You Can't Hurt Me

One day you're gonna have to stop Racing

Antonio was his birth given name, but his real name is Race. Whether he is gambling his money, or running from all the lies he ain't ever gonna accept, Racetrack is who he truly is.

Though the name came from his quick thinking on the poker table, Race supposed it does better from the fact he can't seem to ever stop walking away from life. He ran from his Mama's death, ran from people who hurt him, and is running from the fact he may never be in his fathers custody again.

Maybe it just feels a little too real to be getting older right now, knowing this was gonna be the first birthday he didn't spend down in the biggest gambling joint they could find.

Realistically the problem was it felt to fake.

Being 16 was the last of Race's priorities, worries, excitements. His life had changed so much in just a few short months he wondered if it would even be considered his life anymore. The word around him was the same, same home, same work, same dreams, yet it was all tinted and wrong. The walls were painted another color, he looked around and people were doing the same work around him, and now his dreams felt unrealistic in a way he ain't ever felt anymore. Like a veil of plastic covered them now, as if he had to squint to see 'em properly.

It was 6:30 AM, and in five damn minutes, Racetrack would be 16 years old. And if that ain't the fricken scariest thing he has ever heard, he don't know what is.

He wanted to ask Jack to go visit his dad, he told him he could do that, and what better day to take him up on it. But the next five minutes felt so fake, Race couldn't find the will in him to even try.

He was lucky enough to have his birthday fall on the weekend. Not have to go to school and have his teacher look up on her chart to see his name in black comic sans font, the simplest one he knew, and muster up a bunch of kids who half were gonna end up junkies, the other half wouldn't even remember his name, to sit there and sing happy birthday for him and pretend anyone in the world gave a damn about him.

His dad hadn't really doted on birthdays, every year around he would say, "a birthday is just another year 'round until you can buy yourself your own beers and cigs."

However, if he could remember anything about his mama, it was her beautiful voice. How every year he was woken up with a smooth soprano, "Tanti auguri a te, tanti auguri a te, tanti auguri a Tony, tanti auguri a te!"

She'd give him a stuffed animal, something simple like a dog or a cat, and later she would bake him a chocolate cake with buttercream frosting since he was a bit too young to do it himself.

To give credit to his dad, he tired to uphold some traditions when Mama died, he had attempted to wake Race up with Tanti Auguri, but the deeper voice had scared Race and made him sad so he'd spent the next 2 hours sobbing about it, hysterical. Took bringing him to Red Racers to stop.

He looked over to his alarm clock, 6:38. He's been 16 for 2 minutes.

They always say you never feel different. But Race definitely felt different, not older. Just... sadder. It definitely wouldn't have been his first birthday missing a parent, but it was his first missing both.

Things had been so great at first, having a friend and his dad, cigarettes and fresh cookies, beer and soda.

Maybe that was his gamble. Make a friend, no a brother, and loose his dad.

Did he make the right choice? Would he had chosen differently if he knew? Does it even matter?

No, he supposed not.

The first thing he dad taught him in poker was you ain't ever getting your money back from a gamble gone wrong. No matter how much you beg, threaten, cry, choices are permanent. Like the sun and moon they won't ever go away no matter how much you may want 'em too.