AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here comes chapter 3. I don't have much to say for this chapter, other than this chapter will be more light-hearted than Chapter 2, and that there are references to numerous contemporary motorsports figures. My shortest author note yet!

Legal Disclaimer and Crap: I do not own the rights to the Raccoons…blah blah blah. I'm pretty sure nobody reads these things more than once, so instead, perhaps I should place a quote here that has been inspirational to me for years, from one of my all-time favorite comedians, the late, great George Carlin. "As you swim the river of life, do the breast stroke. It helps to clear the turds from your path."

See? Wasn't that better than me posting the same disclaimer over and over again? And now, without further interruption…

Chapter 3: One More Rainy Day

I remember it just like yesterday. It was a Sunday. May 24th. 1981.

I was sitting backstage at a big awards ceremony. I didn't know what I was getting an award for, but I figured it must be something important.

"And now, for his amazing exposé of the nuclear power plants dumping their nuclear waste into lakes and oceans," said a voice from on the stage, "we'd like to present one Ralph Raccoon with the Pulitzer Prize!"

The audience gasped, "Ooh, Pulitzer Prize."

I was stunned. I had won a Pulitzer Prize? How? I certainly didn't remember writing any article about nuclear power plants. I wish I had, but I didn't. But I didn't care; this was like a dream come true. So I walked up to the stage and to the microphone.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnstone." I said, unsure how exactly I knew his name. "First of all, if I may introduce myself, my name is Ralph Raccoon. I work for the Vancouver Sun," wait a minute, I worked for the Sun? Since when? "As honored as I am to accept this award, I'd rather not brag about my accomplishments and cut straight to the chase. I'm not really anything special; I'm just an ordinary reporter who happens to be interested in the well-being of the environment. I've never really trusted big business or the power plants, and I was determined to expose the dangers they provide to our environment. So, I-" I heard a number of people in the crowd snickering.

"Huh, what? What's so funny? It wasn't something I said, was it?" I didn't think anything I said was particularly funny.

"Not at all," said Mr. Johnstone, who strangely enough seemed to bear a heavy resemblance to Bert, "do go on, sir."

"Alright." I cleared my throat. "Now, as I was saying, I took it upon myself to interview the managers of the power plants to see if they were following their safety procedures properly. They didn't take kindly to the questions I asked, so I found myself being kicked out of their offices, one by one. So I decided to do some undercover investigation-I decided to hang around the nearby lakes to see if they were doing anything illegal to the lakes. And much to my surprise-" I was interrupted again, people were snickering. I'd had about enough of these people ruining my speech.

"Alright. If I may ask, what is so funny?"

"Erm, sir," Mr. Johnstone said, "Please take a moment to notice what you are wearing, or rather, the lack of what you should be wearing."

"Huh, what do you mea-" Then I looked down. I realized I had no fur except for the fur on my head! "Ah, good grief! I'm naked!"

The whole audience burst into a howling fit of laughter. This had gone from the greatest moment of my life to my worst nightmare come to life. I frantically tried to hide behind the podium, but that didn't stop the audience from continuing to laugh.

I didn't understand how this could happen. I could have sworn I had all my fur moments before. How did this happen? Why did this happen? I didn't know.

"Must be pretty embarrassing for you, Mr. Raccoon?" Mr. Johnstone asked.

"You bet. I don't know how any of this happened. How-how-how did-"

"You don't need to know. None of this is real anyways. Now wake up, you silly fool."

"What?" I was totally confused by what he'd just said. This wasn't real? But that could only mean-

Mr. Johnstone then grabbed me and started shaking me violently back and forth. "C'mon, wake up! Wake up! Wake up, sleepyhead!"

"Aaahhh!" I shouted.

"Wake up, wake up…"

"Wake up! Wake up there, sleepyhead!" Now it was Bert's voice. I suddenly realized. That had all been nothing more than a dream. A very bizarre dream.

"Huh, huh, what! I'm up, Bert. What's the matter?"

"Ralphie, don't you remember what today is?"

"No, is it something important?"

"Of course it is! Today is the day, of the INDIANAPOLIS 500!" Bert shouted gleefully, jumping up into the air.

Now I did remember. Bert had been talking about this for weeks and weeks. As I mentioned, Bert had become a serious fan of Indy Car racing when he was younger, and used to invite us over to his house to watch coverage of the "Greatest Spectacle in Racing," as the press dubbed it.

"Oh, yeah, now I remember," I said, rubbing my eyes, "wait a minute. That's tonight. They always air it at night on tape delay."

