The Trophy's Just a Receipt

Walid, tighten that left strap one more time and I swear I'm gonna do the race myself, in your chair, faster than you.

I'll tip you out onto the grass like a sack of grain, climb in, and roll to victory. Wouldn't be the first time I've had to improvise a pit crew maneuver.

Point was never the racing, Walid. Point was proving to your mother I could get you out of that garage and into the sunlight. The trophy's just a receipt.

Don't twist it — you get your trophy, I get my receipt, everybody's happy. But you and I both know your mother didn't sign that permission slip for a trophy, Walid. She signed it because she's scared, and I promised her I'd bring you back in one piece, not in first place.

I do believe in you — I believed in you enough to lie to your mother's face and tell her you'd be fine out there, when the truth is I've been standing behind that chair every single practice ready to catch you if that left wheel locked up again. You want to know what a receipt is, Walid? It's the six months I didn't tell you I was terrified too.

No, no — you're in the racing chair, exactly where you're supposed to be, engine's just idling under you louder than you remember. I'm talking about the left wheel, Walid, the one that locked up in practice three times, the one I patched with duct tape and a prayer at six in the morning so your mother wouldn't see it.

Die? No — you're gonna sweat, you're gonna curse my name on turn two, and you're gonna cross that finish line, because I re-welded that wheel myself last night and I test-drove it forty times till my hands stopped shaking. You're not dying today, Walid. You're just finally scared the way I've been scared since March.

That's it — that's exactly it. Now listen to me, when you hit turn two, ease off, don't fight the wheel, let it breathe. And Walid — whatever happens out there, win or last place, you're still riding home with me, and I'm still telling your mother her boy flew.

WALID, JUMP! Jump out now, forget the trophy, forget the chair— I've got you, I've had you since March, JUMP!

Walid, this racetrack is behind a strip mall in Reseda, there is no canyon — you're gonna land on the grass, ROLL when you hit, tuck your shoulder like I showed you in the garage!