Threading The Needle

You could die any second on the highway with this technique!

Threading the Needle

You could die any second on the highway. There is a driving technique called "threading the needle". To attempt it, you must be crazy. To pull it off, you must be a god.

That night I tried it, I wasn't a god. She was screaming. I was too.

Picture us all lined up in our leather jackets and spiky hair, trying to look different. Besides us were the same grey blobs we called "cars". Some of them were our parent's vehicles, and some of them had 5 years of payments left. But we all had something in common: we liked going fast.

For some of us, the smell of rubber and sensation of being pushed back in your seat was better than sex. We held each other accountable, and constantly tried to improve our image with the other racers. There were girls who would tag along, and that night, she chose me. She was a beautiful brunette, and I was surprised she picked a lowlife like me to hang out with. I think she just liked speed.

There is something spiritual about speed. 100 mph is something people were never intended to go. It was a way for us to connect, we all had a common interest even though we had completely different beliefs and backgrounds. It's like a sports club, or school organization.

Except that it was dangerous, illegal, and possibly deadly.

There were three rules we never broke: 1. No alcohol before you race. 2. No one in the car with you. 3. Your car must be capable of over 120mph. That was the speed that most cars were limited to.

She had popped two Xanax and was laying, spread out, on the inside of my car. I was the luckiest kid in the world, until Jake Fisher saw me.

I didn't know Jake Fisher, but he knew me. He knew me as the guy who just took his girlfriend. I think that's bullshit, she wanted to stay in my car and I let her. She wasn't his property to protect, but good luck telling that to Jake Fisher's biceps. He got in my face, spitting at me. I could see the flexing of his neck muscles, and the wind moving my oversized shirt away from my body. I was in some real deep shit.

But Jake Fisher was one of us, and rather than beat the shit out of me (which he would have done any other night) we solve issues one way: with a race. In about 30 seconds after his rant, we were lined up and ready to go. My heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty. The noise of the massive engine to my right scared the shit out of me.

We were off. It was a blur of speed and the rough crash of acceleration on my body that made me look beside me.

She was still in the passenger seat.

I panicked, not knowing what to do, but kept moving anyway. I was falling behind, and the first turn was coming up. I knew that if I let him get in front, I would never see him again. It wasn't just a place or name that mattered, this was my friends. My people. If they saw me lose so badly, I'd never be accepted. Maybe I was a dumb kid, but at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do.

I don't know if I started the maneuver first, or if some divine intervention did, but I swung out and then back in, our cars inches from collision. The back of the car started to spin, and I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, Jake Fisher was staring at my left shoulder. I was sideways in front of him, ready to die when his car smashes into me. That's what makes threading the needle so deadly, if they don't slow down, the driver takes the full force of the crash.

I let off the gas in fear, and waited for death.

Death didn't come.

Jake Fisher had slammed the breaks, and my car was still moving forward. I pushed down the gas, and by the time he got back on it, he was far behind me.

It was a nightmare, but for that minute of my life, I was living the dream.