Boy Racer

 

With all the poise and control of a real Grand Prix car, the tiny Dinky Toys HWM raced down the grey tarmac path, balancing on the apex of the camber, veering neither to the left nor right toward the grass verges, but miraculously holding its course along the unseen true line as it approached the bend and the pathways beyond that were concealed by bushes.

This was the result of weeks of practice, and of errors. Endless trials and tests of finger power that released the car at just the right velocity, giving it the perfect momentum to carry it along its perilous way. So many times it had wandered off line and fetched up in the grassy verges or worse still, in the grating ahead of the left hand bend at the bottom of the slope. That grating with its sloping drain ways was to play a vital role in pulling the car slightly left away from its apex which would deposit the car in the verge on the right. So many times a tiny stone had interrupted the smooth ride of the HWM causing it to flip over in a somersault as violent as if a real car had hit a boulder. So often the rain had sharpened the pathway's surface till it took on the skittishness of polished crystal. And at other times the pathway had been so impacted with dust and dirt that the tyres could gain no purchase at all. But this May evening, this balmy Friday with its gentle fresh winds and lingering late afternoon sun had produced just the right conditions for this record breaking attempt.

The boy stood in awe willing the car on, his knuckles white as he balled his fists tighter and tighter as the car's longed for progress continued. Everything was going right. The delicate seduction of the drainage curves pulled the by now seemingly unstoppable toy to the left and catapulted it on, away under the bushes. He stood rooted to the spot, as if to move would break the spell and change the nature of this world that had fleetingly granted such perfection. Time stood still for - what? - ten seconds until the HWM flashed out of sight. Master of its own tiny universe.

 

 

The sound of a woman pushing a pram and a yapping dog broke in on his rapture, and the boy pelted down the tarmac ducking under the bushes. A completely different vista opened up to his gaze. It seemed now as if he had been staring at the gently curving pathway behind him for weeks at the exclusion of anything else. This bottom end of the park offered a completely different spectacle. Here a large grassy lawn was hemmed in by tall bushes. The pathway widened out and was intersected by two others at diagonals. There were repair patches in the tarmac and several large iron grates for water mains and gas. Down here, the HWM was entirely on its own. And as it turned out, nowhere to be seen.

The woman trundled her charge away from the boy while the dog raced ahead yapping at something still moving on the ground . Extraordinarily, the HWM had shot across the intersecting pathways and, avoiding all hazards, had even slipped through the woman's padding feet and the wheels of the pram. Only now was it coming to the end of its monumental rush, cheered on finally as it were, by a crowd the size of a black and white terrier. The woman stopped to look down at the object so intriguing her dog. The boy ran up. "Is this yours?" she asked lifting the toy up off the ground for the first time since the start of its daring journey. The boy nodded . He was thirteen years old and rather like the season, was on the far cusp of childhood. Time was upon them both to put away childish things.

"Could have caused a nasty fall, shooting between my legs like that. I've a good mind to hand it in to the Park Keeper." "No please. Don't do that. It's an HWM," the boy blurted, as if the make would make any difference. "It's a menace if you ask me," retorted the woman. Something in the boy's eager face must have caused her to soften as at that moment she thrust it into the boy's grubby hands. "Here", she said. "Just mind what you're doing with it. "The boy slid the toy into his trouser pocket feeling the curves of its bonnet and round flat nose with his fingers. The white painted leather cap on the driver's head was scraped to bare metal as a result of all the record breaking attempts that had ended in tumbles and spills.

The sun was dropping behind the bushes now and a warm breeze played across the grass. He walked away playing back the images in his head of the car sailing so perfectly along the high line of the pathway. The woman quietened her dog then called out to the boy. "What does HWM stand for then?" Proudly the boy replied "Heath's Wonder Motor." It was his perfect moment.

 

 

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