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“I’ll leave the sore larynx to you,” I mouth back.
Yeah, I’m not blowing my voice out for this craziness.
At least the animals before the show were cute.
The petting zoo outside the arena at the edge of the parking lot was a welcome break from the carnage. I wish I’d been able to hang out there longer with the horses and goats, but my idiot brother practically frog-marched me to our front row seats.
Why? Old Edison dolled up in an oversized cowboy hat and doing laps was way more fun than this. I even got to feed the town’s horse genius a carrot to distract him while his owners checked the locks on his pen a dozen times.
No matter how long I’ve been away, Edison remains a master escape artist, even in his twilight years.
The actual demo event just seems so wasteful, the insane crunch of metal and blown glass and ginormous spinning wheels, all to the delight of the happy heathens shouting their heads off behind us.
Pop! goes another car’s hood under a tire that looks like it could crush a bus.
The crowd freaks out, leaping to their feet, making a sound that could rival every circus monkey ever born.
My poor ears.
If only to distract myself, I follow their lead, standing to look around the arena for familiar faces. A huge blue truck is up next, coming up behind the black beast that’s murdered a few old station wagons. The monster truck lurches to a stop like it’s getting ready to tear over a row of at least a dozen junk cars.
Even in the madness, I smile.
I can’t help but think of Grandpa and his love of cars. He’d be beside himself to see so many destroyed just for entertainment.
Sure, they’re basically scrap metal. I get it. But this still would’ve seemed like an abomination to a man who could fix anything.
I think I’m the only one who cares.
Marty lets loose one of his loud wolf-whistles next to my ear, and I shove him back a step.
It’s all I can do not to punch him in the gut like I used to do when we were kids.
Men and their testosterone. That’s what this is really about.
“Holy shit, they’re on fire today! Did ya see that?”
“I’m not blind!” I throw back, giving him another eye roll worthy of every high school cheerleader combined.
I’m rewarded with a crooked grin.
He’s the proverbial big brother, four years older than me. Though he can drive me crazy anytime, I love him to death. He stayed here in Dallas for the oil fields...and so Gram wouldn’t go crazy all by her lonesome while I left town to chase my dreams.
This big dumb monster truck rally is a new thing for Dallas. This is the second one, apparently, and from what Marty says, there might be one or two more before winter blows in.
This will definitely be the only monster truck rally I’ll be subjected to before heading back to D.C.
I let out a loud sneeze as Marty laughs over the noise.
Dust puffs across the arena, coiling into the air. When one of those trucks drives closer to the stands, it romps over a muddy patch, dangerously close to spraying muck on the bystanders through the meager chainlink fence separating us from the action.
I wrinkle my nose.
A wave of shame washes over me for being so bitchy, even if I’m trying to hold it in.
It’s not like I’m covered in mud. A little sunshine won’t send me to an early grave.
And if I’m abso-brutally honest, there’s another reason why I let Marty sweet-talk me here.
