Hot Rod

by Mike Mayak

“Woah! Slow down!” Patrick said.

“It’s a hot rod,” Riley said. “Besides, we’re going the speed limit.”

“And we’re going round and round on this racetrack!” Patrick said.

“Yeah, isn’t it great?” Riley said. “Besides, we’re the only ones here. No traffic!”

There was no top on the yellow 1929 Roadster so they enjoyed the wind whipping through their hair and Patrick glanced up at the bright blue Kansas sky. He was from New Jersey.

Riley Abuthnot and Patrick Zither had been together for about six years, married officially for two when Riley inherited a share in the family business; a local racetrack just outside of Millington, Kansas. It had been closed for a couple of years but they had decided to re-open it along with Riley’s cousins who owned a share in it. The half mile dirt oval with a grandstand had been a fixture since about 1956 and shut down when Riley’s Great-Uncle died two years ago.

Riley took another lap around the track and slowed the car to a stop by the closed snack bar.

“You aren’t going to be racing are you?” Patrick asked.

“Hell no!” Riley laughed.

“Good! I’d divorce you if you did!”

The two men laughed. Then they sat in the car silently, enjoying the warmish Spring weather.

“You sure you want me to do this?” Riley asked. “Take this place over?”

“I’m sure.” Patrick said. He grinned broadly. “I’m very sure. Because it’s not just what you want, it’s what I want too.”

They kissed there in the car.

“It’s what we want,” Riley said. They kissed again, lingering this time.

“You know, I loved that internet headline: Local Gay Couple Re-Opens Local Speedway.” Patrick said.

“Yeah, except I’m Bi not Gay,” Riley said. “Don’t know how all the locals will take it. This isn’t Grove Street back in Jersey.”

“I know that,” Patrick said. They sat there another minute. “You know, we may make most of our money from customers at the snack bar. So we’d better hire somebody really good to run it.”

“Yeah,” Riley said.

“Hey, let’s drive around the track again,” Patrick said. “Maybe this time slower so I can get a good look at everything.”

“Okay,” Riley said, starting the engine again.

Their apartment in Millington had been home for about two years but the speedway was starting to feel like home to them too.

—end—