Reach for the Sky

The Demo went well enough, I didn’t pull any tricks that were too invigorating or “overly-dangerous” - as I figured I had managed to survive the contest and shouldn’t push my luck. The ramps had been a little tricky, but I had been relieved to know that the event planners had wider ramps than usual installed just for my use. Once backstage again, I was finally able to whip off my helmet and sit in peace for the few remaining minutes before the judges announced the winners - that is, I sat in peace for a few seconds before Travis realized there was a really great seating option available right in front of me. When I grumbled at him to get off as he was crushing my legs with his fat ass, he flashed me that winning grin (a heart-melter) and said;

“But four-wheelers are so much less tippy than dirtbikes!” I rested my head on his shoulder, listening to him chatter about what he thought the results would be. “So Nate Adams definitely stomped us both, but I think you really gave me a run for my money, Scottie. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Adams, Stenberg and you in the top three.”

“God that would be nice, I need the money…” He hushed me as an echo-y, strangely distorted voice came over the loudspeaker - the music cut out and dead silence enveloped the crowd. I could feel Travis’s arms shake with anticipation (or was that me).

“In fifth place, Ronnie Renner! Fourth - Jeremy Stenberg.” I sighed. There was no way -

“Third place is Scottie Finnegan!” The names which followed mine were drowned out by my excitement as I yanked my helmet on over my head. Travis jumped off my quad as it roared to life beneath me - I could see Ren Ren and Stenberg shooting out in front of me on dirtbikes, yanking them into spectacular whips right behind one another. I left space between them and I without thinking, and as the tires left the ramp I yanked my body backwards.

The motion was fluid, almost instinctual, and as I watched the ground pass below me I felt almost as if the trick was about to fail. I could see Travis’s Kiss of Death insanely close behind me, and Adams had yet to hit the ramp.

I felt relieved when the back tires hit the dirt, even more so when the front tires followed and I didn’t shoot over the handlebars. As the boys landed their tricks and tried to climb up to the top of the landing ramp to celebrate I spun the Suzuki around the front tires in a wicked doughnut, spraying the crowd and the men who were frantically trying to get away.

Somehow, we got from the top of the mound of dirt, spraying each other and my quad down to the crowd, reaching up into the throngs of people to sign autographs, give hugs, everything and anything the fans would ask for. It wasn’t long before I felt my back begin to bleed again - constant stretching to give hugs and doodle over my face on posters had ripped the cuts open for the third time that evening. But I continued on; without these people, Freestyle would have just been a hobby for me and the other racers and I was truly thankful for their support.

Travis’s mad waves caught the corner of my eye - mainly because of his red and yellow gear and the fact that he was decidedly separate from the mob scene in the stands. Still signing blindly, I turned as he walked over to me and placed his lips near my ear.

“Come over here, there are a few girls over here who’re dying to meet you,” He had to shout to be heard over the ruckus as he yanked my lighter body away from the portion of the crowd I had buried myself in, and pulled me over to where he had exited the crowd. The reaching arms and grabbing hands parted briefly where Travis had been standing, pushed up against the railing as far as they would go and those who could leaning out as far as they could manage was a group of at least ten girls and young women of varying ages and ethnicities. I felt myself go slack-jawed as I saw they were all holding pictures of me at different stages in my life - from the FTR motocross and hare scramble track to GNCC winner’s headshots to the advertising poster for X-Fighters.

Teary-eyed and touched, I tore off my jersey, goggles and gloves, as much of my clothing as I could spare, and pushed it into their outstretched hands, and I perched on the railing of the stadium so I could sign as many pieces of paper as they pushed at me and hugged each of them. In turn, they pressed letters into my hands, fan mail that had never made it all the way from Spain. One girl pulled my head to hers, and in a voice that was barely more than a whisper compared to the screaming stadium due to a stoma tube in her throat told me that I was her inspiration.

“No, you’re my inspiration. You keep me going, honey.”

After a while, I felt Travis’s manager tugging at the bottom of my motocross pants and was forced to hop down off the railing, waving sad goodbyes and clutching their letters to my chest as I was led backstage along with the other riders.

“God, I would stand out there and sign for them until my hands fell off. And then I’d but the pen in my teeth.” I murmured to Travis, who sat with my head in his hands as the paramedic stitched my back. Again.

“I would too, Scottie, I would too.”