"Yeah, so?" Bert said, still giddy as could be.

"Uh, what time is it?"

"Oh! Why, it's 7:30 A. M., why do you ask?"

"Bert! Why did you have to get me up so early in the morning?"

"Oh, well, I didn't want ya to miss the Indy 500. Plus, I figured we could have a party for the race, or something or other."

"Bert, it's Sunday. We don't have any classes on Sunday, you did not have to get me up at this ungodly an hour of the morning!" Bert must have been really excited about this; he was not a morning person-at all! Usually it was me who had to wake him up in the morning.

"Heheh, sorry, pal," he chuckled, "just thought it would be a good idea to wake ya. You aren't mad, are you Ralph?"

I sighed.

"No, I'm not mad. Just a bit aggravated to be up at this hour on a weekend."

"I won't do it again, I promise." Bert said crossing his heart.

"It's alright." Bert was watching the color TV we had hooked up in our dorm. He'd actually purchased a fairly new piece of technology, a VCR. He had a couple of blank video tapes in the room. It seemed he planned to tape some stuff off the TV.

Meanwhile, I sat there, still thinking about that confusing dream I'd had where I had ended up minus my fur while being presented a Pulitzer Prize. I'd once read in a book that dreams could quite often be prophetic. I wondered if this dream somehow was prophetic. Did it have some hidden meaning? Did it mean I was doomed to fail at my prospective future career? I didn't know, so I decided to ask Bert what he thought it meant.

"Say, Bert. I had the strangest dream before you woke me up."

"That's nothing new for you, Ralphie boy; you're always having weird dreams. So what was it this time?"

"Well, I was up on a stage and they were awarding me the Pulitzer Prize."

"That doesn't sound too strange. I could see you doing that someday." Bert said.

"Yeah, but there was just one problem. I didn't have any fur. Everybody was laughing at me, and I tried to hide myself, but they could still see me and were still laughing at me."

"Huh, now that is pretty strange. So, you went up on stage naked to accept a Pulitzer Prize?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"Just another one of your crazy dreams, I suppose." Bert shrugged.

"Perhaps, but I've been thinking about it for the past half hour or so, and I'm wondering. I read in a book once that dreams could have hidden meanings to them, and they could predict the future. What do you think, Bert?"

"I dunno, Ralph," Bert replied, "but, I don't think that dream means anything. Actually, I don't think dreams mean anything to begin with, really."

"Are you sure about that, Bert? I mean, that book did present some pretty convincing arguments…"

"I'm sure of it, Ralph." He then went back to watching TV; it was obvious he didn't want to discuss this any further.

I decided to change the subject. "So, Bert," I asked. "Who do you think will win the Indy 500?" I was nowhere near the fan of Indy Car racing that Bert was then; I was more of a casual fan, more interested in the race from a reporter's point of view. Plus, it was a good way to kill the free time I had today- watching the race.

"Ah, isn't it obvious?" he said, quite enthusiastically. I realized this wasn't the best subject for a conversation, I already knew what his response would be. "Why, this year, 1981, is the year that Tom Sneva will finally win the Indianapolis 500!"

"Hoo boy." I said, aloud. Tom Sneva was a raccoon Indy Car racer from Washington who'd been on the circuit for close to a decade. I'll never forget the first time I heard his name; it was 1975 and Cedric, Bert, and I were thirteen years old. We were gathered around the TV, watching the race, and Sneva was running in, I believe, third place, when with maybe sixty laps left in the race, he touched wheels with another car, flipped over, and flew into the wall and his car broke apart into many pieces. All that was left was the front half of his car that contained him. We all gasped, as we sure we'd just witnessed someone lose their life. Imagine our shock when we saw him crawl out of the remains of his car and walk to an ambulance! From that moment on, Bert became a fan of his instantly, and I still remember to this very day what he said after seeing him getting out of the car: "That Tom's invincible! Invincible, I tell you!" (Admittedly, the only reason he survived was probably because he hit with the back of the car.) Thanks to Bert, I knew far more about him than I ever wanted to know; he'd finished second at Indy three times, in 1977, 1978, and the previous year, 1980 (after starting last, no less), had qualified first for the race a couple of times, had won the Indy Car championship twice, in 1977 and in 1978 (without a win the second time, no less), and had done most anything you could do in an Indy Car-except win the big race.

"C'mon Ralph, you know it's true!" Bert said cheerfully.

"I don't know about that, Bert; you said he'd win last year, and the year before that. Matter of fact, just about every time we've watched this race, you've said he would win."

"Hey, he's bound to win it sooner or later!"

