Chapter 19: Merge To The Slow Lane

The plane travel felt longer than the three weeks she spent on the job. Going back home itself felt surreal, as if the rural spacious home Melise grew up in hadn't been seen in a matter of years.

She idled by the side of the road, viewing the peaceful beauty of her homely neighborhood. The trees had began to grow spring leaves when she left, and now they were blossoming along with Vanda's plants. The front yard seemed less vibrant, and the flowers looked dull.

'She must've forgotten to water them... ' Melise thought, approaching the home with a warm smile on her front. She attempted her usual glance through the door, curtained off by cream colored drapes concealing life on the inside. She didn't bother waving her tire, it didn't sound like anyone was home.

Melise unhooked herself from heer towed luggage, rummaging the bags for her key. She began reminicing the nostalgic school days when she'd giggle and bounce on her shocks to the front door.

'The wheels on the Honda go round and round...'

Vanda would watch her little daughter headed down the side of the road, happier than a circus truck, singing something new she learned in class each week.

The tiny convertible would see her mother, and yip in glee, speeding to her opened tires. Each time, the bow behind her roof would fall off, and Vanda would remain at wits end of the oddity that Melise's bows would fall off on the way home, but never at school. Nonetheless, her daughter's joyful squeals made her engine warm.

'Welcome home, my little winter bell,' Vanda would coo, cuddling her.

For the longest time, Melise wondered why her mother gave her such a specific nickname, until she was in the third grade, and realized she was the only student whose birthday was in December. Her mother said it was during a steady snowfall, a peaceful night, two days before the first of winter—she was born. Her rosy hood seemingly never erased under the winter night. Her mother would gaze upon the little Honda— her grandfather by her side,

'she is my little girl, her name is Melise 'Wynter' Rūūnes, and she is so sweet.'

And from the flutter of her lids opening to reveal those big brown eyes, she was as lovely as the first snowfall every year.

Opening the front door, the sound of the television in the far room was playing. Melise could only guess the voices through the screen based on the muffled tones. It sounded like a news program. Someone was home. She glanced about the spacious bungalow, seeing not a thing had changed. Her mother's China plates— each one still sitting on a different shelf around the home, the abstract vases holding flowers along the hallway with family portraits of Melise and her older sister— long since moved away, married, and seldom visiting.

"Melise?"

She turned to see an elderly 'Jackson Storm' resembling a much older model Honda staring back at her, a smile spreading across his cheeks. Her mother was telling the truth, her grandfather had gone all the way with the merchandise. It was no question who he was a fan of, he even managed to get blue neon in his rims.

"Ah, it's so good to see you!" he beamed, giving her a warm embrace. Melise stared him up and down, a look of awe and amusement on her front.

"Wow, Grandpa, you really did dress up like him... "

"Darn right! Never in my life did I think I'd live to see a car travel fast enough to give me a heart attack if I even tried what he does daily!" He glanced suddenly to her right fender, his smile fading.

"Melise, what happened here?" she shyed away despite herself, her grandfather noticed.

"You got in an accident?" He asked, innocent assurance on his hood.

Melise nodded her hood, "Oil running can be tedious... sometimes," she said, a nervous smile appearing on her front. He seemed to beam with content again.

"Well I'm glad you're all okay," he examined the bandage covering her light, "A broken headlight is not as bad as a broken engine!"

"For sure!" Melise mused, she could feel her fender beginning to pulse, the pain was slowly creeping back in.

"Where's Mom?" Melise glanced across the space, still hearing the T.V. in the other room. "Is she watching racing with you?"

"Ha! Your mother's never been interested in racing cars, except that Cartrip fellow," he said, a chuckle in his tone.

"She's been gassing up overtime hours at the café. Says service has been slower the past few weeks."

"Oh," Melise idled in thought. Her mother had always owned a small café in the suburban commercial area. Vanda had an optimistic outlook on her shop, she was a merry Honda in her café. Melise could easily remember when she was little spending several days of the week where she would spend time playing in the mini staff room, while her sister and mother served customers. Months while Vanda trusted no one else besides her own father to care for her daughter. Melise had to be honest, she didn't quite like being there. Loneliness played a long part of her time, and what friends would want to hang out in a small staff room until closing time?

