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‘Have you done this before?’
‘No.’
‘Right,’ he says. ‘The right pedal is to accelerate, left is brake.’
In front of me I see Onos settled in his go-kart, like he
was born in one. I should never have agreed to this.
The attendant offers his hand, to help me into my kart. ‘Can
you drive?’ he asks.
‘Em… not really.’
He nods like he’s heard this before, and I wonder if I should be reassured. I eye the kart with suspicion. It’s red. Should I ask for
one with a different colour, a placid blue maybe? I sigh and, one foot first,
get into the kart, stiff and awkward. The helmet sits heavy on my head, and in
my neck I feel a vein start to throb. I smile, to convince my brain that I’ve
got this. Onos glances back at me. I
can’t see his face, but I know his eyes will be shiny, expectant. ‘Try
something new, for once’ – those were the words he’d used to talk me into this ‘adventure’.
I look away from him; I have to learn the ropes of this complex machine.
An Asian boy – he can’t be
more than ten – appears brandishing a ticket, and another attendant helps him
into the kart behind me. There are now three of us on the tracks. I am
contemplating the meaning of life when I hear the boy’s kart rumble to life
behind me. He speeds off, laughter trailing after him. I glare at his back.
‘Let’s do this,’ I say to
the attendant through clenched teeth. He starts to bend over my kart and I
quickly point at Onos. ‘Do him first.’
Onos starts off and the
attendant comes back to turn mine on. The kart starts to vibrate beneath me,
and I push down on the accelerator. Off I go. Fast. I make the first right
turn. Piece of cake. Then on I go until I have to make a left turn. Easy
peasy. As I head on, a genuine smile is starting to form on my face. The sun is
beating down on my bare arms, the breeze blowing in my face. Today, I kick ass
at go-karting; tomorrow, I walk on water! I take the next left and speed on
ahead. I am coming up against red and white plastic barricades, but I’m still
smiling. I have enough time to turn my wrist just so and avoid hitting them.
The smile is still there
when I don’t make the turn. I crash into the barricades, the impact throwing up
a couple of them, and they fall around me. The kart stops. I hurry to my feet,
noticing that Onos has stopped and two of the attendants are rushing toward me. I struggle to take off my helmet, and as the first attendant reaches me he
helps me pull it off. The smile is stuck on my face, for some odd reason; the
attendants are looking at me funny. I hear the sound of an approaching kart and
look toward it. It’s the boy, waving as he passes. When they are certain
that I am fine, one of the attendants leads me away from the stalled kart while
the other sets about putting the barricades back in place.
‘Maybe we’ll give you
one of the slower karts,’ the attendant with me says.
They have slower karts? I
want to grab the front of his shirt and shake him. ‘Why didn’t you just give
me a slow one in the first place!’
‘We like to give those to
children.’
We walk back to the
start point in silence. As the attendant sets me up in a slower kart – blue this
time, but this doesn’t make me feel better – the boy speeds past again.
The attendant starts me
up, and off I go again. Slowly. I approach the first right turn and I slow to a
crawl. In a fit of spurts and jerks, I make that turn. Then I speed up, but
just a little, until I reach the next turn, which I take in similar fashion. I
take yet another slow turn and approach the crash site, which now bears no
trace of my assault. I go even slower, eyeing the spot as I navigate, snail
like. I find that Onos is still waiting for me, and I like him a little less for
this. He starts moving again as I reach him, and then he forges ahead. I
approach a left turn, and I go so slowly that I stop. I tell myself that the
accelerator is stiff; that this is why I keep stopping. The boy passes me
again. I sigh.
After three painful laps
– during which I stop at every single turn and drive into barricades countless
times – with Onos hovering around me like an overly anxious but good
intentioned parent, the Asian boy whooping with every pass, attendants and waiting
customers watching me with a mixture of awe, pity, and annoyance, the attendant
blocks my path at the start point with a barricade. I raise the visor off my
helmet and glare at him.
‘What? I haven’t done up
to ten laps now!’
‘Maximum time is ten
minutes per round.’
‘Oh.’
‘We’ve allowed you more
than ten, and that boy has done like twenty laps because of you!’
I smile stiffly, avoiding
the attendant’s eyes as I get out of the kart and hand over the helmet. I walk
with Onos to the locker room, to get our stuff. He says nothing; just puts an
arm around my shoulder and gives a comforting squeeze, and I think maybe I will
forgive him after all, for putting me through this.
In the locker room we
see the boy. He is bright eyed and exhilarated, talking to his parents with
words we can’t understand. His gestures are clear though: he is clenching the
steering wheel, swerving here, swerving there, pressing down on the accelerator,
whizzing past the world. He is Speed Racer!
‘Look on the bright
side,’ Onos says, ‘the kid’s happy.’
I pick his hand off my shoulder
and let it fall to his side.
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