It had to be seconds but it seemed hours since my wheels disengaged from the track, slammed home to dig in and flip me into an airborne spin. A small hunk of debris causing a blown tire and my career as a Driver floated away with the wind streaming by at a hundred and sixty miles per hour. The Owners weren’t going to want to keep my contract; I couldn’t even win a 250 that didn’t count anyway.
I shouldn’t have been in this race to begin with. I had taken this detour from the regular schedule to enter a short track race. It wasn’t in the points race and for all purposes I had no business to risk it. After begging LaDrews Racing for this opportunity, I’d blown it again. Maybe I hadn't fully convinced them of the great advertising opportunity, but they let me enter anyway. After-all, I'd begun on tracks like this. This was Kindergarten stuff for a Driver who's scored two-time second place at Daytona.
As the car went around for another spin, I saw any possible win at next year's Daytona fly away with the left front wheel. What good was the dream of Daytona when I'd wrecked LaDrews Dodge car two days before qualifying for Talladega. They were probably already exchanging my name on the roster for my teammate’s name.
Kelsey was a good driver, yet he wasn’t a risk taker, never scratching the paint. The LaDrews brothers hired me for my nerve but I’d been a disappointment, even to myself.
The car came down on its roof with a bone-jarring bang and immediately lifted for another round of flips. Metal and fiberglass flew in every direction. When would this crazy ride quit? I wasn’t enjoying it. Race car driving was about precision, deliberation, courage and most of all control.
Right now, I had no control.
We have no control. That’s what that preacher said in church last Sunday; that little church my wife, Viv, insisted we attend. He’d said something about God being in control of everything.
“God, if you’re in control, why don’t you stop this kaleidoscoping automobile?” I was screaming but the roaring of tearing metal screamed louder so I couldn't even hear myself.
The stop seemed as frightening as the flying. My thrashed body felt stunned, even surrounded by the safety gear. Trapped in the demolished car, I watched the rescue vehicles arrive. I was still saying something but my head was still spinning to rapidly to register my own thoughts. Like the tire that was still rolling down the track to the infield my mind was running away with a jumble of thoughts. Maybe my life was flashing before my eyes, but it didn't look very familiar at the moment.
“Gary, you all right?”
I heard that and looked out at the anxious face of the attendant. I calmly replied, “Yeah, I’m okay.”
While someone blew fire-retardant all over what was left of what had been a championship racecar, the rescue crew peeled the mangled metal apart and helped me out. The attendants took my arms as I stumbled.
I grinned. “Went around too many times, dizzy.” My legs gave out and they caught me before I face-planted the asphalt.
“Ambulance, Gary,” one said. “Get you checked out.” I was in no condition to complain as they lifted me and laid me on a gurney, strapping me down to restrict movement. "Just a short trip, relax." The attendant smiled. "The doctor'll fix you up"
Whatever he might have said next was lost when the world suddenly became a humongous soft black pillow that swallowed me whole.
Vivian, my wife, was in the room when I woke up, an open bible in her lap, her IPad in her hand, with the earbuds tucked in her dainty little ears. Seeing my open eyes, she smiled and pulled the earphones from her ears, brushing her long dark soft hair back.
“Hey, Viv, been waiting long?”
She stood by the bedside, taking my hand gently so not to disturb the tubes sticking out of my arms. That's when I noticed I was strapped down. “What’s all this?” I asked, staring around at the life monitors.
“How do you feel?”
Feeling foolish, lightheaded and wanting to giggle at the silliness of it all, I wondered what sort of drugs I was on, because giggling hadn't been in my repertoire for years. I grinned at her. “I'm hungry.” That was my standard line for her usual question of 'How are you?' but it didn't seem to have the same effect this time.
the conversation paused as a nurse came in and did a thorough check of everything, making sure I was in fact conscious. her only words apart from the usual commands of follow the light she shown in my eyes, 'squeeze my fingers as heard as you can', 'Are you in pain', and 'Don't hesitate to call the nurses station for anything you need', she left with the obvious statement, "The Doctor will be in shortly."
Alone again, I made a smart crack about sponge baths just to tease Vivian. I was getting annoyed that Vivian seemed to be in a downer mood.
"What's with you? I know you are afraid of my racing, but I'm fine. I'm alive. You should be happy now I won't be able to drive at Talladega." I lay back on the pillow. "Probably be sitting out the rest of the season if LaDrew really gets steamed over the mess I made."
Vivian laid her hand on the blanket over my leg. “Do you know you were screaming into your mike?”
I blushed easily. “Yeah, I know.”
“Do you remember what you were saying?”
“Why?” I asked. “Does it matter?”
"Harmen LaDrew was in and gave me a copy of your mike recording." With a light touch, she placed one of the IPad's earbuds in my ear, and I found myself listening to the playback of my voice recording during the wreck. My eyes met hers, amazed at what I was hearing. I didn't remember any of it.
Her eyes were loving, concerned. “Did you really ask Jesus to save you?”
“I must have, it’s right there.” Flippantly, I added, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Gary, how do you feel?”
“I’m fine. What’s with you?”
“Can you feel my hand?”
I looked down at the sheet laying along my entire length. For a moment I was worried but then relieved to see I had two feet poking the sheet at the end of my legs. I watched Vivian's hand squeeze my right knee. She has long nails and she was squeezing hard, those nails pressing into my flesh through the sheet. Suddenly I was scared. My eyes lifted to hers, “What’s wrong?”
“Your back is broken.” Her big brown eyes spilled tears. “Gary, did you mean it? Did you cry out to Jesus?”
I lowered my head to the pillow and stared at the ceiling. I whispered, “Lord Jesus, I mean it now.”
