A Race Against Time

Untitled | Elliott Wagner-Smith |

A Race Against Time by Isabel Halperin

Just two more minutes until my dream is a reality. Ever since I saw my dad on the tracks, I knew it was what I wanted. My dad raced for NASCAR for 30 years before retiring. I had to wait until I was eighteen, but with my birthday looming around the corner, I am in the exact position he was in. I see the bright neon Stewart Haas Racing Team sign above me as I walk into their headquarters with my dad closely following behind. I am greeted by the one and only Gene Haas. 

“Today is the day. How do you feel, Mr. Nelson?”

“It's unreal. It really is a dream,” I reply trying to keep it together.

“I’m glad, mate, you're going to be the next best racer,” Mr. Haas smiles.“Now follow me. It's time for the paperwork.” 

As we walk into his office, my dad puts his hand on my shoulder, “I’m so proud of you, son.” I give him a nod. 

We take a seat around a long table with pictures and trophies in every direction. I look down to see the contract I have been waiting for. 

Before I get the chance to ask, my dad reads my mind. “The contract has already been looked at by our lawyer. Everything looks great. All you have to do is sign here.” 

Vinnie Nelson is written in big letters above the line. It feels surreal. I grab the fancy pen from my dad's hand and glance at the ticking time bomb tattooed on his wrist. I briefly think about what my tattoo will look like, but I shudder the thought away. I sign my name as Mr. Haas stands up and I follow. We shake hands and he congratulates me on the big accomplishment. 

“Now your first race is on June 10th. Will you be able to race?” Mr. Haas asks knowing that I have to turn eighteen by then to be admitted into the race. 

“Yes, sir. My birthday is tomorrow.” I reply.

“Great. Happy early birthday!” Mr. Haas exclaims. 

I give off a forced smile. I have been waiting my whole life to be eighteen so I can race, but now that it’s tomorrow I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. At midnight, I’ll glance down at my wrist and my fate will be declared. The reason behind my death will be permanently engraved into my skin. My dad always tells me his experience wasn't bad. The government invented the program in 2068 when my dad was 15, so his generation was the test. They called it the mark. Supposedly, it was because people were dying left and right so a system was made up that put a chip in everyone at birth so they know their cause of death on their eighteenth birthday. The goal was that the person would be more cautious around the thing that was to kill them and as a result, fewer people would die. The bad thing about it all is that nobody knows when it will happen, so from eighteen on, everyone lives in constant paranoia. My dad has a clock indicating that he will die of old age. Everyone wished they could see a clock but only 2% of the population does. My mom has a knife so she rarely goes into the kitchen or any restaurants. Everyone works around their mark in hopes of living the longest. I guess the government wins because it does exactly what they want it to…

“Thanks for coming in today. We are very excited to have you on Team 7. We will be in touch,” Mr Haas says pulling me out of my train of thought. 

“Thank you. It was great to see you again,” my dad says shaking his hand as I do the same. 

As we pull into the driveway, balloons and streamers are covering our house making our house look like that old movie Up from the 2000s. 

My mom comes out and gives me a big hug, “Your sister has a big surprise for you inside. Come on.” 

Natalie had prepared a big celebratory meal. She loves to cook and wants to run a show like Gordon Ramsy did until he died in that tragic plane crash twenty years ago. We laugh, while stuffing ourselves with food until we couldn't anymore. Time seems to fly by and before I realize it it is already 11:55 p.m. Only 5 more minutes. My mom sees me glance at the clock as she puts her hand on my back. Suddenly the mood at the table changes. 11:56 p.m. I feel a tear slide down my face, but I quickly wipe it away before anyone can see. 11:57 p.m.  I am nervous even though I would never admit it. 11:58 p.m. Natalie clears my plate for me -- which she never does. 11:59 p.m. My father reassures me it is going to be okay just as the clock strikes midnight. 12:00 a.m. I feel a sharp pain forming in my left wrist, but I refuse to look. The engraving has started. My family sings “Happy Birthday” to try to take my mind off it but I don’t care. I don’t care that I am now eighteen. The number doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. All I can think about is the gut-wrenching pain I feel on my wrist. And suddenly, it stops. I cover my left wrist with my right and look down. They gather around behind me ready for the big reveal. I slowly peel my hand away as I see a KJ 59 Car with the NASCAR logo written on the side. 

