They say dead men tell no tales and objects keep their secrets. But if that car could talk it would tell you of long Saturdays at the track, her rooting and cheering, a loyal friend and fan.
“This is my season. This is my year,” she’d said.
And it was. She was Joey’s biggest fan, but she’d talked of racing since the early days; got up early on weekends to lend a hand, and often stayed up late, dreaming.
“Why do you want to race anyway, Joanie?” I asked her once.
“I can’t explain it. I just always wanted to. It’s my destiny, I guess.”
Destiny is a funny thing–it has its own agenda. It lures you out, chasing shadows of things too big to recognize.
“It’s a dangerous sport. It’s not for everyone, you know.”
She’d laughed and swatted at me like a pesky fly. “Women can do anything, same as men.”
Turned out she was right.
Inspired by Joan Feller.
To anyone who is a race fan or knew Joan Feller, please excuse my clumsy fiction. While I can’t claim either, I was inspired by a woman who by all accounts was a giving, caring and generous soul who followed her dream.
This has been a Sunday Photo Fiction prompt, brought to you by Alistair Forbes.
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