442 – The Rocket

  A few things arrived at my door today.  No return address.  The one piece matches the ones on the Olds.  I’m not sure where the other hub goes?  Any words of help on these things would be appreciated.

 Pictures posted

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1621 – Heading out to the Phillies vs the Giants at CBP with U.K. and Double D tonight.  Taking the Olds. 
I’ll update later.

1116 – Just got back from the game.  Phils 2, Giants 1.
    U.K. and DD got loaded.  I wasn’t into drinking for the main fact Vicodin has Tylenol in it, Tylenol and alcohol can destroy your liver.  So I guess another perk to taking Vikes is you cut down on your drinking.  I don’t mind being the designated driver.  Driving on Vikes isn’t a problem.  If you’ve never taken them for a while, you wouldn’t understand.
    On the way home U.K. passed out in the back seat giving DD and I some time to talk.  We talked about our conversation in The Mother’s security office.  We both admitted we still are pretty ripped up about Zig;s death.  she admitted she was surprised I was taking it so well. 
“I feel like I’m with Zig when I drive this car.  In case you haven’t noticed I drive it everyday>”
“I thought you were driving the Olds alot.  I thought you just liked it – better than the Bravada any day,” she said.
     Silence between us for a few minutes.  The only sounds heard were the engine and cars we were leaving behind on 95 South.

“So what the hell is Loophole Sex?” I asked.
“Do we really need to rehash an old conersation?” she said.
“No, not the whole conversation.  i just want to know what Loophole Sex is?”
“Loophole sex is when a couple breaks up and all of a sudden there are no strings between them.  A single person can do whatever..”
“Or whoever…” I injected.
“You get the idea.  Zig and I broke up a few times and I found out about his Loophole trist after we got back together the first time.  I figured i night as well give it a try when he broke up with me again.  You know it wasn’t bad. After all variety is ..
“The spice of life.  I know, I know.  Enough said,”  I was becoming uncomfortable with the conversation.  I didn’t care to know any more about DD’s or Zig’s sex lives.  We had been friends for some time and I didn’t want things to go sour between us.  “Loophole Sex”,  sounds interesting .
     We went on to talk about movies (District 9 vs 500 days of Summer) and music.  She pulled out a disc and put it in the player of the 442.  She told me Zig always liked to hear tunes associated with cars and racing.  The video below is of the song she played.  I think Zig only went by the name of the song.  The lyrics have nothing to do with racing.  Still it was a fun song to drive to as the shadow of the car danced on the highway.

Transmission:

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   Last night I wrote about the death of Lois Vaughn.  I know it seems like I took it lightly,  In our field you see a lot of death.  Some fast, some slow, some terrible and some beautiful.  The way I view death is that it is one of the two most important moments in a person’s life.  You are born, you die.  It is an honor to be present.
    One night I was taking the elevator down from the cancer floor.  A middle aged woman stood across from me crying.  She looked at me.  her mascara was all over her face.  She looked pathetic.  Said, “When people die it’s not like on TV. sob, sob.”  “No it isn’t,”  I replied.  I believe most people have no idea what death is like.  They have never been witness to a death let alone a variety of deaths.  Think of it this way – you know that juicy delicious looking burger you see in the commercial. Well in real life it sucks: greasy, tasteless and lukewarm at best.  It seems most TV deaths are sudden and free of struggle.  Not in the real world folks.  I remember the look in a young man’s eyes as he sat watching his father gasping for breath and clawing at his neck.  I remember watching a man with severe Parkinson’s disease thrash all over as his body struggled for life with his nervous system out of control.  I have seen people fall asleep and die very peacefully as did Lois Vaughn.  I felt something special in Lois and I hope she enjoys the afterlife with her “George.”  Still don’t get “The car is about you.”  Guess I never will.

Whopper

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    Hard night. I was in the unit last night catching up with Lois Vaughn.  The day shift RT found her blood gases were fine and she was stable enough to breath on her own.  Lois was extubated about 1130 yesterday.  She asked me more about the 442 than I knew.  “So tell me, do the numbers match?  How many miles are on the car?  What did your brother pay for it and when?”  Kind of weird coming from a lady who is at least twice my age. 
     She took me up on a T. Pop (raspberry if you must know) .  I asked her how she met George Hurst. ”Why I met him through my sister at one of the rallies,” she said.  She asked me, “Well, how did you meet your current sweetheart?”  I told her I didn’t have one.  She asked me about Double D.  “Why I thought I saw you talking to a pretty redhead thing in downstairs the other night.”    Not sure how she came up with that.  Psychic I guess.
                                    “So, what do you think about my George’s car?” she asked.
                                    “I love it.  I can see why Zig loved driving a car like that.  I blew some guys doors off the other night.”
                                    “Oh dear.  The 442 isn’t about racing other cars.  That car is about you.”
                                    “Excuse me?”  I asked.
                                    “I said the 442 isn’t about racing.  Its about you.”
                                    “I don’t understand.”
                                     “Then you haven’t spent enough time behind the wheel of that car.  Eventually you’ll…you’ll…George.” 
     Her eyes drifted toward the ceiling, her lips blued, took one last deep inspiration , let it out and died.  I know it may sound strange a woman died that quickly during a conversation but it happens all the time.  The common consensus between the doctors and nurses is that “she threw a clot.”  I have to agree with them.  It was so quick.  At least she died peacefully.  After her spending the last few days on a ventilator she decided she didn’t want anymore treatments, medicines or anything.  Level 3, no code or DNR – that is what she choose to become.  I think she liked that moniker better than “terminal.”  it was like she had a choice in the matter instead of the cancer setting the ground rules.
     I don’t think I’ll ever  understand what she meant by the 442 is about me.  ???  The weirdest thing about her dying is that I had to pull an unfinished T.Pop out of her mouth.  It left her tounge red, blood red.

