Breakdown (Crash into Me) (10 page)

I tried to rid myself of this theory, but others followed, and I found myself driving more slowly at the idea of some of those gorgeous girls teasing me for my lame attempts to look appealing, getting hit on by one of the scary guys, or William not being there at all. What if the crowd was rougher tonight than it was before? The idea of being there without knowing anyone was instantly intimidating. I wasn’t afraid of dying, but I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I was afraid of being violated, of being disfigured and mutilated—murdered without my body ever being found or identified. What if my phone got stolen? Or my car?  If it did get stolen, would my insurance cover that?

I gripped the wheel and tried to make my thoughts to go anyway. If worse came to worse I could always throw myself in front of a car like William suggested.

William. What an appropriate name for such a handsome guy. Way better than Billy or even do-gooder the more I thought about it. I repeated the syllables of the name slowly in my head.

When I said it fast, it almost sounded like revving engine.

The Devil’s Promenade was one of the more popular areas to hike in the Riverside area. Every weekend the playground and parking lot overflowed with boy scouts and rental cars from tourists. And while no one could be kept from climbing the mountain itself, at dusk the gate to the hiking trails and picnic tables was locked up tight by a park ranger. Once I pulled up, my headlights, as well as that of others, reflected off of aluminum signs that cautioned against feeding the wildlife and the importance of recycling.

At first, I imagined that it was pure luck that I found an open spot at all. But I quickly realized that races were just ending around the bend, prompting people to park as far away from the finish line as they could get. When I got out of my car and saw the dents in my fellow spectator’s cars, I figured out why. Despite this, I decided to risk it, too cowardly to look for another spot.

Unsure of what to do with myself, and feeling out of place—more than usual—I spent more than a minute or two looking at the recycling bins chained to the ground and the color coded scheme of the trail directory. Off in the distance I heard the moans of either a high-pitched woman or cat. To keep from knowing which I kept my eyes to the ground and followed the stream of traffic that was walking in and out of the park.

The rest of the cars became visible once I entered the park and walked past a grove littered with tall trees. A collection of stone benches and other statues dedicated to veterans were occupied by spectators, so I knew not to look for William there. As my eyes began taking in the sights of the cars, my blood started rushing through me, sending a staggering pulse straight to my ears. I considered that I was maybe having an anxiety attack, but when the butterflies began fluttering through my stomach, I realized that it was all excitement. Right away, I thought it was strange how I could become reacquainted with it so quickly when I was only just familiarizing myself with the feeling.

My mind and body struggled to get in sync as I took in the smell of diesel fuel and the sight of sparks next to neon body paint. I ran my fingers through my hair and focused on the vibrating ground beneath me. Of course, I knew it was only a combination of speakers and revving engines, but I concentrated hard enough, breathed in enough exhaust—I could pretend it was an earthquake and that with enough force the earth would open up and swallow me.

It didn’t take long before I saw the tricked out ice cream again, and a half a second later there was a tricked out Volkswagen bug painted to look like a ladybug and the lime green car I had seen race the night before. Not nearly as fascinated as I was by these familiar cars, however, there seemed to be more people drinking cheap beer around the trunks of a few trees than looking at the cars or actually racing. Once again, though, I saw some of the girls from the night before, and with rhinestones in their body piercings and elaborately designed tattoos,
they
made me feel more out of place than anything else. Though briefly, I did admire how effortlessly one girl with pink hair seemed to walk on the bumpy ground in her platform heels.

Not unlike a lot of the guys, the girls traveled in cliques, lingering close to one another and taking turns guarding each other when one of them had to use a tree to relieve themselves.  Many of them smoke and drank with the same frequency as the guys, pointing out one driver from another and eyeing them with intensity as the guys looked at engines and tires.

I walked slowly past a huddle of guys trying to light the charcoal in one of the park’s pedestal grills. They swore to each other in Spanish and munched on chips loudly. Maybe I should have just stuck around there and tried to blend in with them and the girls who clung to them, but the excitement in my feet had me unable to keep still for long. Still, there was something less intimidating about hungry people, that need for fulfillment showing their humanity. I walked away slowly, but kept the group in my mind as an exit strategy.

