Page 87 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

We start our motors. My nerves are on edge when I finally hear a clang, and the hooks that keep our motorcycles in place are released. I take off like a bullet.

I accelerate and grin happily when I take the first curve exactly how I wanted to. As soon as I leave the curve behind, I skid and make the bike jump, and when I hit the ground, I notice my wrist hurts. But I’m not leaving this race because of some silly ache.

The rough patch almost kills me though, and I scream with pain and give the bike gas so I can get out of there as soon as possible. When I get to the next curve, I almost eat it. I can’t go that fast, or I’ll end up falling.

When I can, I keep myself in the first few slots, and, when the round is over and I’m in third place, I smile and sigh with relief. I now qualify for the next round.

When I leave the track and head toward my people, they all applaud, and Flyn jumps up and down with joy.

“I’m here, my love,” I say, loud and clear so my handsome Mr. Zimmerman can relax. I take off my goggles and helmet and wink at my husband.

He hugs me and kisses me without worrying about the dust and the dirt. I hug him and kiss him back.

The next two rounds are a challenge because of the damned pain in my wrist, but I refuse to give in and manage to qualify for the final race.

It hurts like hell, but I know I need to shut up, or my husband will pull me out of here. I grit my teeth, but, when there are still ten minutes to the women’s final, I turn to Graciela.

“I need you to change my bandage and make it as tight as you can.”

“But that’s not good, Judith. It’ll cut your circulation.”

“It doesn’t matter. Do it.”

She can tell it hurts me more than I’m saying.

“Judith, if it hurts that much you shouldn’t—”

“Do it. I need it.”

Without another word, she does as I say, and, when I put on my glove, my hand is practically rigid. That takes care of the pain, but it limits my movements and is very uncomfortable.

“Hey, put a smile on that face, my love,” I say to Eric as he comes up to me. “This is my last race.” He nods. “You should buy a big display case for my trophies. I’m hoping to come in first place here.”

My confidence relaxes him, and he gives me a kiss.

“Get out there, champ. Get out there and show them who you are.”

His positivity motivates me. All right, Zimmerman!

I’m at the starting line again.

It’s the last of the women’s races, and there will be three winners. Jurgen, Marta, Eric, and our whole group scream and cheer me on. I smile at them. I look all around me. The other racers are good, but I want to win. I really want to.

When the race begins, my adrenaline hits infinity and beyond.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the other girls is trying to get ahead of me. She’s good, very good, but I have confidence in myself, and I want to be better. When we get to curve number fifteen, I take it easy, but that makes me lose time, and another racer gets ahead of me. That enrages me, but there are two laps left so I still have time to beat her. I manage it and take the lead. There you go! But when we get to the rough patch again, my hand works against me, and they get ahead of me once more.

Shit! Now I’m in fourth place.

There’s only one lap left, and I decide to risk it all and forget about the pain in my hand. When I approach curve number fifteen again, I sense that if I go inside instead of outside, I’ll be able to win by a few seconds. There may be a problem coming out of it if my wrist fails, and I can’t control the bike. But I’ve dealt with tougher things in my life, and I decide to chance it.

I grit my teeth as I come into the curve. The other women make room for me, I reduce my speed and go for it. I take the curve exactly as I planned and...all right! My wrist responds well, and I control the bike. Yes! Three more curves, and I’m taking home a trophy.

Suddenly, one of the other racers jumps, and her back wheel skids. She loses control, and her bike glances off my front wheel. Unable to avoid it, I go flying off and over my bike.

Everything goes dark.

16

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