“Is that a race car?” Natalie gasps. 

“Sweetie, why don't you go and get ready for bed,” my mom says to Natalie. 

I can hear Natalie’s footsteps over the millions of thoughts invading my head right now. My parents sit down next to me, shocked just as much as I am. 

“Talk to us. Tell us your thoughts.” 

I stare at my mark not comprehending what is happening right now. My cause of death is the one thing I love most in the world. Do I even love to do it anymore? Is it worth my life? My dad offers to call Mr. Haas and tell him the news, but I say no. 

“I’m going to keep racing, I don’t care about this stupid mark,” I manage to get out even though I don’t actually think that. Before my parents have the chance to react, I storm off to my room. The whole night, I try to make myself believe what I told my parents. That I’m not scared. That I want to keep racing. That I don’t care about the mark. It's not that I don't want to keep racing, it's that I don't know if I can. My thoughts consume me and before I know it my alarm goes off. 

I cover my mark with a blue long sleeve shirt and some pants my parents had given me last night. I am not ready for people to know, especially since I had just signed with Stewert Haas yesterday. I grab my keys and head straight out the front door; I can hear my mom calling for me but I ignore her. I try to erase every memory from last night as I pull into the parking lot at school. 

“Yo, Happy Birthday, my man,” I hear my best friend, Jack, call out when he sees me get out of my car. I take a deep breath as I approach him. 

“Appreciate it, Bro,” I say as I dap him up.

We walk towards the front doors and I pray he doesn't ask about my mark. But with the odds never in my favor, he does. 

“Did you get your mark?”

I debate telling him the truth, but I can’t bring myself to do it. “Nah, there was a glitch in the system or something.”

“Oh, that's weird. Maybe you'll live forever.” Jack laughs it off as I do too. I wish I could tell Jack the truth. I know he would understand, but something in me can’t find the words. 

The first bell rings and we head our separate ways. I continue to lie to everyone who asks about my stupid mark. Why does everyone care so much? I barely made it through the day let alone the week, almost having mental breakdowns every hour. I just do what I’m best at: forgetting. 

The week goes by faster than ever. I haven't thought about the mark since my birthday. I deny it; I wish I could do that forever. But I can't. 

Today, I have my first practice as an official team member. My parents have been asking me all week if I am okay and I say yes. I figure if I say it enough I will start to believe it. But the truth is, I have never been more conflicted in my life. One minute I want to race. Then the next, racing is the last thing I want to do. I don't want to die, but I don't want to live a life wondering ‘what if.’ Racing is what I love to do, but now it's become more complicated. Even dangerous. My dad ended up telling Mr. Haas about my mark because he thought it would be “for the best”. I understand why he did it, but I don't think anything is best at the moment. 

Driving to the track, I swallow my feelings and stare at the road. Mr. Haas comes out to greet us when we arrive.

 I grab my stuff from the trunk as Mr. Haas says, “How are you feeling today? Are you ready?”

I know he is talking about the mark, but I ignore that part. “Yessir, ready as I ever will be.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me dead in the eye, “No, son, seriously. Seeing your mark is a very big deal, especially the one you’ve gotten. If you are not ready, I understand. Just be open and honest with me.” 

I can tell he is being sincere and he cares about me, which is nice. But I can't give in.

“Thank you. That's very kind of you, but I’m okay. I promise,” I continue to lie to him but more importantly, to myself. I can feel my body tense up as we get closer and closer to my car. I unknowingly put on my gear.  Not that I don't want to do it, I just feel numb. The other drivers are already in their cars. Everyone is waiting on me. My palms start to sweat as I slide into the car. I buckle myself in, even though every thought and bone in my body is telling me not to. I barely hear the timer start counting down through all the voices yelling in my head. Before I have time to collect myself, the cars next to me zoom by. I sit frozen, my foot on the gas and my hands on the steering wheel, but I cannot move. 

Time stands still as I remain suspended.  I can hear the yelling,“ Vinnie! Go!,” by everyone in the crowd. 

My instincts kick in and the car starts to move. All of a sudden my mind is clear and all I can think about is racing. The other cars are a whole lap ahead of me, but I don’t care. I am enjoying myself for the first time since my birthday. The mark seems to not matter anymore. I don’t know what the future holds but I sure am not going to let that stop me from living my dream. All I known is that I love to race and nothing will change that. I am going to live my life without fear.