It was mid of the month in april or perhaps early july, when I stood atop the hill, frightened and stupefied.
Several hours driving in, several hours driving out. Working in the living room, thinking without a doubt, "I know that I'll win this" I would scream and shout. Screwing in the screws, wrenching in the bolts, giving it our all, again, without a doubt.
Racing all the races, getting too many third places, tying my shoe laces, again without a doubt.
So here I stand at the top of the hill, feeling feelings of exitement, fear and thrill. Putting on my helmet, my father chanting my name, and I thought that this time, maybe this time, wouldn't be the same.
And then I got in the car, the gate swiftly dropped, and everyone thought I would lose, excepting old pop.
I thought in the car, what ever shall I do, I was in the slow lane, not lane one, but lane two.
But I would not lose hope, this wasn't some card game, I could not lose hope, just because of my lane.
I scooched myself lower till I thought my spine would crack. Something I thought the other driver lacked.
And when we crossed the finish line our cars were neck and neck. My mom almost had a heart attack.
I was very hopeful, I preyed on my knees. The announcer said "The winner is Ebsary!".
I walked off the track in dancing stride. My father stood on the hill, glowing with fatherly pride.
I turned to the other driver, his hand is what I shook. At winner's circle, the trophy I took.
In the car I took several naps, dreaming of another 1st place, perhaps.
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