"Well, they're talking about the big race tonight on the Racing Network," Grandpa Rūūnes said, turning on his tires back to the living room. "When she gets home, we'll have to talk some more about that dented light."

Melise sighed watching him go. Her life was exciting and spontaneous several hours ago, now it was slow again. She rolled to her sanctuary, opening the garage to her bedroom, feeling immediate comfort in it's dimmed center. Life was boring again.

Jackson could hear the wailing and deafening screams from on lookers in the grandstands. He was thankful their screeching was muffled in the confines of his trailer. The tinted windows made it even better as he kept away from prying eyes.

The racer was parked in the far corner of its dimmed interior, abstract tunes played quietly from his radio perched on a shelf above. He'd have to leave eventually, but the press was annoying, and the last cars- as well as Chick Hicks, that he wanted to run into. Instead, opting for peace and quiet.

'Calling me a jackass... Yeah right...' Jackson thought annoyed, remembering Melise's goodbye. He almost didn't hear her when she snuggled against him.

He'd idled there, watching her go through the gate, and barely realized a word she said as she left, catching him completely off guard when she moved in for the hug. He could still feel her fender pressed to his side... it was like a pillow, and he would continue to admit it- he wasn't expecting affection. The way she was timid and gentle, it made Jackson cringe begrudgingly. She was so different from the rough racing world. He had rammed other racers, been rammed, all the hectic nonsense of training— Storm expected. When she hugged him, it was soft and warming. It made him feel out of place, as if he were relaxing on a beach for the first time in his life. Maybe the simulator wasn't enough to burn off steam.

Now, Melise was gone. No more random encounters, no more substance conversations, no more weirdo-interesting cars. Just the race, here at Los Angeles International Speedway.

Jackson exited his trailer, inhaling the immediate scent of vendor snacks, and hearing the loud screams of the audience.

It was surreal. Several months ago, Ray had brought the rookie to train at the empty speedway. Jackson couldn't stand all the distractions- the marbles, the sunlight glares and even his crew chief talking to him. Ray told him it would all be nothing sooner or later. At the time Jackson thought he was nuts... he was right.

The once empty race way was filled with chanting cars, and loud hollering that one would have to yell over to speak to somebody else right in front of them. The grandstands flickered with waving lights and camera flashes. The racers' corner was another story, Jackson glanced to see several next-gen racers cruising about, some posing for shots, others being interviewed... and McQueen. The red veteran cruised cautiously among the chaos, a worried look upon his hood that Jackson easily ignored, turning his attention elsewhere.

"How are you feeling, Storm? All set?"

Jackson adverted his eyes, seeing Ray pulling up beside him and the trailer.

"Faster, better. The usual," he replied, his tone confident. Ray's eyes relaxed as a smile spread across his grille.

"Great, then lets head to the track." Ray said, silently observing Jackson as the two departed his trailer, security SUVs quickly moving in the guard his mobile home. He was certain the rookie was awestruck about something, perhaps he remembered their drills here months ago, or he was thinking about the convertible. Knowing him, Ray was hopeful it was neither. Storm didn't need anymore distractions, he was on top of his streak now.

Ray noticed another racer eyeballing the two of them among the squall of race cars and pit crew moving about. A racer sponsored under Nitroade with a front recognizable to Ray's memory shot a glare at Jackson as he approached the two.

"Someone actually sponsored you?" the young, new rookie asked, his features becoming softer and inquisitive as he looked Storm up and down in disbelief.

"Oh hey, Treadless," Jackson said, a small enthusiam in the racer's tone, he almost didn't recognize him. "Must've gotten better on the simulator, watching all those wins, huh?"

Tim shot Jackson a look of sheer annoyance, "this isn't a game! Piston Racing is real. Soon enough, you'll be last weeks track rubber if you keep up that crap."

"You know, those virtual cars always drove better than you, faster even. It's not a good look on you, Treadless. I could still give you those pointers, it might help."