"So you think."

"But his accomplishments, Ralph! He won the title twice! Is there anything he can't do?"

"Win the Indy 500?"

"Dammit, Ralph, do you have to rub it in?" He didn't seem too pleased with my remark.

"Just saying, Bert. Don't be so sure that he's going to win."

"Well, if you're so smart, tell me who you think is going to win!"

"Uh…" I really had no clue; unlike Bert, I didn't have a favorite driver. "I suppose anyone of them could win, given the right circumstances."

Bert didn't seem to like that answer. "I don't think so, Ralph. Well, I managed to get the paper and they have the starting lineup, you pick out who you think you will win!"

Bert tossed the paper at me. It was none other than the Vancouver Sun. I quickly skimmed through the lineup, quickly noticing they listed the team each driver drove for. Then something caught my eye.

"Bert, what's this?"

"What's what?"

"Look at this," I said, pointing to one of the drivers listed, "starting 24th, Pete Howlsmer, Sneer Racing? Bert? Since when was there a 'Sneer Racing'?"

"Oh, well, Cedric called me the other day Ralph. It seems that he's actually at Indianapolis. Seems that his 'pop' started his own racing team."

Now I was curious. "Cyril Sneer is running an Indy Car team? When did this happen?"

"Well, it seems that three new pig employees of his convinced him that there was a lot of money to be made as a race car team owner, so he quickly slapped together a team, purchased a few cars, and hired a driver."

"That might not be a good idea; he probably has no idea how bad the cars he purchased probably are. They're most likely no good." I really thought that Cyril had been conned, which had happened several times before.

"Well, they were at least good enough to make the field!" Bert laughed. "There were a lot of cars who didn't, including Mr. Knox's two cars."

"Mr. Knox has a team too?"

"So it would seem."

"Well, Bert," I said chuckling, "I have a feeling Cyril's gonna have a fit during this race when his car drops out!"

"You're right, Ralph!" Bert said, as we both laughed. "Maybe we can get to see Cyril throw a temper tantrum on TV!"

We both laughed, but then Bert asked seriously, "But seriously, Ralph, who do ya think will win today?"

"Um," I said, quickly looking at the lineup and picking out a prospective winner, "I'll have to go with….A. J. Frog."

"A. J. Frog? That old guy? Puh, he's washed up!" A. J. Frog was another legendary Indy Car driver, a frog (obviously), who had become the first driver to win the race four times. He had also won the championship numerous times, and he was (I believe) the driver with the most career wins in the sport. Not to mention, he'd been down South in the Southern US a few times to drive in NASCAR and had won that sport's biggest race, the Daytona 500, and had also been to Europe and won the 24 Hours of Le Mans. His name was pretty much synonymous with the sport; there really was no doubt he was one of the greatest to have ever driven a race car.

"I don't know, Bert, he won it a few years ago, remember?"

"Yeah, but c'mon, Ralph, he's too old. He's what now, almost fifty?"

"I think so, but he still is pretty fast for his age; I wouldn't count him out."

"Yeah, whatever."

Bert soon asked another question, "Say Ralph, do you think I could be an Indy Car champion some day?"

"Eh…" I said, not wanting to burst his bubble, but I figured I had to tell him the honest truth. "I don't think too many Indy Car teams are looking for somebody who studied music in college."

"They aren't?"

"No, Bert, I'm pretty sure they would be looking for someone who studied mechanical engineering."

"But, not all of those guys studied engineering, Ralph. In fact, some of them never went to college!"

"Hmm…" I thought. "Even so, I'm pretty sure all of them come from a mechanical background. You haven't exactly been the best when dealing with automotive work, Bert."

"Ah, darn…"

We talked a little while more, and then Bert realized: "Oh! We've been chatting for a while; we haven't had anything to eat. You think we should have breakfast?"

"I think so, Bert." My stomach was growling.

"Well, Ralph, I know just what we can eat!" He said enthusiastically again. I groaned. I knew exactly what he was planning to make. He made this just about every morning and I was quite sick of eating it. "My trademark…peanut butter French Toast!"

"Bert, you make that every morning. Don't you get tired of it?"

"Nah, one can never have enough peanut butter!"

"I think I'll pass Bert. I think I'll head down to Lassater's Café to go pick up a bite to eat. You can have your peanut butter."

"You don't like it?"

"Well, Bert," I replied, "it's not that I don't like it, it's just that I'd prefer not to eat it every day. I'm gonna be heading out Bert. See you in a bit." As I walked out the door, I heard him muttering to himself, "Some people just have no taste."

