| Racers By Jim Correale The first time I saw Ellie, she was wearing a colorful little sundress and clinging to her mother�s side. They had walked across the grass together, a 30ish mom and her six-year-old daughter, the little girl trotting and giggling until she saw a number of strange adults in her neighbor�s back yard. Then Ellie suddenly became shy, pulling herself tightly to her mother, looking as if she wanted to burrow into the woman�s skin. Kathy, the mother, lived in a beige aluminum-sided home along a cul-de-sac in a new development in northern Connecticut. My friend Matt and his wife Janet moved in next door to Kathy and Ellie in the fall of 1990. Janet�s family was from nearby Hartford; Matt grew up three doors down from me in the old neighborhood in Boston. They met at UMass out in Amherst during their sophomore year and have been together since. They were renting a smaller home, a cute little place in the woods with the feel of a cabin, right down to the field mice seeking warmth in the winter. Matt and Janet scrimped and saved, and were much better scrimpers and savers than anyone else I knew, and were buying a home just four years out of college. A few of us went down from Boston to help them move. It wasn�t too difficult of a job; they hadn�t accumulated that much stuff, still being young, and being as organized with that stuff as they were with their money, everything was boxed and ready to go when we got there. I want to hire Janet the next time I move. When we finished with the moving, it was still relatively early in the afternoon. Matt said he�d get us sandwiches at a place nearby, and Pete and Brian hopped in one car, while I went with Matt. As we were pulling out of the driveway, Matt said, �Oh, hey, there�s this place I wanted to show you guys�Go-karts. Maybe next time we could�� �Go-karts?� I said, my eyes lighting up. �Yeah,� he said, �they�re pretty good. I went with Janet�s brother once.� Before Matt finished his sentence I was rolling down the car window and waving at the other guys, who were backing out, preparing to follow us. �Stay here,� I said to Matt, and then motioned for Pete to pull up to my window. He did. �Go-karts,� I said. �Where?� Brian said. I looked to my left at Matt. �Not too far. It�s actually on the way to the sandwich store.� �Go-karts first,� Brian said. �Sandwiches later.� Even better, when we got to the course we decided that the loser had to buy a sandwich for the winner. This upset the notion of Matt buying us lunch for helping him move, but the river of competition flows strongly in a group of guys in their late 20s and early 30s, and cannot be dammed easily. We paid, we strapped ourselves in, and we raced. Matt won. �Home field advantage,� Brian said. �Yeah. And you cheated,� Pete said. He lost and had to buy a sandwich for a friend he had just helped move. The following summer, when Matt invited us down for a 4th of July cookout, we went and, of course, we went to the go-karts. This time Brian won. It was a good race, and I led for most of it, but I couldn�t hang on. Some kid in a blue car was in front of me going into the last lap and Brian was right there to pass me. I was pissed. Back at Matt�s we had hot dogs and burgers, some chicken and sausages, and a few beers. Most of Matt�s family had driven down from Boston, and there was a friend or two from college as well. We ate and tossed around a sponge football that Matt had lying around and then sat around talking. As the sun started its westward slide, Kathy and her daughter came over and Matt introduced us. �Oh come on, Ellie,� Kathy said, laughing. �You�re never this shy.� The girl, with blonde hair hiding her face, said nothing and refused to move from her mother�s side. Matt and Janet were so organized that they had their holiday schedule planned years in advance. One Christmas was with her family and the next with his. Thanksgiving also alternated, but in reverse order of Christmas. New Years was the same as Thanksgiving, and therefore the opposite of Christmas, and so on. The same principle applied to the 4th of July, which was probably alternated with Memorial Day, or something. It was too complex a system for me to understand all of the intricacies, and too organized for my taste. So the following Independence Day, Matt and Janet were up to visit the old neighborhood. The cookout was in the back yard of his parents� house. Compared to the spacious yard of Matt�s place, this was a little bandbox surrounded on three sides by chain link fence. Matt�s yard in Connecticut faced a bunch of other backyards, but there were no fences. Just a big grassy area, but here in the city each of the tiny lots was fenced off. Matt�s parents had owned the same three-decker since arriving from Italy in the mid-1950s. His dad planted tomatoes and grapes in the back yard and the tri-colored Italian flag flew next to the stars and stripes. Matt�s mother made all kinds of food for the cookout, and I think I had a little of everything. The next summer we were back in the Nutmeg State for the 4th. Mostly the usual characters were there: Matt and Janet�s parents, a couple of siblings and their kids, a few friends from college, and some people from the neighborhood, including Kathy and Ellie, who was now eight and less shy than during our previous visit. She buzzed around the yard, playing with the others kids who were there. This time I won the go-kart race, using a strategy of watching the two previous races as we waited in line and picking the car that appeared to be the fastest. Pete was last for the third year in a row. �You cheated,� he said, as we exited the track. I was beaming, and I had my arms raised straight above my head. �How�d I cheat? That was a brilliant display of tactics and skill.� �You made that little girl crash,� Matt said. �She was holding me back. I had to lap her. I didn�t force her into those tires.� When we returned to Matt�s house we turned the propane grill on again and ate some more. I believe I said something about the hunger of victory. Brian laughed, and Pete groaned. Ellie was suddenly standing beside me. I looked down at her, and she looked over to her mom. �Go ahead honey. Ask,� Kathy said. Ellie looked back at me and said, �Can I have a hot dog?� �Why sure you can.� She stood by me as I cooked a few items, and then I gave her the first hot dog that was ready. She very politely thanked me and ran off with it. |