"Enough! Both of you!" Ray butted in, seeing Jackson's cool smile fade for a second, before remain in place. Tim shot the crew chief a look of annoyance and resentment. The pick-up truck's expression became one of his own resentment as he looked back at his former trainee. Tim was a talented racer. No doubt about it, he was fast. What Storm lacked, Treadless made up for, and it wasn't always gracious on both ends. Where Jackson Storm was a force to be reckoned with on the track and simulator, then a racer who was rough around the edges, and sometimes as cold as coolant- Tim Treadless was a fast racer, always attempting to one up Storm, with friendly demeanor to his competitors. The two were like bickering brothers under his supervison, except Ray noticed Jackson was out of the ordinary. He was fast and determined, but alone. No friends, no one to watch his rear-end. Ray saw potential, but he needed encouragement. While Treadless was trying to compete, Storm was simply giving his all because he wanted to. He never quit, and Ray was certain for some time Jackson had little clue what he was really racing for, but it was a different experience than his fellow competitors.

"I've got a race to win, later." Storm's engine came to life in a heavy rev, the ground beneath nearby cars vibrating with its strength as he rolled towards the track. Cameras soon following him.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to another great evening of racing!" Bob Cutlass announced, his voice ringing around the arena as the chanting got louder. "I'm your host, Bob Cutlass, here with Darrell Cartrip to bring you navagation right from the heart of the action, here at Los Angeles International Speedway!"

Jackson began his departure from the pit lane, approaching the pack of race cars with confidence shooting through his system. There was a noticeable contrast to the champion veteran, McQueen, still looking lost amongst the next-gen racers.

'He's still here?' Jackson pondered, watching the older racer out of place in the line up. 'Seriously, he's gotta let it go sooner or later.'

Jackson peered down the line up, not a single old racer present. They were replaced fast, and it was a wise choice. This was the new era, advanced, faster cars. No more 'you're not as fast as McQueen', because he didn't belong. If the losses weren't clear, Jackson didn't know what would be.

"Hey, Champ," Storm rolled beside the awestruck veteran, his blue eyes turning to address him with an almost clueless emotion in them.

"Where'd all your friends go?"

Jackson looked ahead, the once foreign track inviting him to his victory, leaving McQueen behind with the retort. He lined himself up to his pole position of first place.

"Time to win this," Jackson said, a cool confidence in his tone.

"Remember to pit every twenty to thirty laps. Good luck out there," Ray replied though his headset, watching Jackson circle the track towards the checkered line. With a wave of the green flag, the roaring of his engine was audible, loud and clear as he sped forward, the other racers falling behind steadily.

"Hey, if you need to blow off any steam, give the world your best laps," Ray said over the commotion.

Jackson thought over the comment. Was he talking about Treadless?

Zipping by, Ray could soon remember watching him stumble, watching him grimace, seeing his discomfort. Now, Jackson Storm was a natural. On the jumbotron, his calm stoic expression fixed on his face with concentrated grey eyes focussing on the track ahead of him. He had this win under his rims.

The televised event playing rooms away was audible from the confines of her bedroom. Melise could close her eyes, and remember how it felt being right there by the track. Minus the fact that she could hear her grandfather hooting and hollering along with it. She didn't like hearing the race, a creeping feeling of guilt began to pour in again with each sound.

She slumped on her axles, her undercarriage resting on the warm comforters of her bed. Jackson was likely in first place, a winner as usual. Melise glanced to the corner of the room, spotting textbooks her sister had loaned her. She rolled over, and shoved them under her bed, paying no attention to them.

'I hope he wins,' she thought, returning to her bed. She couldn't forget how powerless he looked when she last saw him. When he came all that way to apologize, to seemingly try to stop her from leaving. It made her engine warmer, and she would let him know by invading his personal space. He didn't seem to mind much, in fact, he might've been caught off guard completely, judging by the perplexed expression on his hood. It felt good to be close to him, he was sturdy and snuggly.

"Hey, Melise?" Vanda peeked under the garage door to see the convertible smiling at her. "Ahh! You're home!" the lavender Honda Accord dashed inside to hug her daughter.

"I've missed you so much, Hu—what happened?" Vanda froze her axles in place, studying the bandages.

"A kind of long story, but I crashed... a little."

"A broken headlight is not 'a little crash', Melise," her mother lectured, feeling the bandage over, making sure it was wrapped properly. "We'll have to change the gauze tonight."

