The Pace (8 page)

On my way out of the house, I instantly perked up at the warm breeze that was still in the air. I started to smile at the thought of the afternoon drive when my heart skipped a beat at the sight of a little black car sitting right in front of my house. After taking a quick breath to calm my nerves, I let out an involuntary grin and walked over to the passenger side door. His window slid down.

“What are you doing?” I asked, surprised.

“You said you wanted to see me.”

“But you have class today.”

“I know British literature quite well. I think I’ll be okay if I miss a class.” He was leaning over with a smile. “Get in.”

I couldn’t get in the car fast enough. “Where are we going?”

“Where were
you
going?” he countered.

“The overlook.”

“What for?” he asked.

“Just for a drive.”

“Okay, we’ll drive then,” he said, putting the car in gear.

“How do you do that?” I asked, looking at his shifter. He followed my eyes.

“This?”

“Yeah, you drive this car so smoothly. I tried once, and I almost broke my mom’s neck.”

He laughed. “You just haven’t had the right teacher.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” I happened to notice I was in sweatpants and a T-shirt while he was, once again, dressed nicely. I would have to start paying attention to what I was wearing before I left the house. I wasn’t used to worrying about seeing anyone in particular out in public before. “Where are we going?” I asked, diverting the attention from my attire.

“Just for a little drive, not too far from here.”

I was fine with the drive part, but I was hoping I would have a little time to spend with him. I had some questions that I’d been saving to ask him in person, and now seemed like a good enough time.

“Do you mind if I ask some questions?”

“No, not at all,” he said, with his eyes still on the road. “Go ahead.”

I shifted in my seat a little. “Well, I was wondering about your parents.”

“Yes?”

“How did you lose them?” I hoped I hadn’t worded it too poorly.

“That’s a good way of putting it,” he said. “Well, my father died flying a small plane many years ago, and my mother died from the flu when I was seventeen.”

“How old was she?” I asked, thinking it was strange.

“She was only forty-two.” He looked over and must have seen signs of thinking going on in my head because he clarified. “She was in another country when she got sick. They didn’t have the treatment we have here.”

“And your uncle?”

“Cancer.”

“My grandmother died from cancer, too,” I added. He looked over at me with sympathetic eyes and said he was sorry. For the first time, I knew how he felt when he said it was okay every time I apologized to him for his loss. It wasn’t his fault that my grandmother died, and there really wasn’t anything for him to apologize for. It was just a part of life. I guess people feel the need to say they’re sorry when they hear about it. It was just a natural compassion, I supposed.

“Do you have any more family in the area?” I asked.

“No.”

“No one?”

“No.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just sat quietly. We drove for a few more minutes until he broke the silence.

“So, you live with your mother. Where is your father?”

I’ve never liked answering that question before, but I didn’t seem to mind then.

“He went back to Brazil when I was young.”

“Do you still talk to him?”

“No. Not really. My mom says he tried to keep in touch, but as I got older, he just stopped communicating.”

“What brought you to California then?” he asked.

“My grandmother got sick. She died earlier this year.”

At least I was lucky enough to have a family member still living, but he had no one. I stared out the window, wondering how I would feel to be all alone, and it made me sad. I was sure I wouldn’t be as composed as he was. I was glad when he interrupted my thoughts.

“Here we are,” he said, pulling into the parking lot of what looked like a field house.

“What is this?”

“It’s a race car track,” he said, pulling up to a side gate. He got out and manually pulled the gate open on each side. Then, he casually got back in the car and smoothly pulled in.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, looking around. It didn’t look closed, but I didn’t see any people either.

“You said you wanted to drive.”

“You’re going to drive on here?” I pointed to the track.

“No, you are,” he informed me, getting out of the car and walking around to my side. “Well?” he said, holding my door open, waiting for me to get out.

“What?”

“
You’re
going to drive, on the track.”

“Drive what?”

“Drive this,” he clarified, motioning to his car. He
was
crazy. I shook my head.

“No. I don’t think so. I can’t drive your car. I don’t even know how.”