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     Bowling with U.K. went pretty well.  We both won a couple games.  Kept the scores > 100.  Fun.  It was what happened afterward that will stick in my mind for a while.
     When we left The Bowl there were a pair of guys standing around the 442. 

“Nice car,” the tall one said.
“Hey thanks, mon,”  I felt pretty good from the Vikes I had on board.
“You runnin’ it?”  The short one asked.
“Runnin’ what?”
“The car, man.” Short snapped.
“Runnin’ the car?  I will be when I get in and turn the key – Dude.”
     The Short looked to the Tall then back to me.  He spit in front of my feet.  (asshole)
     U.K. leaned over closer to me, “I think they mean; “Are you racing the car.”"
“I’m not racing the car, no.  That was my brother’s gig,” I said.
“Who your brother?” Tall asked
“Zig Marshall.”
     Short and Tall looked at each other and started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” U.K. asked.
“Nothin’.  Just never got the chance burn that po-po.  I coulda made some money racin’  ‘em.”
     No one spoke after that.  Short and Tall backed away from the car, turned and walked off into the parking lot.  U.K and I got in Zig’s car.
     Once we left the parking lot U.K. looked at me, “You doin’ okay?”
“No problem here,” I said.
“But what about those losers at The Bowl?  Didn’t they bug you?  They were diggin’ at you!  Talking about Zig like that.”
“Not buggin’ me too much.”  I pulled a raspberry T. Pop out of my shirt pocker.  “Want one?” I offered.
“No thanks.  You’ve been eating those suckers alot.  Must love ‘em,” said U.K.
I popped the T. Pop in my mouth and gave a few loud sucks to acknowledge his comment.  We pulled out onto the Rt. 30E Expressway.  I pushed the 442 up to 60, 5 above the speed limit.
     A blue Suburu GT pulled up on my left.  It had green neons in its undercarriage.  I couldn’t see who was gunning the engine through the tinted
windows but I knew who the driver had to be.  The window of the GT dropped down slowly and Tall yelled over to our car from the passenger seat.
     ‘DRIVIN’ THE DEAD MAN’S CAR!  YOU’RE DRIVIN’ THE DEAD COPS CAR!”
     “Fuck you prick!, ” U.K. yelled. 
     Short gunned the engine taking the GT a few inches in front of us then falling back so Tall could trah talk some more.”
     “ZEE PIG!  ZEE PIG!  ZEE PIG IS DEAD!  ROASTED IN HIS OWN OVEN! AH HA HAAAA!
     Asshole was seriously taunting me.  His voice high pitched and annoying.  The sounds of the engines.  No traffic ahead.
I dropped down a gear and punched it.  The wheels spun faster than the car was ready to move and the tires fogged up.  I lost sight of the GT for a moment.  It flipped on its high beams.  I let him catch up to me until or noses were even. Back and forth we jumped ahead by
inches.  It was late and the road was empty except for one car on the other side of the median strip heading west.  I hit the brakes and brought the 442 to a skidding stop.  The GT  quickly came to a stop and backed up to our position.  Our front bumpers were even and he was revving his squeally little engine in an attempt to be heard over the 455 under my hood.  Zig’s car can growl.  I juiced the engine to drown out that little bastard.   U.K. put his seatbelt on then cranked up the radio.  He later told me “Sit Down Stand Up” by Radiohead was on, he likes that tune.
     Tall stuck his arm out of the window holding his hand in the air with his five fingers spread wide. 
He pulled his thumb in, four… 
Rolled his pinky into his palm, three…
Index finger, two…
Ring finger, one…
He gave us the finger then quickly pulled it into his fist.
     The race began.  A new sensation.  The car jumped as I pegged through all four gears and quickly left the GT far behind.  It was only a half mile to our exit and we were off the highway in a flash.  U.K. looked back up to the expressway to see the GT with its green neons speeding across the overpass.  “There they go.”  I threw the finished T.Pop stick out the window.  I wondered how long it would take them to figure out we left the expressway.  Didn’t matter, we won the race.  Those guys were assholes anyway.
     A race.  I always laughed at Zig for racing.  What was the point?  Now I understand.  When I took off in that car, when I hit the gas pedal and felt the power I had under my control, I forgot everything else.  For that moment of acceleration I didn’t think of Zig being dead, I didn’t think of the fight with Double D the other night and I didn’t remember the Golden Shifter Girl’s Sister going critical.  None of it – only me and my car.  I felt saved.  I wonder what Zig forgot in those moments.
    When I got home I celebrated with two Vikes, a cold can of Coke and a raspberry T. Pop then played some Halo 3.  Turned out to be  a better night than expected.

“Sit Down Stand Up” 
Radiohead

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