doc two weeks ago and had been surprised when she wasn't asked to leave the closer they had gotten to start time. He'd known about the addition of the patch to Doc's jacket and the addition of The Network to Piston's website. He'd only asked once if Doc was a member himself, knowing about his sister.
Doc had only shaken his head, explaining that he supported their efforts and contributed but wasn't personally a member himself.
Lightning sighed lowly, looking through the links and noticed that different drivers, team members and even some administration had personal connections to different charities. Their names were listed behind the links with a brief explanation or dedication to a loved one, some even had pictures...
He'd lost his place and started over, reading over the names as he went down the list.
The American Heart Association, The National Food Bank, The Red Cross, Wounded Warriors, The Humane Society...
They weren't in alphabetical order, they must be listed as they had been added.
The Lone Twin Network; Jesse Hudson.
Below the link was a black and white image of Doc and his sister in formal attire. Lightning tilted his head and regarded the image in silence.
"The '52 banquet."
He nearly jumped out of his skin, almost toppling the old rolling chair if not for Doc catching the back as he passed through his office to return a large text book to the shelf behind his desk.
"What?"
"The picture. It's from the first Piston banquet I ever attended."
"Oh." He closed the app and shoved his phone in his pocket, watching his crew chief straightening the desk. That was a touchy subject, and one he tended to stay away from. He wasn't sure he even knew what Doc's sister's name was...
"Is it hard?"
He'd blurted the question before thinking and bit the inside of his cheek. Of course it would be hard, losing a loved one of any kind was hard. What kind of question was that?
Doc must have grown used to his lack of filter, though, because instead of berating him for the lack of decorum in his statement, he only hesitated briefly in what he'd been working on and stared at the top of the desk for a moment before answering.
"It's one of the hardest things I've ever faced."
Lightning blinked, unsure what to say. He could understand, or at least sympathize, with the idea of being told you could no longer race, but losing a sibling...
He felt like the guy that had written that blog post, and sat in silence as he watched his crew chief organizing the items on the desk before turning to the computer, most likely to check emails through the Piston Cup administrative site.
Lightning guessed anyway, Doc didn't use a computer much.
He hesitated, wondering if he should change the subject. He'd shared just about every personal fact of his life whether Doc had wanted to know it or not. He'd never told Lightning otherwise, so he supposed it was alright.
He was surprised out of his musings when Doc finally spoke again, cutting through the comfortable quiet and the occasional clicking of the computer mouse.
"When you grow up with someone that closely. You know their every hope, their every dream and fear, and vice versa. It's not that I cared about Ruth more than other family members. It was just...different..."
He glanced toward Lightning briefly before looking back toward the screen. "When that's gone you're left hanging. Whatever that link is that grounds you so securely is snapped and it's sink or swim."
Lightning swallowed heavily and cleared his throat. He was pretty sure which of those two options had happened in Doc's case.
"I'm sorry..." What else was there to say, he wasn't the most eloquent...
His brows lowered in confusion when Doc paused in whatever email he was responding to and looked back toward him with a half grin.
"You might be the third person I've ever explained that to."
"Lightning blinked. "Really?"
He knew Doc didn't talk much of his past, but to be able to count the amount of people, on one hand, that he'd ever shared that with...
He forced back a wave of pride and spun in his chair lazily. "Her name was Ruth?"
"Mmhmm."
Lightning stared at the ceiling as he kicked his foot lazily against the floor to continue spinning the chair. "What was she like?"
He was surprised to hear a huff of amusement as opposed to ire.
"Well..."
