I looked over at Brandon. His jaw seemed to be dragging on the ground. Grant’s eyes were as big as saucers, and Stephen had his arms crossed in front of him with a sly, confident smile.
I looked at Runaway and her face was the best thing I have ever seen. She had a look of joy, happiness, love, success, and everything else, all at once. I wanted to scoop up that moment forever and carry it with me always, as I knew it was one of a kind.
After a couple of seconds, I noticed that Grant, Stephen, and Brandon had all noticed what I was staring at. We became mesmerized with Runaway’s sheer joy—it was truly infectious. We all just stood there a moment and watched her. I have never seen a look of such pride in anyone in all of my life.
At first, I guess all of us were a little jealous of the car. I mean, I couldn’t ever remember her looking that way at any of us. But as we were to learn later, we could never pinpoint exactly what Runaway placed value on.
Abruptly breaking the silence, Runaway said, “Let’s take her to the quarter-mile.”
I think all of us knew that this was the next step—once we had our cars, we would, in keeping with the spirit of Mr. Thompson’s stories, take them to the quarter-mile.
Without a word to one another, we quickly jumped in our cars to follow her to The Oasis.
Once there, the three of us parked in the lot as normal, and Runaway remained on the road. We had never actually driven the quarter-mile, but we knew that didn’t matter, as all of us had been driving since we were young—especially Runaway with all of her go-carts and obstacle courses.
I knew Runaway was a great driver, even though she had just gotten her license. One of the greatest things about Runaway’s driving is that she drove like a guy, not like a girl. I’m not saying that there is anything wrong with the way a girl drives—it’s just that there is a difference, and Runaway knew that difference—that was her gift. It’s like throwing a baseball… most guys know how to throw naturally, and girls, for the most part, have to learn. Driving is the same way, in my opinion.
Once parked, I got out of my car and stood off the side of the road, waiting for the run to begin. I was nervous—I have to admit that. Actually, I was scared, more than nervous. As I said, none of us had ever run a quarter-mile before. Well, maybe in our minds, and on our bikes, but it’s a whole lot different when you’re in a several-thousand-pound car with a supercharged 454 engine under the hood. When the car was running, she sounded great, if not amazing.
It wasn’t a coincidence that the thunderous engine had a low, vibrating sound like that of a good old Harley-Davidson motorcycle. It was the look and the sound Runaway had been hoping for. The whole car actually shook, body and frame, when it idled. I could feel the vibration go through my whole body like it was a spreading disease. My car had a similar idle, true, but it was nowhere near as powerful as Runaway’s, because my engine wasn’t blown.
A few times, when Runaway would rev the engine, the torque of it would cause the body of the car to jerk from left to right. The sound of the car made my ears hurt and the vibration made my body tingle, but the sight made my heart swell. I just stood there and became absorbed in the feeling.
After a couple of minutes, I noticed that Stephen had exited his car as well, and was headed down to the finish line. He had a stopwatch in his hand, which I am sure Runaway brought just for the occasion.
From that time on, we would always have Stephen do the stopwatch… I suppose because the rest of us were too afraid we’d screw it up. I looked at Stephen, just standing there. He had his thumb on the watch and he now waited for a moment Runaway had been dreaming about since she was three—only this wasn’t a little red pedal-car anymore.
I waited.
Brandon, by this time, had gotten a white towel or shirt—I couldn’t tell which—and he was standing off to the side of the car at the starting line. Brandon had always started our races, ever since we were kids.
Now he waited, too.
I listened to the cry of the engine—I felt it as it came through the pavement and went up through the soles of my shoes.
Grant was standing over by the driver’s side of her car. He looked around—he knew that we were all feeling it, too—the tension, and just the fear of the unknown. This car had a tremendous amount of power, more than any of us had ever dealt with. We were all concerned, but Grant was the only one voicing his opinion. He knelt down and started talking to Runaway. I saw her first shake her head “no,” and then right after, turn and glare at him. We didn’t have a clue as to what he was saying to her, but I could tell it must have been along the lines of “are you sure you want to do this?” Hence, the glare.
Grant got up, shrugged his shoulders, and walked over to where I was standing. He looked at me, yet didn’t say anything. He just raised his eyebrows and gave a half shrug.
Brandon looked pale—I was nervous, Grant stuffed his hands in his pockets, but Stephen looked like a rock, standing at the finish line.
We all waited now.
Runaway sat and stared straight ahead—she didn’t blink or move. She was absolutely expressionless. I could see through the window that her left hand was gripping the top of the steering wheel as her right rested on the shifter. I knew she had the clutch in… her right foot was applying pressure to the gas—I could hear the RPMs mount. I swear the air was thick.