What luck I had. Today, it was raining, and the road was wet, so I had to drive slowly. Luckily, it wasn't too far a drive to Lassater's –only about a five minute drive. Soon I arrived and entered the restaurant. It'd be nice to get out of the rain.

Before there was the Blue Spruce Café, there was Lassater's. It was owned by a local man, a wolf by the name of Ritchie Lassater, and he had opened the place up not too long before, it'd only been opened about a year. I still visited the place often, especially on the weekends when Bert was making his peanut butter breakfasts. Over all the place had a pretty friendly atmosphere to it, the waitresses were nice, Mr. Lassater was a nice guy, and they even had a nice jukebox you could put two quarters in and pick out the song you wanted to hear. They had hits from the mid '50s to the late '70s on there, and you could even choose between the A-sides and the more obscure B-sides. It's a shame they closed down just a few years ago when Lassater went bankrupt.

I walked up to the counter.

"Ah, hello, Ralph," said Frances, the person behind the counter (I'd been here enough that we were on a first name basis), "what'll be today?"

"Ah…" I thought aloud, looking at their menu really quick. "I suppose I will have a cup of coffee and a couple of doughnuts. Make that a cup of mocha java, please."

"Sure thing," she said, "that'll be five dollars and fifty cents."

"Here ya go." I said paying for my breakfast. While I waited for my breakfast, I went over to the jukebox, since I decided I'd pick out a song, like I usually did when I came here. I'd yet to see everything they had on there, so I figured I'd check it out.

"Your order is ready, Ralph." Frances called.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, taking the cup of coffee and the plate of doughnuts (I'd gotten three) from her.

"Now enjoy your meal, dear."

I smiled and went back to the jukebox and placed my breakfast on the counter behind me. I flipped through what they had.

"Let's see…Rod Salamander, no…the Eagles, no…Jefferson Biplane, maybe some other time…Blue Oyster Cult, definitely not…ah-ha!" I found something I liked. It was an old single by one of my favorite bands when I was younger, Canada's very own Guess Hoo. They used to be really big when I was a kid, but they'd since broken up and reformed without their two main songwriters. I knew the A-side pretty well, but I hadn't heard the B-side in a long time, so I selected the B-side. I liked this particular song. I walked towards my seat by the window singing along to the song, not really paying attention to what I was doing.

"Lonely feeling

Deep inside

Find a corner

Where I can hide

Silent footsteps

Crowding me

Sudden darkness

But I can see!

No sugar tonight, in my coffee!

No sugar tonight, in my tea!

No sugar to stand beside me!

No sugar to run with-OOF!"

"Hey!"

I hadn't even noticed where I'd been walking. I was so focused on singing along to the song; I'd ended up bumping into somebody. Just when I thought I was overcoming my klutzy, cowardly reputation, I had to screw up again.

I found myself face to face with a girl raccoon about the same age as me, give or take a year. My cup of coffee had spilled all over her and now I had an empty cup of coffee. Plus I'd ruined her shirt. "Great going, Ralph," I thought to myself. How ironic that I had just been singing a song that had been about coffee!

"Oh, my goodness, I'm sorry, I really am, it was an accident, I didn't see where I was going," I said, apologizing for my klutzy behavior.

"No, no, that's okay. I'm not mad," she said. "I didn't see you coming. Perhaps I can buy you another cup of coffee?"

"No, that won't be necessary," I replied, "it's really my fault. I was too busy singing this song and I didn't even see you."

"Well, no need to point the finger then. But I do feel bad about ruining your cup of coffee. Tell you what, I'll buy you another one and we can have a talk. How's that sound?"

"Uh, good, I guess?" I was now kind of nervous. This girl wanted to have a cup of coffee with me? That was new to me.

She bought another cup for me and then we sat down at a seat looking out the window. It was a gloomy view outside, as the rain was coming down harder.

"So," she said. "What's your name?"

"Oh, uh…" I found myself getting tongue tied. Talking to girls had never been something that I had been especially good at.

"Well?"

"R-Ralph Raccoon."

"Ah, nice to meet you Ralph! My name's Melissa Mulligan. So, do you go to Evergreen University too?"

"Uh, ah, why, yes I do."

"That's neat! So what do you study?"

"Oh, ah, well, I'm studying journalism, in the hopes that one day I might work for a newspaper."

"Really? I'm studying photojournalism," she replied.

"Photojournalism? Wow, so we're into similar fields of study…." I was surprised. She was an aspiring journalist too. I'd never met a girl interested in journalism before.

