Bent Words

Bent Words

May 14, 2010


We have four vidmars full of parts; A, B, C and R.

(Just kidding. The last one's D.)

I'm on the middle of vidmar C. It's where all the old parts are (old meaning hand written part numbers on the outside of dirty little yellow packets). Each packet has been stained by years of dust, oil stained hands and the occasional rummaging mouse. These are the parts I linger over. I wonder how long they've been there, how many owners and versions of stocking they've seen, how many times they were 'picked' only to be put back again. I can discern the pen of some of the parts -- Steve Blozis, Marc Ottenad, John Stewart.

Today I found a part packet with your hand writing on it.

I could tell by the 'S.' It's written the way you sign your name (how it looks like 'SY' instead of 'SM').

"Supersedes to ..."

It made me smile so I stole the packet. I replaced it with my own hand writing on a sticky note. I didn't really even think about it, I just did it. I know it sounds silly and perhaps a bit trite but I'm all for silly. And all it takes is pinch of trite in a given day to make me grin. So it's worth it.


I'm on the list.

The Road America list, that is.


"Yes, Laura, you're off for Superbike weekend. Pretty sure you had that one in the bag when you requested "OFF" last year for the first weekend in June and the same weekend for the next five years.... Nice foresight, by the way."

I'm amazing.

Now all I have to do is figure out the geography of it all. If it's a solo venture, I might just ride in every day and spend comfortable evenings at home, in my own bed. Of course this means I can't drink all day (booooooo -- Sad Laura) but it does mean that I don't have to do business in a porto every morning (yeeeeeeeeeaaaa -- Happy Laura). It would mean that I cannot creep over to the relocated Camp Hell in the middle of the night to scope out the shenanigans but that also means I won't be a complete wreck come the following Monday.

If I can scrounge up a cohort, I might just camp. This will only be worthwhile if said person has food, a tent and/or alternate sleeping arrangements and beverage.

We shall see.

The Boy is also on the list but that hardly amounts to a hill of beans. He has a last minute mojo which none can put asunder.

The important thing is that I can go. Iff'n I want to. For free.


June 2004


In the dark parking lot, stocked only with a beer a piece, we leaned against my safely returned Integra and spoke of all things great and small. The world involved only us.

We spoke of his Leukemia and the possibility of a Bone Marrow Transplant. We spoke of the alternatives and the in betweens. He cringed at my reaction upon the disclosure that Picotte had borrowed my car for three days and then sighed with relief when I simply laughed. I told him of my jealousy in his departing to BIR and of how much more so I would be when he would be invited to Laguna. I boldly stated that he could just say FUCK IT, for once, and dare to introduce me to the place that only with him would I find true pleasure.

Stealing away to a special spot that we would discover - a place perfect for watching the races and perfect for us. I caught my dreamy thoughts in time to subdue their heightened hopes and looked away to think of a different subject - but he grabbed me in the midst of my desperation, held me close to his body so that I could relish in his scent and said he would take me to California. I leaned back so slightly, my eyebrows collapsing in confusion and I allowed my thoughts to form before I spoke.

How easy it must be to make such hasty decisions after consuming a box full of beer, but he assured me; that he would tell me tomorrow, the next day and the very next day after that. He would decline the juicy job offer just to take me to California. His words spun me in circles, the truth in his eyes filled my wonder with certainty and his lips met my brow for a Laura Land special - a reassuring forehead kiss.

Perhaps the uncertainties of the future will be overcome by the promise of just this one day. The day that we are in. Perhaps the blows of the past will be softened by the deeper knowledge tomorrow brings. Perhaps I should be complete with what I have and be thankful for simply that.

Thank you.

Written at 8:42 p.m.