This is one you may never have seen before. It being untitled, and obscure, I figured that it would be better for me to post it for your reading pleasure.
I am listening to my favorite song right now. Louis Armstrong’s “What a
Wonderful World.” I have come to the realization that this world is only
wonderful if you make it that way yourself. Fate, The Benevolent hand of
God, Destiny, whatever you want to call it, is only good for giving one the
chance to make it wonderful. The ability to make your life wonderful comes
from effort and outlook.
I was at a “Personal Care Home” this past Sunday, doing some freelance
work for Doug, a close friend of mine, who works as a maintenance man
there. Good money, easy job; just the way I like it. We had quite a
morning, being the witness to a pretty bad accident, and I was questioning
existence in general. We watched as a car veered off of a curve and
struck a utility pole. I began to think, “What is the point of trying
anymore? Even if I do achieve my goals, and get everything that I need,
what is to say that something will not just ‘happen’ and take it all away
from me? What if a horrible circumstance pops up, and everything I worked
for just disappears?” Needless to say, my mind was rife with negativity.
Doug and I were busy laying new cable in a raceway that ran down a main
hallway. It is mindless work, and my mind wandered and sank deeper into
negativity. I just wanted to give up. I wanted to let life take me where
it would, and stop trying to make myself happy.
“Hey Jay, remember ‘Slim’? The Race car driver?” Doug asked me.
How could I forget Slim? When I was a child, there was a small dirt oval
racetrack nearby. Like most small tracks in small towns, it had its share
of local celebrities. Everyone knew who the best drivers were, and people
flocked to the track to see them race each Saturday. Each year, my father
and I would go to the races every Saturday to see our small-town heroes
fight to see who the best driver was. It is one of the few memories of my
father that I still have.
The track sponsored a fan club for the kids each year. The club was free
to join, and at each intermission, they drew a name from the list of
members, and the winner got to ride a lap with the driver of their choice.
At the end of the season, all the children whose name had not been drawn
during the season, was allowed to line up on the infield for to go for a
lap with their favorite driver. It was a consolation prize, so to speak,
and it also ensured a large turn out for the last race of the season.
The first year that I joined the club, my name was not drawn during the
normal season, and so walked myself down to the infield at the intermission
of the final race of the season. I lined up for my favorite driver. It
was the number two car of Jonny Deuce. Deuce was a track favorite, and,
therefore, all the kids wanted to ride with him. I looked around, and
realized that I was the last in line for him.
I was a bit hard-headed and hopeful, so I stayed in the line. Time
passed, laps went by, and soon, the time ran out, along with my chance for
a lap. Or so I thought. It seemed that Mr. Deuce didn’t want to give any
more rides to the children, he thought the fuel he was using wasn’t worth
it. The other drivers were done with their rides, and had all gone into
the pits. The disappointed children (there were three of us) began our
walk back to the grandstand. I thought that this was just how life was. I
wait, and disappoint rears its ugly head, again. Yes, I was cynical as a
child, too.
Out of the pits came a car. It was the number six car. The driver was
known only as 'Slim" to the fan club members. He was a bit of a celebrity,
but not as big as Deuce. However, what he lacked celebrity-wise, he made
up for with his heart. He drove out in front of us three ‘leftovers’ and
offered a ride. The other two children turned him down. They wanted Deuce,
and were not going to settle for a second-rate driver. On the other hand,
I just wanted to be in one of these cars. I wanted to know what it felt
like to take a lap around the track. I happily accepted.
The lap came and went. I was somewhat reserved as a child, and as much as
I wanted to ask him for his autograph, I just didn’t have the guts. This
man was famous to me. He was bigger than life. I just figured that maybe
I would have the chance to get his autograph at some other time.
The next few years passed, and I grew up. Things changed, and the
opportunity to get this wonderful man’s autograph never came up again. I
had forgotten about it completely until Doug brought his name up.
“Yeah, I remember Slim. Why?” I replied to him
“Watch your toes, here he comes…”
I turned around to see this man in a wheelchair speeding up the hallway,
making car sounds. It was Slim, all right, but I didn’t remember him
having wheels.
I asked Doug what had happened to him. It seems that a few years ago, he
made a mistake. One night, after a race, he was apparently still in race
mode on the way home. On a dark country road, he lost control at around
100 miles per hour, and plowed into a tree. He had just a lap belt in his
car (it was a restored GTO, built before shoulder harnesses) and his head
hit the steering wheel. He was paralyzed from the waist down, and he lost
a lot of his motor skills. He still had his intelligence, though, and, by
the way he was moving up and down the hallways making engine sounds, his
imagination, too.
One simple mistake. One bad judgment call. He had lost everything in a
split second. I started feeling how unforgiving this world was. This man
was not even forty, and here he was, in a “personal care home”
We finished the cabling, and decided to take a break. The Wheeled One
found us, and started talking to Doug. They were discussing the NASCAR
race that Slim had just finished watching. I sat and listened in, sipping
from my can of Ski.
When the conversation began to thin, Doug decided it was time to go back
to work. I am not sure what it was that made me say something, but I did.
“So, you’re Slim! The guy who used to race at the speedway, right?”
“You are…?” was his reply.
“Jay.” I stuck out my hand for a shake.
He shook my hand the best he could. He seemed genuinely happy to meet
someone who knew who he was. We sat and talked about the old days. He was
full of stories. Funny ones, sad ones, and just plain ones with no point,
whatsoever. I listened and soaked in his memories. He was glad to share
them.
It was time to get back to work, and Slim could tell by Doug’s impatience.
He looked at me as though he still had something left to say. He did, and
he said it.
“Jay, you seem uncomfortable.”
“Disillusioned, actually, Slim.” I told him. “But, I’ll get over it.”
“Unhappy.” He said. “Jay, happiness comes from within. Everyone has the
power to make themselves happy, no matter the situation.”
“But what about you? You had it all taken away in a split second…” I
stopped because I realized that I probably sounded rude.
“I love racing. Always have. When I was young, I told my parents that I
needed my own wheels, so I could race all day and all night. This wasn’t
exactly what I meant, but I sure got them. My own wheels. I race all day,
up and down these hallways. Some of the more spirited guys race me,
sometimes. We see who can run over the most nurses. I made it my own
paradise.”
“You gonna sit all day, or are you gonna earn your check?” Doug interrupted.
“Slim, I have to get back to work, It was nice meeting you”
He shook my hand, and I began to walk away. A lone thought went through
my head, and I turned around.
“It is a long story, and I am a little embarrassed to ask, but can I have
your autograph?”
It is barely legible, and in pencil, but I believe that it is the most
valuable autograph in my collection.