LIFE GOES ON... and on... (Part 171x)

LIFE GOES ON… and on… (Part 171x)

One good thing about staying was that I was able to identify the woman who’d given me the fantastic crotch view. I recognized her from having seen her working at the post office. I asked one of the other people who were observing the rehearsal who she was and was told she was the wife of one of the custodians. When given her name I recognized it because a son of hers was in Jean’s class. When Jean had brought home her class picture I’d asked who the big kid in the back row was and if he’d been left back. The answer was no, that he’d been in her class since she’d started at the school. Standing there, looking at the woman it was somewhat hard to believe that she’d given birth to a ‘giant’. Only in fifth grade, the kid looked like a high school student. She was about 5’5”, or maybe a little taller, with an average build and someone you would never be drawn to from her looks. But, that didn’t matter to me what with the panty ‘view’ I’d witnessed a little earlier.

On our way home it was obvious Elle was exhausted. Phyllis had been upset about the problem with the spot lights and had taken it out on the cast. Even though Elle had no speaking parts Phyllis was constantly on her about her positioning on the stage. Her “package” was filled in spite of consciously trying to limit how much she drank. But, the costume was heavy and hot to wear and she had to keep taking sips of water. As I’ve written, with the pregnancy, the ‘dribble warnings’ that Elle had become used to were no longer effective. When she had to go… she went. I asked her if she thought she’d be OK for the actual performances. Her answer was one of resignation… “I better be!”

Paula had put the girls to bed and before she left assured us she’d be back the next night to watch them again. I paid her and as she walked down the path I couldn’t help but wonder what she was wearing under her skirt. I just hoped that I’d be in a position some future evening to get another peek or two before school was over for the year. I knew trying to time my ’news’ about going off racing to Connecticut on Friday would be tricky but I hadn’t expected Elle to be quite this tired. When she got this way her attitude would change in a way that I didn’t appreciate. If she was tired she sort of expected to be waited on. I couldn’t decide if I should do it when she was in a bad mood or wait until morning. Thinking about it for a few minutes I decided it would be better to get it over with and not to start her day on Friday with something negative. She was in her night time “package" and just about to climb into bed when I spring it on her. I really didn’t expect the reaction I got. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at me and told me she didn’t care what I did… then flipped her legs up onto the bed and pulled the covers up. I just kept my mouth shut and headed back down the stairs.

On Friday morning, Elle hardly acknowledged my presence at all. I limited what I had to tell her to just saying I’d be home a little after noon and would be leaving as soon as I changed clothes. It was like talking to a wall. At noon, I did get some response to my attempt to communicate but that stopped when I told her I probably wouldn’t be back home until the next morning. I’m sure she didn’t appreciate my comment as I went out the door. “Break a leg!”, referring her performance that night. The quickest, but not the cheapest, way to get to Connecticut and the track was to take the ferry across the Sound. Cliffy had made a reservation for the 2pm ferry and when we arrived we were surprised to see two other racer car haulers already there. C J was one of them and a multiple time track champion at the track we had raced at the previous weekend. The driver’s name was Freddy and he was, like so many of them, a bit of a character. Cliffy had raced against him for a number of years so they were familiar with each other. Even though C J was relatively new to the track, he’d proved himself to the ‘regulars’ and was also friendly with Freddy. Waiting for the ferry to arrive I got a kick out of listening to the three of them telling racing stories.

The weather was calm so the trip went well. I remember listening to Cliffy tell of his “trip from hell” in which almost all the passengers got sea sick. We arrived at the track around 5pm and got registered and were given a pit stall to operate from. In spite of a request that the three of us be placed somewhere close to each other… it didn’t happen. Warm up’s or practice, whichever you wanted to call them,  started at six. There were four different classes of race cars, just like at our regular track and we had to wait our turn to get on the track. It was a half mile around with long straightaways and sharp, banked turns. The pit area was on the opposite side from the grandstands and the entry was at the end of the straightaway just before the entry to the third turn. When it was our turn to practice, Cliffy pulled out on the track and took a few slow laps before the green flag waved signaling it was OK to speed up. The problem with the pit location was that we could only see the front of the cars as they traveled down the backstretch and we weren’t sure which one of the bunch of cars coming towards us was Cliffy until he passed by. I’m not sure how many laps he’d made when we saw a big puff of smoke come from the group of cars coming at us. Then we saw the car veer off into the infield, spewing steam and smoke from the motor.

We knew immediately what had happened… and we knew our racing days were pretty much over. When the track crew pushed the car back into the pits “Seeg”, C J’s father showed up. Before any of us had a chance to inspect the motor “Seeg” was on the ground on his hands and knees looking at it. I remember him looking back up at us, the half smoked cigar still in the corner of his mouth, and saying that it looked just like the motor that had blown up on C J the year before… a broken crankshaft. None of us knew what to say. We all knew that parts break all the time but our motor was a Ford, just like the one in C J’s car, and the same part broke. The only thing I remember Cliffy saying was that he was done with Ford. The crew rounded up some volunteers to push the car up the ramps and onto the hauler and I thought we might head for home. However, Buster came running back to say that Cliffy had been asked to drive a car who’s driver had been found to be drunk. That told me we weren’t going home.

I won’t bore you with details but limit it to saying that shortly after the start of the race Cliffy was in, we saw a familiar cloud of smoke and watched the car coast into the pits. The motor in this car had also blown up. At least it wasn’t a Ford… (it was an Oldsmobile). The group made the decision to stay and watch C J and Freddy race. I was outvoted, five to one, which meant not getting home until the next morning. I’d told Elle but I wasn’t sure she was listening when I did. The one thing for certain when I got home was I’d have a lot of relationship re-building to do when I got there.

To be continued…