Casey

Why did she have to come here? Okay, yeah, I really like Casey-- she was like a sister to me-- and she always said that. "You and me against all these guys," she'd say with a wink and a grin. 'We'll take 'em on. We'll do it."

But now, after all that's happened...seeing her again just makes things more painful, just makes me remember that white coffin, the deep hole in the ground, throwing the teddy bear in on top of the coffin, vanishing under the mounds of dirt...

I don't want to think about all that again.

I'm driving along Highway one in the warm Boston afternoon. I've got the windows wide open and I'm singing along to the music from the radio I like nothing better than to feel the vibration of the car’s motor through the throttle and up my leg—it seems as if it matches my pulse rate and I grin as I drive faster and faster. It’s easy for me to almost forget that I’m driving along that same stretch of road where Pete drove, the last day he was here, the last day he was alive. I can almost not even think about him—almost, that is. Because the air that slaps my face is full of the smell of salt spray. As I drive through a small village, a deep tone vibrates in the air=-- the tolling a church bell maybe? It’s there and gone so fast that I don’t quite know what to make of it. But the sound, fleeting as it is reminds me of Pete yet again, of that stifling hot June afternoon in Tulsa when we all stood silent in the church and listened to the minister drone on and one about how we shouldn’t cry or be sad but we should remember Pete the way h4e was when he was alive. Like that’s a problem,

My car’s engine races and growls like a purring jungle cat. I drive eve3n faster. As if I can drive away from the memories-=- as if that’s possible, as if I’d even want to. Remembering Pete alive isn’t the problem for me right now. The problem is trying to get through a night without dreaming about him being alive, without seeing that black draped casket being slowly lowered into the ground in that too silent cemetery.
The radio shifts to static and I shut it off. I don’t need any other sound anyway. The sounds in my head are already too vivid—the gentle deep laughter of my brother, the solemn tones of the organ music, the quite voice of the minister as he read s the usual stuff about walking through the valley of death…
What is that sound,. Why is my motor making that weir noise? I slow down and lean closer to the engine, listening, but then it stops and I can’t figure out what it is. Greta, just what I need, to get stranded out here in the middle of nowhere in a place where there’s probably no cell phone service, where no one will come by for hours… I can see me trying to explain that to Rick.
The wind hisses in through my open window and IO slow down and look to my left. The ocean sprawls below,. Restless, foaming, crashing against the rocks like it’s trying to hurt them. The waves always make this sound like a whispering voice, but I can’t even begin to make out the words.

My password is “Firebird’ The car not the mythical creature. If you knew me, that would make sense, because I love cars. Probably more than I love people. That sounds ,like a killer thing to admit,. But sadly, it’s true. Cars I can understand. I can control them. I can do the things I want to do with them—travel, race, drive fast, feel the wind in my face, get away from it all. People, not so much. Because you see with people, there’s that other mind and emotions involved. I can’t always do what I want because the other person might not want to or have a different idea.
With a car I’m in control.
So maybe that makes me a control freak. A weirdo. Especially since I’m a girl. Most girls don’t want much to do with cars. They’d rather go shopping or to the mall or out for a movie date. My idea of a cool date would be a race day. Or a long drive. Or a drag race along the dirt road in back of our house. Or even no date at all, just me and my car.
I come by this love of cars pretty naturally. My father races and all of my brothers do or did—I’m the only driver left now, besides dad, now that Pete’s gone. No pressure there, oh no. Just driving to shore up the whole Briggs family legacy, three generations of race car drivers who’ve always had to be the best, the fastest, the winningest and whatever else –est you can think of.
Just once I’d like to be me. Just plain old jess Briggs. No, legacy to live up to, no pressure, no goals, no disappointme3nts, no fathers to please or clock watching brothers to answer to. Just me.
But that’s not likely to happen any time soon. Especially since I really don’t want to quit arcing,. I just want to drive like me, to not feel the pressure of living up to Pete’s impossible standard. Everything was so easy for him, and it all seems so tough for me. Maybe I’m just not good enough. I don’t know.

Cool video

Remembering Pete

I hate Boston.

Okay, not true. I love the city. I hate the memories it brings me. because Boston...is where my brother died.

Beats me why we have to race here. I mean, really, c'mon, there's tons of cities in the US big enough to have fancy race tracks and enough cheap motels for the drivers and teams to stay at. Why here? And why here now, almost exactly a year after the crash that killed my older brother?

But I have to come here, have to drive here, if I want to stay on the circuit-- which is like a duh no brainer- of course I do. Just be nice if I could do it by racing somewhere else.

Everyone I tell about this-- which isn't too many people since I hate talking about it-- assumes Pete died in a race. That's the hell of it. he didn't. Some idiot drunk driver hit his car out on US Highway 1 which winds along the coast. Pete tried to stop, to steer away, but even as good a driver as he was, he couldn't-- the road just wasn't wide enough.

Pretty stupid, huh? A guy who risks his neck every week for a living-- and he gets killed driving along a scenic highway so he could see the ocean-- his favorite spot. I think maybe I could deal with it better if he had died while racing. At least I'd know he died doing what he loved. This way-- who knows?

Well, Rick's bugging me to go help him work on my car so I have to stop. At least tuning my engine might help keep me from remembering the stuff I don't want to remember and can't bear to forget, either.

Cool photo

Check out this pic. Wish we raced at a track like this

Day 1

Hey everyone, Jess here. Well, yeah, my real name is Jessica, but I hate that, Sounds like a character from a soap opera. So call me Jess.

Anywho, I'm blogging now so that all of my fans out there (all 2 of you and you know who you are) can follow my racing adventures on the junior circuit.

We're on our way to Race number 8 now. I've just come back from a horrific crash (pictures to be posted later-- when I can stand to look at them without tossing my cookies). My goal in this race is to stay away from the wall, away from my fellow drivers, and finish in the top 5. Preferably on the podium.

Not too ambitious, right?

Anyhow, Rick's yelling at me to get off the internet so we can go and you know what that means.

More later.