"Calm down, Mumma," Melise said in an innocent sing-song voice mimicing her childhood. Vanda rolled her eyes, smiling at her daughter. She noticed the grey autograph on her left side, just below her light.

"Ohh, you met Jackson Storm?"

Melise glanced down quickly then back up, "uhm, yeah... "

"But not Darrell Cartrip?" Vanda said with a frown.

"Mom, I really tried. He's just a very... busy... man" she thought her words through.

"Well, there's always next time," Vanda sighed, her smile soon returning.

"You should be resting with a broken fender, Hun" she brought her attention back to the issue.

"Mom, I'm fine" Melise stretched her axles, emphasizing their ability to move. She rolled towards the door,

"are you making the special for the cafe tomorrow?"

"Yes, pistachio gas pies," Vanda said, watching Melise's eyes light up.

"Cool! Do you need any help? Please say yes."

"Sure, Wynnie," Vanda replied, a soft motherly tone in her voice.

"Mom!"

"What's wrong?"

"You used to call me that when I was a kid, please not anymore." Melise felt the embarassment surging through her circuits.

"Aww, Honey, you've been gone for nearly a month, it was so long without you," Vanda giggled

"It was three weeks," Melise returned her own laughing.

"Ahh! Oh no!" the sudden hollering of Grandpa Ruunes in the living room filled the house.

Vanda dashed to him, Melise soon following behind. She was fearing the worst as she headed into the living room.

"Dad?" Vanda said, worry in her tone as she followed his stunned expression to the T.V.

Melise felt a cold surge through her roof, right to her rims. It was the race... and Lightning McQueen, he had gotten into a serious crash at the speedway.

She turned to gauge her grandfather— a long time McQueen fan before Storm's— reaction. He was frozen still, horrified at the veteran laying motionless with his cabin bent and bruised. His tires all burned apart, spoiler barely hanging on by a small piece of metal, and engine smoking.

McQueen opened his lids weakly, seemingly coughing twice, then closing them before ambulances arrived to cover the scene.

It took Melise a few waking moments before she recognized Shannon's voice,

"And... a truly devastating... crash, " the RSN reporter said, her voice shaky and stunned, "of our favourite long-time racer, Lightning McQueen... "

The clip soon changed to Jackson Storm, and Melise nearly reversed into the wall behind her.

He looked visibly confounded, his grey eyes fixed on the jumbotron along with the racers behind him. Soon enough, his features contoured his usual concentrated stern expression, and he picked up speed again. The other racers followed suite, as the devastation on the track was soon lifted. The race continued.

"Ay! Go Stormy-boy!" Grandpa Ruunes mused once again, his nature seemingly coming back to life. Melise didn't bother questioning her perplexion.

"Well," Vanda breathed a sigh, "We'd better get started on those, umm, pies. Come on, Melise."

Vanda headed towards the kitchen, Melise followed her soon after, a slow roll of her wheels as everything seemed to go back to normal, as if Mr. McQueen didn't just possibly die. What else could anyone do anyway? Hopefully he was alright.

"And Storm carries another victory over 'Ka-Blowout'!" Chick Hicks gloated, a futile attempt to ease the air. Some fans booed from his small audience, tossing souvenirs at the green racer for his lack of sympathy.

Jackson watched the display, amusement on his grin as he headed down the pit lane, greeted by Leon and Ray.

"Good job out there, Jackson," Leon said, "I clocked you in at 207 miles per hour."

Storm raised a lid "Huh... so I'll keep the speedometer that way, keeps the other guys in the back."

Jackson noticed Ray was lost in thought. He idled beside some lightyear tires, a look of somber on his grille.

"Hey, you alright, 'Gus?" Jackson said, attempting to snap him out of his trance.

Ray looked at him, "I'm fine," he emphasized, "it's been years since I've seen a crash that deadly."

"Yeah... it was pretty bad, hope McQueen's alright. He should take the career off." Jackson said, turning to see Gale reversing his trailer into the back.

Ray sighed, "I suppose you're right, Storm."

The racer headed towards his trailer, little attention turning his way. Everyone was focussed on Lightning McQueen even when he lost. Jackson reversed his way into the trailer, stretching his axles before he shot Chick Hicks a smirk through his self-inflicted mob of confrontational and angry McQueen fans across the lot.