"Hey, maybe someday, we might work for the same paper!" She giggled. I laughed too.

"Hah, well, that'd be the day." I said.

"You never know!" she said. She was right, you never know for sure.

"Ah. So what's your story? What made you study photojournalism?" I was feeling a little more confident talking to her now.

"There hasn't been a time I wasn't fascinated by a camera. When I was just a little girl, my dad bought me a camera and I used to go around and take pictures of things I'd see around the street where I lived. When I graduated high school, I decided I wanted a career behind the lens."

"Ah, fascinating." I said. "I used to read the newspaper and watch the news-my parents had a black and white TV I'd watch. I used to try to solve the crossword puzzle-even though I didn't know half the words back then. I also was the editor for my high school's newspaper."

"I never really figured out those crossword puzzles," Melissa replied.

"I could show you how to do them sometime."

"That'd be nice," she replied.

"So," I asked, trying to learn more about her, "where are you from? I never saw you at Evergreen High."

"Oh, well, my dad and I moved here from Prince Rupert," she explained. "We moved about a year and a half ago. No wait, actually, close to two years ago. It's nice living out here in the forest-the city's too noisy for me!"

"I don't think I could ever make it in the city. I've visited there before; I couldn't take all the noise. All those cars, and their loud horns, well I couldn't stand it."

"I don't blame you," Melissa answered. "The city is full of pollution, and the air isn't very good there at all."

"Hah, no wonder I had coughing fits when I went there." We both chuckled.

"So, Ralph, is this your first year in college?"

"Yes, it is. Same for you?"

"Oh, no, I'm in my second year. About to be in my third year soon."

"I can't believe my freshman year is already almost over." I meant that too, it felt like only yesterday that I'd started.

"I guess we'll be out of college in no time," Melissa said.

"You're right," I agreed, "and you know what? I thought college was going to be outstandingly hard, but it isn't as hard as I thought it'd be."

"No, it's not that hard, all you have to is listen carefully to the professors and complete your assignments on time."

"My roommate is having some trouble doing that!"

We both talked for a while longer, until I looked at the clock on the wall and realized…

"Oh dear! Melissa, it's been great meeting you and all, but I've got to get back to the dorms. I kind of told my roommate I was just going out for a bite to eat and that I'd be right back, he's probably wondering where on earth I could be."

"That's okay, Ralph, we can talk anytime."

"Really?"

"Sure, I don't mind. I like you Ralph, you seem to a pretty nice guy. I think we'll be great friends."

I wasn't quite sure what to say about that.

"Uh, hmm. Some might say that about me, but, I think we might too. But I have to go, my roommate is…well…really excited because today is the day of the Indianapolis 500 and he wants me to watch the race with him, so, I'll see you later."

"Bye, Ralph!" She waved.

It was absolutely pouring down rain as I left Lassater's, but somehow I didn't seem to mind. I'd just made a new friend in Melissa Mulligan, and everything seemed great. Who would've thought spilling coffee on someone would lead to friendship? I didn't know what the outcome of this new friendship would be. Would be the best of friends? Maybe more? I didn't know for sure, but, one thing I did know.

Bert was right on that night of my disastrous senior prom-college was a lot better than high school. Things seemed to be looking up for me.

END CHAPTER 3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As I said, I think this was a less depressing chapter than the last one. Things are now looking up for Ralph in life-but what will become of it?

By the way, the opening scene of this chapter (Ralph's dream) was inspired by a scene from an episode of Family Guy (a dream that Stewie Griffin had).

The song you see in this chapter is "No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature" by the Guess Who (changed to Hoo for this story), released as the B-side of the big hit single "American Woman" in 1970. They are not copyright of me, they belong to their respective owner.

One more note, all the drivers mentioned in this chapter are real; Tom Sneva really was an Indy Car racer in the 1970s and 1980s, the accident mentioned was a real-life accident he had, and the stats listed are correct at the time-he really had finished second at Indy three times, started first twice, and had won two national championships (he would go on to finally win the 500 in 1983). I tried to think up an alternate name for him that would fit for the Raccoons universe, but I couldn't think of anything that didn't sound utterly stupid (Drop me a line if you can think of one that doesn't sound utterly dumb). Pete Halsmer (whose name I changed to Howlsmer for this story) was a 2-time starter of the race (obviously not for Cyril Sneer in real life, though) and A. J. Frog is obviously A. J. Foyt, considered perhaps the greatest race car driver of all time.

I think it is painfully obvious that I am a motorsports enthusiast.

Anyways, as always, read and review!