The entire park, from the trails to the valleys of rocks gated off for safety, seemed to be invaded by racers and their groupies. I didn’t ask how a lot of the oversized cars and pick-ups fit through the park gate, but I got the sense that I didn’t want to know either, so I kept quiet. I kept walking and ground my teeth against each other, trying to read product stickers and tattoos in dark and deciding whether or not I liked them.

I was looking at a tattoo shaped into a top-hat with quotes from Alice in Wonderland when one of the guys with a walkie-talkie sat on top of the recreational shed in a raggedy lawn chair caught my attention. I noticed immediately how every few seconds he would rotate the flashlight he held into the crowd, shining them more on girl’s backsides than anywhere else.

“Hey, Stew!” a loud voice called. “Knock that shit off! You keep it up and this place will turn into a sausage fest real quick!”

I followed my line of sight from the roof dweller to the sound of the voice. Even from the distance and through my excitement it was distinctly familiar. I narrowed my eyes in the dark, and even then it took a minute, but eventually my brain did register that the voice belonged to Cosmo.

I waited for a solid minute before I decided to go over to him and his friends. Despite my best attempts, I couldn’t see the faces of anyone else I had met the night before—William included. When I realized not seeing him was why my excitement dampened so much, I immediately scolded myself and made myself go over there anyway.

Cosmo was sitting on the bed of a tricked out pick-up truck, drinking a beer and laughing with a dark haired guy. Instinctively, I knew it was better not to seem too desperate. I made myself uncross my arms and look straight ahead. Eye contact was important for these things, wasn’t it? And how does one start a conversation again?

I snuck in like I was on a mission, a solider crawling under the barbed wire to retrieve enemy secrets. Once I was within hearing distance, I was standing there for more than five minutes before I considered leaving. The veil of social anxiety came over me like a bad headache, and suddenly I couldn’t think of anything else other than the idea of people staring at me, of every single person who passed me thinking something negative. With it I suddenly became paranoid, imagining every giggle and laugh attributed to something wrong I was doing. Was it okay to bite my lip? To play with the necklace at my throat or twirl my foot into the ground? What if they were making fun of my split ends or my sneakers splattered with dough?

“Hey!” someone called to me. “I like your top.”

I had missed the point where the pink haired girl with the platform heels came over. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure where she had come from. But she now snuggled up close to the dark haired guy who Cosmo had been laughing with. Now that I could see her up-close, I could see the fake eyelashes that matched her hair and the silver stud in her nose. She smiled directly at me, and I had to remind myself that smiling was an appropriate reaction to a compliment.

“Thanks. I, uh, like yours too.”

I really did like her top, her entire outfit in fact. The black long sleeve t-shirt complimented the zebra stripped corset she wore over it. I might once have thought she dressed too trampy for public, I had to admit to myself that if I had her curves, I might have been bold enough to dress that way too.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, have I?”

I shook my head and searched for my voice. “Probably not. This is my second time here.” I bit the inside of my mouth and laughed awkwardly. “At the races anyway…”

If I was alone I would have slapped myself silly. Was
races
even the proper term, or did these social events have a stupid nickname like everyone and everything else around here?

Noticing she was focused on something other than him, the dark haired guy nudged Cosmo until he pointed me out. Glancing over the side of his shoulder, Cosmo smiled at me immediately. I had never been so grateful to be recognized.

“Hi, Jumper.” Cosmo nudged the guy with the dark hair and his pink haired girlfriend back in my direction. “Frenchie, Eggs, did you meet Jumper yet?”

Frenchie rolled her eyes and leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “My actual name is Tabby.” She reached back and hit Eggs playfully.

I struggled to make conversation. “Um, my actual name is Charlotte—or Lottie—whichever one works…”

She nodded like she understood before stealing the beer right out of Egg’s hand. I was then terrified that our conversation was over. And the idea of being there and not having anyone to talk to suddenly seemed so much worse than the death by fire I had once considered.

