Page 98 of The Legend
“The wingbroke apart,” Justin’s voice remained distant as he stared at the wall, “therewas nothing keeping his head from hitting the wall when he landed on it.”
“Whatabout the roll bars?”
“I don’tknow. It doesn’t make any sense how it happened. With the way it landed on theside, I can only assume they did nothing for him. But then again, he shouldn’thave been able to move that much for that to happen. It was the roll bars then...?” Justin didn’t look at me but he seemed tobe asking a question and confused.
There werea few moments of silence before Justin looked at me again. “Did you hear we’regoing to be grandparents?”
I groaned.I didn’t like that word. “Don’t remind me. I already feel old.”
I mayharbor ill feelings about getting old, but that had nothing to do with Lilyhaving a baby. I was excited for them but it was hard to show excitement aboutnew life when something so tragic had just happened.
Its timeslike this that you look at your life and wonder what you could have donedifferently. The fact of the matter was that people die. It happens and there’snothing you, or anybody else, can do about it.
Sometimesthe red flag is waved.
16.Impact Failure – Sway
Impact Failure – A type of valve damage that occurs when the valveseats to hard or hits the piston.It can occur due to a broken timingchains, faulty keeper installation, or operating the engine at excessive rpm.
When I wasfinally alone, Nancy was with Emma and Alley, and I could breathe...but then again, I couldn’t breathe.
My headfell back against the wall in the bathroom. I tried to count the holes in theceiling as a comfort but they blurred from my tears and followed with sobs. Mythroat constricted again, the emotion surfaced.
I cried. Ilet myself cry alone where I wouldn’t be forced to talk or be comforted.Sometimes, to deal with a loss, it’s better to be alone. It’s better to be in aplace where you don’t feel the need to apologize or care that you’re cryinglike a lunatic or blubbering so badly you can’t breathe.
I keptthinking, between blubbering like a lunatic, that Jimi’s memory seemed so hazynow.
It was an emptyseat at the dinner table. It was a distant photograph that seemed as if it wastaken years ago when it was only last week. Why was it that as soon as someoneis gone, that when you think about them, they feel so far away?
Deciding Ididn’t need to wallow forever, I needed to be there for our family, I got up.
When Isplashed water on my face, I heard someone talking in the hall.
“I feelbad for her. They’ve been through so much over the years with the loss of herparents and now his dad…I can’t imagine.”
Feel badfor me?
Why wouldsomeone feel bad for me? Feel bad for Nancy. Feel bad for their children wholost their father. Feel bad for Jameson’s children who have to watch their dadendure such crushing physical and emotional pain. Don’t feel bad for me.
I intendedto leave the bathroom but I didn’t. Instead I sat there looking through amagazine and waited for whoever it was outside.
Flippingthrough the magazine, I tried anything to get my mind from thinking all thebad. And there, next to an ad for condoms, was a picture of Jameson standing ina cloud of smoke, his fingers curled through the holes in a chain link fence,his eyes on the camera. I was drawn to the photo just like I was to the magicbehind his eyes. The same captivation his presence held, that photograph held.
I blinkedat the memory, like an old legend, his impact on me, on the world, wouldforever be with us.
I staredat the photograph as if it held the answer, empty and weightless, it didnothing but make me cry harder.
I wantedhim here to comfort me. I wanted to hear him whisper “honey” in my ear with theslow raspy tenor he had with teasing words and playful touches. With themagazine pressed to my chest, I cried. Wearing pajamas on the floor of ahospital bathroom trying to count tiles, I cried.
You can’tcry forever. Believe me, after the death of my own father, I would know.
Eventuallyyour body will give in and you fall asleep. Those of us who have children maydisagree with that statement but at some point, they do go to sleep. When theywake up in the morning and realize they had been crying, they start again, andyou wonder if they had ever stopped. My point was, eventually your body knowswhen enough is enough.
My minddrifted to the families of those lost in the plane crash two years ago. We’retheir families asking themselves these same questions?
And then Iwas asking myself questions. I thought of the practical stuff. What happens inreal life?
What do Itell his sponsors? What if he does die? What happens to his sprint car team?What happens to the Cup team with Jimi gone? Would his sponsors pull out oftheir agreement if he was in the hospital too long? What if he could never raceagain? What if he didn’t remember me? Would our medical insurance cover this?Could we afford this if Jameson wasn’t racing? What about the kids? Would theybe okay? Should I call the school and tell them Casten needs some time off?What should we do about a hotel room? Should I get everyone food? And themedia, what do I tell them? They would want answers.
