Ignition

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  • Dedicated to To all the members of 282 Touge Crew
                                    

Chapter One

I’m sitting at the steering wheel, gripping it tight at 10 and 2.  Tonight, this is my night.  My night to prove to myself that I can do this; that there is some way in this universe that I am able to do what I’ve always wanted to do.  Race.  Officially.  Sure, it’s just a drag race and I will be paired against some poor, random soul, but this is the closest I’ve ever gotten thus far to “the real deal.” 

            I decided to bring my Cobalt SS to the strip on a whim after buying it earlier this week.  Originally, it was just going to transport me to work, and I was going to slowly build it up to one day ultimately race it at the tracks.  But after that first day of driving it, after putting that key in the ignition and hearing the purr of the supercharged 2.0l for the first time, I just had to see what she could do on a straightaway.

            I have been waiting for almost forty-five minutes by the time I finally inch my way up to the starting line.  Like everyone else, anytime the cars moved even the slightest centimeter, I shake my side-bangs out of my eyes and glance to my left to get an idea of who I would be paired with.  Every time I look over, I see a pair of bright white teeth smiling at me, beneath a nicely clean Celica GT-4.  Not my choice of a decent car, but decent nonetheless.  And a car that could probably kick my ass.

            I shrug off this idea, rub my bright but dry blue eyes thanks to my contacts, and turn up my radio to calm my nerves with a little bit of Initial D music – best driving music out there, in my opinion.  At the burnout box, I rev the engine a few times, spinning the tires and making sure to heat them up for the best grip possible, and proceed to hold my breath until the light turns green.  Red… I should have tied up my long hair..Yellow…Combat boots were definitely not the right shoes to wear to race...My hands grip the wheel tighter.  And then, just like that, in a split-second, we are off: the GT-4 and me.

            I step on the clutch, throw the shifter just the slightest bit forward, gas the car, and I am in first – first gear, that is.  I don’t know if I am in front or behind the Celica at this point; all that matters is my RPMS, my shifting, and the narrow piece of strip that I can see through my windshield in front of me.  I can learn all the nuances, such as my launch speed and top speed later; right now I am only concerned about driving.  I can’t even tell you what my IPod decided to play on shuffle next – could have been those embarrassing show tunes everyone has – didn’t matter to me.  First quickly turns to second, and I am stepping on the pedal as hard as I can. 

            Four or five seconds into the race and I am ready to go into third. I stare at the RPMS; waiting for around 5200 RPMS to shift at the most opportune moment.  I quickly glance in my rearview mirror even though I knew that is the worst possible thing to do at a race, but it was my first time on the strips, and I just can’t wait any longer: I have to go faster; he is definitely catching up.  I shift into third the second my eyes get back from looking in my rearview mirror.  From this point, the rest of the race goes completely downhill – and not in a good-touge way, either.

            Before I know it, after only a couple seconds on being on the strip for my first time ever, I am losing.  Celica-boy is completely in front of me.  He rides off into the sunset and I am stuck chasing after him, like some twisted steam-punk fairy tale.  The taillights of his Celica GT-4 light up the blacktop in front of my car for the remainder of the race, slowly fading as the distance between us increases.  In my final few seconds before I cross the finish line, I throw the shifter up into fourth.  At least I can make decent time run for a girl.   

            As I finally pass the finish line and follow the track around the bend, I see the Celica parked with his flashers on.  He clearly means for me to pull up to talk to him.  “Asshole” I think to myself, and drive past him.  If he wasn’t driving a Celica, or more specifically a Celica that kicked my ass, I might talk to him; some socializing could help improve my mood.  But I don’t like to admit to defeat easily.  Let him take me on a back road, through the twists and turns; we’ll see who wins then.

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⏰ Last updated: Dec 04, 2013 ⏰

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