Metal between my fingers.

Cold, small.  I hold the gateway to power.

One “click” and the familiar roar turns into a purr.

Clutching, gripping.   Getting into line.

Wait.   Anticipate.

Burn-outs.  Staging.  Lights flash, from red to green.  The signal.

Screaming determination guided by my hands, feet and brain.

Pavement whizzes by.  Stay in line.  Never look sideways, only forward.  Concentrate.

To the finish line.

And a win.

 

Your memoir prompt… Conjure comes from Assistant Editor Galit.

This week I want you to conjure something. An object, a person, a feeling, a color, a season- whatever you like.