The Race

         Timmy delicately placed the #13 decal on the front hood of his soapbox car.  He and his father had spent the last six weekends building this year’s soon-to-be, winner.  Last year, they had come so close to finishing first, but ended up losing to that son-of-a-bitch, Billy, who lived in the really nice neighborhood across the street.

         He stood in awe, taking in what he and his father had built, a huge smile on his face.  His soapbox car was painted a fiery, cherry-red with yellow lightning bolts running down each side because that’s what this car was – fast as motherfucking lightning!

         “So, what are you going to name her, son?” his father asked.

         “Nicolo,” Timmy replied without hesitation.  He knew her name, always had.  He had been dreaming about her since he lost his last race.  Sorry, Betty, it’s time to move on, he told his last car, breaking up with her, setting her free and positioning himself for his new Love.

         “That’s an unusual name,” his father said.

         “I don’t choose the name dad; the name chooses itself.”

         His father looked at him in wonder, amazed how an 8-year-old boy could be that in tune with the Universe.

         “There’s only one thing left to do,” Timmy said.

         “What’s that?”

         “Win, of course!” Timmy replied.

         “That-a-boy!” his father said as he gave Timmy a fist-bump.

         Timmy woke up early the next day like it was Christmas.  He couldn’t wait for the race to start.  This year he was finally going to beat Billy!  Billy had won the last four years and to add insult to injury, Billy was a complete ass. 

         Billy was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.  Whatever he wanted, Billy got.  And when he got it, he flaunted it, rubbing it in Timmy’s face, teasing him about how his family would never amount to anything, that his father was a loser and he was a loser.  Always had been and always will be.

         Not this year, you son-of-a-bitch!

         Every summer, the neighborhood, across the street with all the big, fancy houses, had a block party.  They invited everyone from the lesser, surrounding neighborhoods, but only Timmy’s family would attend.  His father had always told him that just because they had more money, didn’t mean that they were better.  In fact, everyone was equal, no matter how much or how little money they had.  Apparently, Timmy’s neighbors didn’t feel that way.

         The block party always took place at the four large houses sitting on the roundabout at the top of the hill.  They had it professionally catered, with huge smokers filled with ribs, brisket, chicken, and sausages.  They grilled hamburgers and hotdogs for the kids, had a beer garden for the adults and rented large bouncy-houses for everyone to jump around in.  The party started early in the morning and would go on all day, with the soapbox car race held in the late afternoon, and finally ending it all with a huge fireworks display.

         Usually, Timmy participated in all the activities going on throughout the day, but this year, all he could think about was the race.  Everything else was a distraction, keeping him from his destiny: to finally beat Billy and claim the coveted trophy as his own.

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