Peace and perfect quiet.

"Hey, Storm," Quincy opened the back room, peeking out. Jackson blew out a hefty sigh. "Congrats on another win, damn."

"You better not decide to leave that room," he replied, addressing Quincy behind him.

"Well I was gonna ask you to let me roll ove-"

"You wanna roll over me?" Storm asked, confirming Quincy's question.

"If you insist," the forklift climbed over Jackson, and the racer soon shook him off when he reached his hood.

"Watch it," Jackson warned.

"Damn, either Gale needs to get you a bigger trailer or you need to get smaller," Quincy said, shaking off his tires.

"I told Gale to make sure I was alone, I like my life private."

"Hey, I'm not gonna get wasted again," Quincy replied, hearing Gale start her engine faintly outside.

"Doesn't sound like such a bad idea to celebrate my win."

Both were silent as they remembered the gruelling encounter. Jackson was surprised McQueen wrecked himself. He didn't see it coming, half expecting Treadless to be more minor competition than McQueen pushing his RPM to the limit. The ordeal was just bad, not enough to stop the race, but bad. At this point, Jackson's advice must've hit him head on, it was time for retirement.

Storm heard Quincy whistling as the trailer began to move with the road.

He wouldn't admit it, but he wanted to forget yesterday completely. What was the point of even driving to the airport if she was going to leave anyway? Melise wasted his time. And touching him, yeah, she she was pushing her luck...

"You know," Quincy began, Storm glanced to him, a bored look on his front. "when I was in high school, there was this girl, Yerma. She was one of those tomboys, you know, the girls who like guy stuff?"

Jackson stared back, blinking once. "Okay... and?"

"Well, she started out like that, then she just— man I don't even know, but she went from being gruff to having cave-like tendencies. She would refer to herself in third person like the big beast she was down the halls and on thee school yard. I liked that she could crush me, she used to open my can of oil with her teeth, man that was awesome."

Jackson, raised a lid, confused.

"Anyway, I knew I had no competition for her, so I asked her to the prom"

"Where is this going?" Jackson asked.

"It went nowhere, because she found another dude at prom, one of those Peterbilts. He threw me into the basketball net, and she ignored me while they madeout on the dancefloor."

"Wait... what?" Jackson began laughing as Quincy shook his small cab in dismay. "Okay, I laughed, how does this relate to me?"

"Well... Gale!"

"Yeah! What's up!?" she spoke through the intercom.

"It's obvious, right?" Quincy asked, Jackson stared back in confusion. He always felt confused around these two.

"Uh, a little!" Gale replied, never directly saying what she was talking about.

"Yeah, so it's obvious." Quincy said turning back to Jackson.

"Wait, wait, what's obvious?" he asked, waiting for a response from either.

"You liked 'Peaches'," Quincy said simply. "Well I can only assume."

"That's what this is about!? Her!?" Jackson looked astonished. "You're kidding me!"

"I bet even Ray knows."

"Oh please, you think because I said sorry to her that I like her? And was that story even real?"

"Fine, I'll stop." Quincy said, a smile on his grille.

"But I know you didn't like that she left. Even Ray noticed."

Storm shook his hood closing his eyes, "my own team is spying on me."

"Look, listen," Quincy lowered his voice. "I know you probably think you're never gonna see her again, but I got you a little something that might help."

Storm looked at him a bored look on his front again, "and what is that?"

"Her last name is Rūūnes," Quincy said, matter of fact.

"It is? Huh, cool last name," Jackson said, interested.

"So the hotel wouldn't give me her contact info, so I searched her last name up, and found a family business under that last name."

The trailer stopped, and the forklift hit the hatch opening button, soon reversing out into the lot of the hotel.

"Call if you want," he gestured the personal phone in the trailer. "Maybe you'll hit the jackpot and 'Peaches' will answer!"

He headed towards the hotel with his ending statement.

"Don't let Ray find out about this— this time around," Gale smiled coming around the trailer. Jackson looked amazed and bewildered at the same time.

She watched the racer drive past, his expression returning to its usual calm state as he headed into the hotel without another word. Gale had to giggle to herself. This was the most interesting season she had thus far.