Ah, but you didn't see his eyes. A story about John Allen Mauldin.

"Have you seen my other glove, John?"
I look up from my daughter in my lap to my wife as she comes back into the kitchen yet again. "No, Lillian." I reply again. "It must be here somewhere, we have time." I remind her, bouncing Mary Ellen on my lap. Mary Ellen is three now, and precocious as ever. Lillian says she gets it from my side of the family, and that makes me smile. After having two younger sisters who knew better, I know it's not my side.
"Is Jimmy going to meet us there, or is he going to ride with us?" She asks from the other room. I can tell she's a little frustrated, and not looking forward to this afternoon at the track, but she's trying to pretend she's not. She knows this means a lot to Jimmy and I.
"Jimmy's going to ride with us."
Lillian returns with the missing glove in hand and stop by the door to pull it on. We're going to the track for the stockcar races, but she dresses like it's an afternoon at th park. And she wouldn't hear of going out in anything less. I'm a welder at one of the local factories, and a hick-farm boy before that, but she's always a well dressed lady and I try to match.
I'm driving this afternoon, however, so it's not going to be slacks. But my jeans are in good condition, and the shirt is properly pressed. I know I'll be dressed as finely as any of the other drivers.
But it's nice knowing my wife is the pretty lady waiting on the sidelines, holding the hand of our little girl. "Well he best get here soon." Lillian mutters quietly, coming to take Mary Ellen from me. "I don't want you to feel rushed when you get there." She explains to herself as she straightens Mary Ellen's dress.

It's a good day for a race. It managed not to rain yesterday, and it didn't look like it was going to rain today, so the dirt track was dry an ready. The good weather had finally rolled in, but not the heat yet. We had a good crow for the race, people feeling better about going out and having a good time. The war was still going on in Europe, but it was starting to look like things were coming to an end, and that our boys would be back home soon. I knew Lillian felt much better about it. She didn't have to worry about me going over, but she had brothers like Jimmy to think of. We hadn't talked about me signing up, since we knew I couldn't. Flat feet. They wouldn't take me. Not that I told Lillian that I had looked into it seriously before I learned I couldn't. Mary Ellen had just been born, and I don't think she would have understood if I had tried to explain to her that it felt like an obligation to go. She put up with the racing, but I don't think she could have managed that.

Jimmy grins at me as we get into position. Lillian's already taken Mary Ellen by the hand and lead her over to were the spectators stand. I can see them clearly since there's not much between the spectators and the track other than a wire fence. Mary Ellen glances back at me and smiles brightly, and I give her a little wave. "This is going to be great." Jimmy tells me in excitement. Jimmy's my mechanic and brother-in-law. He owns the gas station a couple streets down from were we live, servicing the large trucks that roll in and out of the factories Michigan. He's a good mechanic, an works wonders with the spare and junk parts we rummage up for the car. "Just remember to be careful switching the gears. I think I've got it fixed, but don't be rough o it." He reminds me, giving me a firm look as if to tell me to be careful with his baby. "You think you have it fixed?" I ask him, jokingly more than anything. I trust him, an I know he'd never give me a care to drive that he would be willing to risk driving himself. Lillian's his favorite little sister, and I doubt he ants to make her a widow any time soon. He slaps me on the arm and grins one last time before turning away and going to join Lillian. The race is about to start and I smile confidently. It is a beautiful day.

The track is simple, yet efficient. They built it so that the over exuberate wouldn't try racing on the main drags. This way it's controlled, safer, and Peter O'Toole can charge spectators to watch and line up some vendors. That means we have pots now to win, making the competition even a little bit more thrilling. The crowd stands, behind a metal wire fence that lines one side of the track. Two hundred laps around a dirt track, it whatever automobile you any piece together. First one to finish gets the pot. There aren't many regulations. Someone talked about wearing helmets one time, but it never got anywhere. No way that Peter could get all the drives to wear something like that. Just too silly looking. All he cars are built and maintained by people like Jimmy, and driven by people like me, who on Monday morning, report to the factory. Racing makes the weekend more exciting, and I never really thought about what might happen if ever there was an accident. I know Lillian does, but it never bothered me too much. I guess I wasn't afraid for myself.

I'm coming by again, finishing up another lap around the track. I'm not winning, but there's still time, and I know I can make it up. It'll be hard, but I can do it. Henry always start out strong, but he can never hold it. And Greg cuts it a little too close to the center sometimes. I'm not out yet, and the challenge of that is thrilling. I'm so focused on watching what Greg is doing, and guessing how far ahead Henry is, that I don't see it in time. I knew an accident was always possible. We've never really had a bad one since Peter opened the place, but there've been a couple of drivers that have come a little too close and quit because of it. I always figured pushing my luck a little wouldn't hurt. I figured nothing too bad could ever happen that I could handle it. I'm on the outer edge, trying to sneak around Greg, when I see something out of the corner of my eye and glance away from the other car quickly, feeling a sudden swell of panic as I realize hat there's something in front of me, and that there's no way I can dodge it in time. I immediately try however, jerking the car more than I is probably wise, and just barely missing colliding with Greg. But I knew I was too close. I can barely get my hands moving to turn the steering wheel before I'm up on it. And it's right before I hit it that I realize what it is and I stop breathing. A small child, no bigger than Mary Ellen turns to look at me, forgetting about the all he was chasing after, and freezes. I hear someone scream, and I don't know if it's me, or someone from the audience. I know it's not the child. He never opens his mouth. He just stares at me in that one second before it happens, as his eyes focus in on me and the car, and perceive the danger he's placed himself in, too late to change anything. I get the car to a stop farther down, my desperate and futile attempt to swerve leaving me on the sidelines. I'm gripping the tearing wheel too tight to let go. My head hurts from where it hit the steering wheel, and my eyes don't seem to want to focus. "I couldn't turn fast enough." Is my only thought, other than the little smile Mary Ellen gave me as she walked with her mother to the side lines. Part of me is in shock and horror, but part is ghastly grateful that it wasn't her. Still, I know he's dead. He has to be. A full grown man wouldn't have survived a hit like that at that speed. I can hear a woman screaming over the others behind me, and suddenly jimmy's by the driver's side door, talking to me and trying to get me to let go of the steering wheel. "Come on, John. Come on, let go." He repeats. "the kid ran out on the track, you couldn't do anything. It's not your fault." Ah, but you didn't see his eyes.