I didn’t say anything because if I’d said something, I would’ve been off the track. My folks would’ve come and got me.

The guy sobered up, I knew him, I seen him every day, I knew exactly who it was — it was bad, but anyway, I survived. I cut my hair real short after that.

FOUR

PICKLED BOILED EGGS

Turned eighteen, finished school, got my diploma. Went full-time at the racetrack. Instead of working one racetrack I traveled the circuit with my racetrack family. There was grooms, jockeys, trainers, racing secretaries, stewards, pony people, hot walkers, everybody. When one meet ended we’d all go down the road together, bumper-to-bumper. We’d go to the same grocery stores, the same laundromats.

We’d go to a bar after the races and it’d be a racetrack bar — the locals would leave. We didn’t want anyone else around. Sometimes it ended in a brawl, but usually we landed on our feet. We even had our own band — the Bug Boys. The singer was a jockey, the drummer was a trainer, the bass player was a groom.

Not everybody drank — some just liked to mingle and talk. We’d gather at long tables and watch replays of the races, the whole card on loop. Oh, see — right there! What did I tell him? I told him not to go to the outside, and what’d he do? See his head bobble?

One night an exercise rider brought his bulldog to the bar. The dog jumped into our booth and people started buying it pickled boiled eggs from a big jar. The dog loved them and everyone liked this dog, so everyone bought the dog a pickled boiled egg, but there are only so many pickled boiled eggs a dog can eat before there are consequences to clean up.

THANKSGIVING

People didn’t want to rent to us because we’d be in town only a few months and because racetrackers tend to be wild and destroy apartments. I’d stay in a trailer, a motel room, a stall at the track. Sometimes I lived out of my truck. I didn’t have a TV for years and years. I didn’t have time to watch TV, nor did I really want to. Never did cook much because I didn’t have a home.

For breakfast, everyone heads to the track kitchen — you don’t travel to town to eat. Each track kitchen was known for a special dish. One had homemade donuts. There’d be scrambled eggs, bacon. For dinner you might order a hamburger at the bar — whatever they have.