“Miss Finnegan, you really need to let these heal. I know it’s difficult, but you need to slow down for a while.” The paramedic began to close his kit, wiping the last of the clotted blood from around the wounds. As I stood, I pulled Travis’s jersey over my chest with a grimace and paid my respects to the ‘medic.

“What’s the stitch count so far, Scottie?” Godfrey asked from behind his camera, walking backwards in front of Travis and I.

“I lost count ages ago,”

“Sixty-seven, total.” I glanced up at Travis with a raised eyebrow. “I’m pretty good with numbers,” Ah, what a dork. But he was my dork. Painfully, I reached up to ruffle his hair - something he could dish out all day but couldn’t stand to have done to himself - and found myself squabbling with him on the dirt floor like two unruly children, wrestling to fluff the top of his head again.

“Children! Children! Can’t you act like civilized adults for once?” Travis and I exchanged a glance and a grin as Renner spoke, and as I gripped one boot and pulled, Travis seized the other. Groaning on his back, Ronnie wasn’t out of it enough to resist as Travis pinned him down - I moved in to grind my knuckles into the tops of both of their heads, even through I knew that the motion would only get me into trouble.

Sure enough, Renner held my arms behind my back as Travis’s long fingers darted under the borrowed jersey I wore to tickle my stomach.

“No - ah! Not fair! Ah-ha ha!”

Hours later - the wee hours of the morning in Spanish time - Travis continued to tickle me minus a few layers of clothing and dozens of prying eyes. Gently, he traced the generous collection of scars I had acquired over the years, occasionally his fingers would stop and he would ask how I had come by this z-shaped scar or that one which looked mysteriously like a row of ice studs from an ATV tire.

“Actually, that one was a really dumb accident. I shouldn’t have been going that fast in the snow to begin with, especially not on my first snow ride.” His lips touched the spot on my left shoulder blade where the double row would remain forever, and he moved on. “You’re such a dork,”

“I’m trying to be romantic, here!” The giggle I couldn’t suppress gained me a poke in the ribs; he retaliated by pinning me with his superior weight with a broad grin on his face. As our lips met, my phone began to ring. Tentatively, Travis pulled away, looking in the direction of the bulky Blackberry as it danced in a circle on the nightstand.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

“It’s probably just a sponsor who wants to congratulate me,” I murmured into his neck; I wanted him too badly to stop and answer a damn phone call. “I’ll call them back.” He silenced my whisper with his lips, and slipped his fingers under the bottom of my sports bra to gently pull it over my head - Travis was always more mindful of my injuries than I was of his. As his lips searched my chest, my phone began to sing again, buzzing itself in a little circle.

“Travis, leave it.” His hand fell back onto the bed at my command - he was all too happy to ignore the call in order to get some. As it were, the ring tone wasn’t one I recognized as having assigned to someone important, and therefore the call was not important once more. I ran my hands through Travis’s curls and managed to pry his lips from around one of my nipples so I they could meet with mine. Hungrily, I freed him of his boxers with my free hand, scratching his hips inadvertently.

Minutes later, I had him scrabbling for a condom in his bag as my phone began to ring again - another anonymous, normal ring tone. Angrily, I tossed the thing into a pile of clothes where its bleating was muffled as Travis fell back atop of me, his body crashing into mine. He clutched my body to his with an arm around my waist, and buried his face in my hair. Just as we were getting into the act, a ring tone began to play which I recognized.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I’ll be back in the ballroom swingin’,” I didn’t have much time to wonder why Oakley was calling me - I was overwhelmed as Travis continued his pummeling, gasping every now and again as my nails broke his skin.

“I’ll be back with my Superman action and I’m off to save the world,” Again. Oakley never called twice in a row. The music died as Travis collapsed atop of me, I clutched his sweaty body to mine as the phone began to ring again.

“If you’re gonna be dumb you gotta be tough,”

“Damn it, Scottie, why are you so popular?” But I had already shoved Travis’s body off mine and dove for the phone in a desperate attempt to get it before it stopped ringing - something was not right. As I fumbled with the blank screen, someone began to pound on the door of the hotel room.

“Scottie! Answer your fucking phone!” Frantically, Travis scrabbled for a pair of boxers as I pulled one of his long t-shirts over my head (they covered like a dress, the kid had a long torso) to answer the door.

“Renner?”

“Tommy’s dead.”