The races weren’t meant for nice girls liker her, with silky hair, ironed shirts and daddy’s credit card. No. They were meant for girls like me. Girls that weren’t afraid to get engine grease under their fingernails, that wore denim jeans and leather jackets. Girls that had experience.
The abandoned street was lined with racers and their cars. The races were huge, and only happened once a year. You were lucky if you got a chance to compete. And the stakes were high. Higher than normal races where you would go up against it for money. But tonight was different. We were racing for Pinks. You had to be real confident to put your pink slips up for the taking, and I was. No one had beaten my beast for two years straight at this night. How could you? The raw boisterousness of a ’69 Ford Mustang Fastback up against anything and I was guaranteed to have a new car to work on.
Miss Precious had brought along her Nissan GTR. Not a bad car. Not a particularly good car either I might add, but I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This particular beholder must have been blind.
We sit at the line next to each other, our engines silent. I look over to see her checking her hair in the rear view mirror.
Classic.
I put my head back and close my eyes. This race will be like any other. Ten seconds of pure adrenaline. Sometimes less, depending on how good my beast is feeling.
I open my eyes again and the track rat is standing in front of us, talking into his headset.
Here we go.
Some of the crowd has turned their attention to watch the race. I sit up in my seat as the track rat points at Precious. She starts her engine. It doesn’t growl or roar. It just starts.
How pretentious of her.
Now it’s my turn. The track rat points his stubby finger at me and I turn the key in the ignition. My beast thunders to life and I give her a few revs. Now I have the crowd’s attention.
Precious looks over at me for the first time and I look back. She takes a deep breath and I smile wickedly at her. I roll the drivers side window down so I can hear the announcer.
‘We’ve got the champ here tonight, and her beast, a ’69 Mustang, will she maintain her title?’
I rev my engine in response and I can hear the crowd whistling and cheering.
‘Her competition, a Nissan GTR, and a solid car it is, maybe a little too solid for the races,’ the crowd laugh at this and Precious shrinks back into her seat.
The track rat motions to both of us, then to the set of lights hanging over our bonnets. I place my hand on the gear stick and my foot on the clutch. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from drag racing, it’s that your take off is all that counts.
The lights flash on. The first set of ambers, the second, and the third. The next light is the….
Green.
My foot hits the floor and I slam my beast into first gear. The uproar of the engine is blocking out any thoughts I could be thinking except one. A thought that defines this moment, this night.
This is what I live for.