He leaned in the car and grabbed me by my arms. “Come on, up you go,” he said, pulling me out.

“Would you stop it!” I said, swatting him away. “I’m not going to drive this thing. You just got it fixed. Are you nuts?”

He laughed, shutting the door behind me. “No, I want you to drive it. I want to show you how. Besides, everyone should know how to drive a manual shift.”

“But I’ll mess it up. I can’t.”

He put his hands on both of my shoulders and leaned in. His eyes were that deep brown I loved, but I couldn’t see my reflection this time. “No, you won’t,” he said, pausing. “Please, I’m missing class for this. The least you can do is make this worth my while.” He tilted his head downward and looked at me through his long, dark eyelashes. I let out a big sigh and stared at him for a few minutes. He didn’t look like he was going to change his mind.

“Fine.”

He smiled immediately.

I dragged myself around the car and slid into the driver’s side. I sat there, afraid to touch anything, and he was smiling the whole time.

“Are you sure we can drive on this?” I asked, hoping for an out to my predicament.

“I’m positive.”

“How do you know?”

He leaned back into his seat, completely relaxed. “Because it’s mine, courtesy of Weston C. Wilson II.”

“I thought you said your dad was a pilot?”

“He was,” he assured me. “My family had a lot of hobbies.”

So that was great. He had a race car track in his family. It was sure to be an absolute embarrassment. I would’ve rather been doing my government homework. Well, maybe I was exaggerating a little, but I was horrified.

“You’re going to need a neck brace you know?” I added.

“I’ll be fine, you’ll see.” He was getting a kick out of this.

“How much is this car worth anyway? Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Stop worrying,” he said. “The car will be fine, and so will you. I promise.”

He instructed me to push the clutch all the way in and hold it while I started the car. My leg felt like Jell-O. It was shaking. “Now, push in the clutch with your left foot and keep your other foot on the brake.” That was easy. I could do that. “Now keep your feet exactly where they are and move this up like that.” I watched him put the gearshift in first gear and then put it back in neutral. “Now you try it.”

“You want me to move?”

“Yes, but not yet,” he smiled. “Just put it in gear and wait.” I followed his instructions reluctantly.

“Now just stay like that and close your eyes.”

“What?” I said, looking at him.

“Just do it,” he said, encouraging me. I did.

“Now listen very carefully.” His voice was soothing. “I want you to feel the car. You are going to
slowly
let out the clutch a little, and
as soon as
you feel the car start to move, push the clutch all the way back in. Now, try that.” I just sat there. “Go on. Try it.” I gripped the wheel and started to ease off the clutch, and as soon as I felt the car start to move, I shoved it back in. It was hard on the poor clutch but easy on our necks.

“Good,” he said. “Now do it again.” He had me do it a few times. “Do you feel where the clutch is catching?”

I nodded.

“That’s where the gears will catch. Now, I want you to think about that spot where the clutch catches
and
the gas pedal. They are like a seesaw. The car will move when the seesaw is in balance. What you need to do is slowly ease off the clutch, so it is where you felt it catch before. This time you want to hold the clutch still, right before it makes the car move. Then, you need to give it some gas slowly. Once the seesaw is balanced, the car will start to move and you can slowly give it more gas and let the clutch all the way out. We will drive for a few feet and when I tell you to brake, I want you to take your foot off the gas and push the clutch all the way back in and stop the car. The clutch has to be all the way in every time the car stops. Got it?”

“I can’t do this,” I said, opening my eyes.

“Yes, you can. We are just going to go a few feet. I want you to practice the seesaw. That’s all. Just try it.”

I ran down everything he said in my mind again and started to release the clutch. I gave it some gas and let out the clutch. Both of our heads flew back into the headrests and bounced violently off. The car stalled.

“Oh my God. I’m sorry,” I said. “I told you.” He was laughing.

“No, it’s okay. I should’ve warned you. You don’t need to give it as much gas as you do your Jeep. This car is very sensitive to speed. Just a tiny bit of gas will go a long way. Just give it a tiny bit.” He held up his thumb and index finger pinched together.