“Uh, why do they call you Frenchie? Do you have one of those dogs or something?” As I said it, my voice squeaked just a little, letting my awkwardness shine for all of the world to see and hear. I thought all might have looked at me like I was an idiot, but the guys went back to their conversation and Tabby continued to smile politely, like she didn’t mind at all.

“No, though I should totally get one.” She pointed to her hair with her sparkly nails. “It was my boss’ idea. Plenty of girls have pink hair, but none of them take their clothes off to the Grease soundtrack. You’d be surprised how many guys get it up for vintage.”

I smiled like someone with half a brain. I had never met a stripper before—never even
knew
anyone who knew a stripper—but I would have been lying if I said there wasn’t something exciting about it. Maybe not as exciting as racing, but exciting nevertheless. Before I began to realize it, my nervousness started to fade.

“A lot of grabby old guys?”

Rejoining the conversation, Eggs stood up and revealed the band t-shirt he was wearing. “That’s all she ever gets!” He grabbed her knee just before she hit him. “Frenchie works the weekday afternoon shift, so all her tips are from senior citizens or unemployed scumbags.”

“That’s if I get any tips.” She sighed. “I swear, if I couldn’t study between stage times, it wouldn’t even be worth it.”

“Oh.” My voice had way more surprise in it than I wanted it to. “Do you go to school?”

My fear of insulting her was quickly demolished by her wide smile. I could see then she had a small gap between her two front teeth, but it didn’t make her any less pretty. “Yeah. Art history major. You?”

I tried to imitate her nod. “Business.”

She and Eggs flinched almost simultaneously.

“Yeah,” I laughed. “I wanted to go to a culinary arts school, but my family convinced me that it wasn’t very practical—”

“Screw practical,” Tabby scoffed. “You have to do what makes you happy.”

Eggs nodded as though she had said something completely original. I thought happiness was one of those things that was easier said than done, a hypothesis that couldn’t ever be proven, but I didn’t say any of that out loud. I was doing way too good with this so far to spoil it now.

“Did you say this was your first race?” Though she had to shout over someone’s sound system, I still barely heard Tabby, and I found myself straining to hear her.

“Yeah,” I admitted sheepishly. I had considered lying, but given my lack of knowledge on racing, and cars altogether I didn’t think I could fake my way through an interrogation.

“That’s cool,” Tabby said. “Who’d you get the invite from?”

Invite? Were these races formal occasions? Something that outsiders were unwelcome to attend? What if I was declared an outsider? Would I be kicked out for the loser I was?

I stared at the ground, my mouth as dry and my head empty. Luckily, Cosmo was ready to answer for me, nudging Eggs in the stomach and wiggling his eyebrows playfully. 

“Jumper is Billy’s friend,” Cosmo said, putting emphasis on the word friend. “You should have seen the state he put her in before they got here yesterday.”

I blanched bright red before I could look away or excuse myself. My face burned so badly that I couldn’t hide it even if I wanted to. Quickly, I decided that having them think I was one of William’s
friends
was better than them knowing the truth. Still, I was numb about the fact that it was better to be considered a tramp rather than a head-case. In most people’s eyes, depression was a weakness, whereas if I was sexually adventurous then at least I was interesting.

If Tabby noticed how uncomfortable I was, she didn’t say anything. She ignored Eggs entirely while he tried to sneak his hands up her shirt, and instead she hopped off the back of the pick-up, adjusting her corset in such a graceful way I wouldn’t have even know how to begin imitating it.

“If this is your first race, then let me show you around,” she offered, chugging the last of Egg’s beer. “Any friend of Billy’s is a friend of mine.”

I felt of twinge of jealousy just then, a weird sort of possessiveness without understanding why. I did my best to shrug it off and smile.

Saying nothing, I shrugged and tried to nod my gratitude. She took her arm in mine like we were old friends, and for the second time I envied her. Were some people born with the ability to make friends, a natural trait like blue eyes over brown? Or was it something that came with time and practice, like learning how to dance?