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.