I started the car and tried it again. I let out the clutch a little, felt the car start to move, and gave it just a tiny bit of gas. “Now let off the clutch the rest of the way.” We went about ten feet. “Okay, now stop the car.” I braked a little too fast, but our heads only moved forward a few inches. “Good,” he said. “Not too bad. Now try it again, get us going a little, and then stop, again. Get used to the seesaw.”

He had me practice starting and stopping a bunch of times, but I eventually got it down pretty smoothly. I only stalled once, not counting the first time. I did much better than I expected. I turned to him and said, “Okay, your turn.”

“Oh, no. You’re not done,” he said, shaking his head. “You need to try moving through the gears.”

“Why are you insistent upon me ruining this car?”

“You are not going to ruin it. Trust me. Now, instead of stopping the car this time, all you are going to do is let off the gas and instead of braking, you’re just going to push in the clutch and change gears. Then, you slowly let out the clutch and give it some more gas.” He took my hand and motioned through the gears with me to show me where to move them, and then he set me free. I replayed everything he said in my head and then gave it a try.

“Good. Now try second gear . . . Good, now try third.” Third gear was a little shaky, but I managed. We were driving. “Now just keep her steady,” he instructed. We drove around the track, one whole time, at thirty miles per hour. I didn’t want to go any faster. I had to admit, driving the car was sort of fun. I felt powerful in a way. And, had I not been worried about wrecking it, I might have enjoyed myself, but I figured I should quit while I was still ahead.

“Can I stop now?” I practically pleaded.

“You can stop whenever you want.”

I was glad to hear that and wasted no time pulling over, being sure to remember to put the clutch in as I braked.

“You did it,” he said, putting the gearshift in neutral and pulling up the emergency brake. “Always remember to pull this up when you stop the car.”

I nodded again and swiftly opened the door and got out. Our necks seemed to be in good shape. I wouldn’t call it a smooth ride, but it wasn’t half-bad either. He was a very good teacher, but I was glad to be out of that seat.

Of course when he got in, we smoothly picked up speed until we were back around the track. I was a little envious. It was effortless to him. “I want you to meet some people,” he said. He pulled up to a building that looked like an aviation hangar. We got out and walked into the office. There were a few guys working there. Wes led us over to the counter area. “Kenny, Curtis, Jimmy, this is Sophie.” They each came up to me and shook my hand one by one. Curtis looked like the oldest, and Kenny was wearing a mechanic suit, so I took him for a mechanic, and Jimmy was wearing a racing suit. He looked about our age.

“So Wes, it’s good to see you,” Kenny said. “What brings you by?”

“Just showing Sophie how to drive.” They all laughed and looked at me. I didn’t get the joke.

“Sophie, you might want to steer clear of this one on the track,” Curtis interjected.

“Why is that?” I asked, curious. Wes grabbed my hand and was trying to pull me toward a side door.

“Leave her alone, guys,” Wes said, still pulling me. I wanted to know, so I stopped and separated my hand and waited.

“Because he is a crazy man on the track. He has no fear.” They all laughed.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, pondering this new information.

“Bye guys,” he said, holding onto my hand again. I waved over my shoulder, to be polite, as he gently pulled me away.

“That was interesting.”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” he said, and then, leaning in closer to my ear, he added, “I want to show you something.” I kept following him as a tingling sensation lingered on my ear from his cool breath.

He opened up a door that led to a large garage, which housed several race cars. I was in awe. I’d never been into car racing, but those cars were very cool.

“How many are there?” I asked, touching the window nets and running my hands over the painted numbers and sponsor signs.

“We have seven here. We use four for the driving school and we race three.”

“You race?”

“No, not anymore. I thought I would try college for a while.” He winked. “Jimmy is our driver.”

“So what, you like
own
all this?”

“Yes. I inherited it, I suppose. It sort of runs itself now. Curtis manages it, and I just sort of enjoy it.”