BULLSEYE

Soft Hearts Hurt Double

We rattled on down the bramble track, Rascal Flatts 'Life is a Highway' blaring into our pristine ears. Carl's sinewy hands were plastered around the steering wheel, my elbow leaning against the dash in the navigator's seat. Suddenly, the driver brought the gearshift level down, hard. We stopped in a solitary placid carpark which was not made of concrete but on the contrary of concrete.

We sat there in lavish silence for a while. The music having drifted off into some lowly indie, highly offensive to my own dazzling music taste, I could no longer decipher who it was by nor what it was called. Alas, Carl sat there, leaning back with his head plastered against the head rest and nodding in a rhythm corresponding to the beat.

"Strip," I called. Making my voice bellowing loud so as to make it audible over the blasting music. Weathers did not hear me.

"Strip," I said again, louder - so much so that I felt like my lungs might bleed.

"The King," I insisted, reasserting to his nickname in one desperate attempt.

"Your giving me a headache. We've parked for the damned gods sake," I winced. Carl seemed to hear me then, for with that he reached across and turned the music swiftly down. Making no comment about my rudeness. In what was less than one second the car was turned off and with one flick of a switch both doors jutted open and the both of us slid out.

Me, in my neat leather seat and my navy blue tie. Carl in his overhanging blue hoodie and his rolled-up rustic jeans.

I hastened to make an effort to straighten the outfit up after having it bedraggled by the long car ride. In turn, I passed a chiseled hand through my shadowy hair, pushing it back against my scalp.

We did not say a word as we walked towards the racing operators, our strides long and uncouth. Our garments flowing out behind us. There was many a car hoisted into the parking lot, many of which I knew instantaneously whose money had been thrust across the counter to attain them. There were people leaning against those cars, littering the race course. In wait for their next trivial event.

Most were men, a few women. Only one of the woman I could have laid a label upon. Alas, that wasn't because of her fabulous looks or though her looks stood out nonetheless. No, on the contrary it was because the fickle creature had beaten me, had beaten all of us, many a time. She stood, surrounded by shabby men who looked at her neither like they would a friend nor like an enemy.

One of which surrounding them I instantaneously, much against my valid reputation wanted to run up to and hug. Smokey. I tried to catch the eyes of my athletic, strawberry blonde and ripped tanks, friend. Thankfully, his eyes caught mine and with a word awry to the group he had been with, he departed heading towards me. The look in his eyes an alloy of surprise and wonder - tipped with concern.

Strip and I walked forward once more, our stride never subdued. I could not help but feel, despite my bitterness at having to leave Sheriff, exuberant that I may be able to plunge into another race. Hell, now that I was here, I wanted nothing more but to beat the whole lot of them once more.

We met Smokey at the top of the hill, I in my bland oblivious almost knocking him over. Nevertheless, Smokey put one rigid hand on my tattered shoulder just in time.

"Doc," he sighed. Pushing me just inches away from me before he draped his callused hand off my shoulder. I took another step back, just for good measure.

"Long time no see, how did the break fair you?" He questioned. Raising one blonde eyebrow. Just like Smokey also knowing why I was here and then, I guess, it was blandly obvious what it was I was doing here.

I shrugged my armoured shoulders.

"Fabulous," I lied. My tongue pressed against the corner of my cheek, "As always," I straightened, hoping to put a divide in the conversation. Not stop it just lead it on another, less shamming, path.

"How is the racing?" I inquired. To my idle surprise, Smokey leaned closer than. His breath brushing against my ear.

"Boring," he sighed, "But don't tell the others," He tore away than, a smirk adorning his face.
"With you gone there's nothing to rial the track," he mumbled. Straightening himself out, retucking his oversized tank into his jeans. He sighed.

"But," he signalled, "I suppose, if I want you back on that damn track I'm going to have to let you go and sign yourself up," I nodded then but inside my heart was aching. Why I didn't know.

Perhaps, I thought, I wasn't such the arrogant bastard I had brought myself up to be. Either that or Sheriff had softened me up so much I could hardly breathe. It felt like I needed to put a thousand bandaids on my aching heart.

"Walk with me, Smokey," I pleaded. Voice soft, gentle. It didn't belong on the race track, for a second Smokey looked startled but after a moments hesitation he opened his pursed mouth once again.
"Course," he mumbled. And together, with Weathers in tow, we continued up the stony rumble. Feet never slipping. The officials tent growing closer and closer with every nimble step, every plunge forward. Alas, it seemed that that was not the only thing that was growing. My heart was too, growing wild with foreign hope. Being here made my race so badly it was enough to almost make me forget about that little town on the side of the road.

We walked, hands head high with pride, arms flailing limply at our sides. And then there was a tent. Standing there just inches away from me, like a splash in the face from a freezing tide. My heart thudded and then stopped. It's music ended.

People peered at me, their eyes narrowed into slits. With the same close cropped haircuts as they bore every year, the same official status, the same attentive and crude stare. I forgot how to breathe. I forgot how to talk.

It was Smokey's breath on my cheek that saved me in the end, it was Strip's hand on my shoulder.

"Doc,"Smokey whispered, drawing me back to reality. I let a heavy breath fall from my cracked lips, my body feel loose. Heart starting once more.

"Race again,"
Weathers just looked at me, silently, endearingly, he winked. Race again.