She finally nodded to Brandon to start the countdown. The old ’57 was whining something fierce now. Then, out of her car, we all heard something that would in time become just as much a part of us as our friendship was.
Del Shannon started to sing…
Brandon started counting, “Ten, nine, eight, seven…”
I heard the first few words come from Del and instantly my stomach tightened.
“Six, five, four…”
Runaway sat stiff and stared with intensity down the quarter-mile.
“Three, two…”
It felt like days, weeks, years until I heard the final number, but I remember the sweat of my palms, and the throbbing sound of my own heart.
“One!”
We heard Brandon yell “one”
and we watched Runaway take off. I felt as if there had been an earthquake under my feet. My ears rang from the scream of the engine, my body was itching from the vibration, my nose and mouth were filled with smoke, and my eyes burned from the exhaust, but my heart raced with the car.
None of us had ever really seen a car take off like that in real life—only on TV. It was one of the most impressive things I had ever seen. The tires burned like a smoke stack, the engine cried for speed, the ground shook, and the air was thick with anticipation.
That Chevy took off like a bat out of hell—it was just a flash of red before our eyes. Runaway never let her foot off the accelerator—all we could hear was her shifting and the car screaming. My heart jumped, stopped and sank about three times, all in a matter of seconds.
Runaway got closer and closer to Stephen. Time seemed to creep by… it was as if everything was in slow motion, like in a dream. The car flew past our eyes until she finally passed Stephen. We all waited to hear something from Stephen, but nothing came. I heard Grant yell something inaudible, or maybe he screamed in fear—I couldn’t tell which. Everything around me was in a blur.
I looked away from Stephen toward Runaway, and saw flames leaping out from under the hood of her car. She had traveled a couple hundred feet from him before she stopped.
Grant took off in a dead sprint toward Runaway, with Brandon running after him. I tried, but my legs felt heavy—like two enormous sticks of lead. My head spun around and I felt as if I was going to fall over, but much to my surprise, I found myself running just behind Grant.
Oh, God,
I thought,
Runaway is still in the car.
I could see her sitting there, staring at the flames, perhaps in shock. Stephen reached her first and was trying to open the car door. Grant and I had finally arrived, but in his over-protective survival mode, he simply pulled her through the open window instead of waiting for Stephen, who was still fumbling with the door handle. Grant could have simply unlocked the door through the open window, but Stephen tried again to open the car door to get the keys that still dangled in the ignition—but she had the door locked from the inside. Panic ensued and no one thought clearly, but Stephen was finally able to yank the door handle open and struggled for the keys—once he grabbed them, he threw them back to Grant, who was already by the trunk.
Grant caught the toss from Stephen and opened the trunk. He pulled out a fire extinguisher that Runaway’s father had recently put there, “just in case,” he had said.
I found myself trying to get the hood up, but it was too hot to touch, as the flames licked up the sides of the car, and around my face.
“Get it up!” Brandon yelled.
“I can’t! Damn it! It’s too hot!” I yelled back.
I took off my jacket and wrapped it around my hand, but the jacket made it too bulky—I couldn’t reach through the grill to the hood latch.
“Hurry! It’s going to get the whole car!” he screamed at me.
I tried again, but still nothing—the jacket was just too thick and clumsy—there was nothing I could do. With sweat pouring down my face from the heat, I looked over at Runaway, who was about ten feet behind us—she just stood there, staring at her car.
I paused to look at her face—it was unreadable. I could say stoic, but that would not have sufficed. She glared, stared, and was completely immobile.
What is wrong with you? Do something!
I screamed in my head.
Move! Scream! Lash out!
But her response was stillness. Her eyes flitted to mine momentarily and what I saw was devastating fear. But fear of what? I couldn’t read whether it was for me or her car.
I looked again. It was the same unreadable expression—she had to be afraid, didn’t she?
I knew that at that moment I had to do something—whatever had passed between us told me I had to try to save her car.
Screw it
, I thought as I ripped off the jacket and grabbed the release lever. I tried not to scream from what I knew was my burning flesh, but I couldn’t help it and I let out a sickening, gritted scream.
Much to my amazement, I had managed to get the hood up. The flames leapt out at me, as if happy that they were finally free. As soon as the hood was up, Grant was there with the extinguisher, but the heat from the engine had thrown me back onto the ground.
Flames were everywhere—they soared out of the engine compartment—they leapt at Grant, who desperately tried to put them out.
“Oh, God… her car,” I whispered to no one but myself.
After a few minutes, Grant managed to put the flames out successfully and we all stood around the burned engine compartment. There was smoke all around it and us, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Finally, after the smoke had cleared, it was much easier to survey the damage.
“Holy crap,” Brandon said first.