NASCAR
A #SaturdayScenes from near the beginning of the middle of my #RiverNovel .

Readers have asked me what She sees in Him. Does this scene help shed light on that?

If you are (or aren't) familiar with car racing, how does this scene work for you?
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He points out the wives of the drivers. He says that they show up with their kids at all of the races. He's telling me about when he was on a pit crew at races like this one.

"We worked so closely, in sync with each other, we didn't have to talk or anything. We just did our job, and the car got back on the track in time, every time. Except when there was something wrong with a part, or something like that."

"Like when? What kinds of problems did you run into?"

"Well, one time, a tire was bad and wouldn't hold air, so we had to get another tire, but we got the car back on the track within our goal time. And another time --" he chuckles. "Another time, I was screwing on the lug nuts, and my wrench stopped. Some clown had tripped over the hose while rolling away a tire. Boy, we were pissed. He never came back, we harassed him so bad." I mull that over, and decide that I don't want to know any more details about that incident.

"If you don't talk to each other, how do you figure out who's gonna do what, and work so quickly?"

"We each have a job to do, and we just do our job. It's really nice. Everything is clear. You know what you have to do, and you do it. We were really fast. We were good at what we did."

"Did you wear a uniform?"

"Oh yeah! We wore the same kind of uniform that the driver wore, with the sponsor patches, helmet, you know. It was really cool."

"What happened when your crew wasn't fast enough?"

"We were always faster than anyone."

"When was the last time you worked as part of a pit crew?"

"They would have asked me today, but they know that you and I are dating, so they understand." I didn't know that. "It's no big deal. Chris probably took my place today. You'll like him. Nice guy, but he fumbles with the wrench too much. You just gotta drive it in." His attention turns back to the track.

The bleacher bench is hard and bumpy. My sitz bones are sore. I lean forward, back, sideways, and can't find any cushioning on my butt. I sit on one hand while he holds the other.

A box at our feet has a pile of stuff that we won during the pre-race drawing. It looks like t shirts, coasters, coozies, key chains, flyers, coupons, pens, maybe a gift certificate in the envelope. No seat cushion. Gift certificate. I wonder what it might be for.

I try to inconspicuously shrug my shoulders, blink my eyes, and yawn to make myself more attentive to what's going on down on the track. Mmmneeerowww as the cars pass us. Again. I imitate the enthusiasm of the other spectators.

He asks if I will come with him to the next race and meet the guys, and I say I will. I'd like to see what a racer's life is like. I want to home school my kids, when I have some. I like the idea of living in such a community. The other wives probably share child care and meals and such. I'd like that. I'd like to travel more. It wouldn't be like we'd be away from home all of the time because we'd have our home with us -- the trailer and our friends.

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Photo credits:
Ukraine dnepr at krementchug by Lutz Fischer-Lamprecht. Licensed by Creative Commons Attribution Share Alike 3.0 Unported. Modified by Grace Buchanan.
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