ChapterFour
Caleb
Atriple header is the busiest period of the racing calendar, so when I board the plane for Hungary just a couple of days after the race at Silverstone, I can feel the exhaustion in my core.
Ian takes a solo seat and cracks on with a race report he says is overdue. The rest of the plane is full of chatter, until I reach the back and find Nils sitting quietly, not chatting his teammate’s ear off like normal. I wonder what’s wrong with him until I turn and see Johannes with his knees tucked up on the other side of the aisle, headphones on, hood pulled up, eyes closed. We’ve been flying together all season, and I’ve never seen him like this. I look at Nils but he just shrugs and puts his own headphones on.
I hate to disturb Johannes, but the seat opposite him is pretty much the only one remaining and the flight’s only a few hours. I take the seat and he doesn’t even flinch. If I hadn’t seen him board the plane a few minutes ago, I might have believed he was asleep.
The flight takes off without drama and I’m quick to open my laptop to get some work for my PhD done. At some point during the flight, whatever Johannes is listening to must end and his eyes shoot open, clearly shocked to see me.
‘Sorry. I hope I didn’t disturb you.’ I apologise quickly, half closing the lid of my laptop.
‘No, you didn’t. Don’t worry. Just forgot I was on the plane for a moment.’ He tucks his headphones in to the side of the seat and plucks a neck pillow from the top of a backpack.
‘Late night?’ I say. It’s my way of asking what’s going on without actually asking him what’s going on.
At first he doesn’t say anything, but I catch an expression crossing his face that I can’t quite read. It’s fleeting but also… desperately sad.
‘Long weekend, you know.’
I get the impression he wants to say more but he doesn’t.
‘Oh? You and Nils went out last night? I saw some photos from what looked like a party. Guess he’s enjoying scoring points.’ We both turn at the sound of heavy snoring from across the aisle. I can’t help but laugh, but Johannes doesn’t even crack a smile.
‘Nah, just an event for a friend. Didn’t expect it to be such a late one, that’s all.’ He doesn’t have to tell me if he doesn’t want to, but I still wish he would. He’s obviously not okay, and something tells me it’s more than his P10 finish at Silverstone. ‘They have you working on the flight?’ He asks, gesturing to my laptop.
‘This? No. I’m working on my PhD. I have to cram it into every bit of free time at the moment, which has been difficult with the triple header.’ It’s been hard all season, to be honest. My thesis has had to take a back seat really and I’m probably going to end up having to ask for an extension because I can’t see how I’ll get it done in time as well as do my job. But that’s the cost of living my dream.
‘Oh, so you’re super smart? Is that what you’re telling me?’ It’s the first drop of real emotion I’ve heard from him today. ‘What’s it about?’ His next words are tight, like it’s an effort to find them and speak them aloud.
If he’d prefer silence, I wish he’d just say so. I could do with the extra time to finish the chapter I’m writing.
‘It’s Automotive Engineering. My thesis is on aerodynamics.’ I’m not shy about my achievements– it doesn’t pay to be in this industry. It’s cutthroat and they only employ people who will help their team win.
I’ve earned my promotion to race engineer, working my way up from the bottom. With my undergraduate degree and a master’s under my belt already– and almost a decade of experience, the PhD will be the icing on the cake.
‘Get you. Very fancy. But good for you. Honestly. I only just about finished school, so I can’t imagine doing all that studying.’
‘I think you’re doing pretty good for yourself, superstar.’ He makes more in a year than I will earn in a lifetime, so he’s doing perfectly fine without an education. I’ve managed to save a little bit, though, because I’m mostly on the road and my living expenses get covered. One day I’ll put down roots somewhere. Maybe. If I meet someone who would want to do that with me.
‘Caleb? You got a minute?’ I hear the team manager calling me over. It looks like he’s having a meeting with some of the other higher-ups, so I unbuckle my seatbelt and slot the laptop into the side of the seat.
‘You want anything from the bar while I’m up?’ I say to Johannes.
‘Nah, all good, man.’ He waves me off and tucks his long legs back up under his body. It’s a sad sight to watch him sink back into himself. I’ve never seen someone look so lost.
It can’t just be the bad performances. He’s missed the podium a few times in the last couple of years– he’s even had a couple of DNFs after crashes and car failures– but normally he rallies so well and comes back fighting even harder.
I join the bosses and make some contributions to their discussion. When they move on to a new topic, I excuse myself and take a piss in the fanciest plane bathroom I’ve ever seen. It still gets me, even after all this time, that I get to do my business in luxury. It’s bigger than the one bathroom my entire family shared growing up.
It even has a shower. What plane has a damn shower? And why? I guess it makes more sense for long-haul flights, but, like, still. It seems really over the top.
When I get back to my seat, I’m quickly stopped in my tracks by the saddest sight I’ve ever seen.
Thick, fast tears are sliding down Johannes’s cheeks. Headphones on, hood up, eyes closed, he probably doesn’t realise I’ve returned. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how I’m meant to handle this. Why doesn’t the team therapist fly with us? I look around, but no one else seems to have noticed.
It definitely can’t be the race result– no way in the world. We might not be close friends, but the Johannes I’m beginning to get to know doesn’t cry over a bad result or two. They happen, he knows that. He spent a whole season at another team in a poorly performing car, barely scraping points every week, and he never gave up. He worked harder and got better and he started winning.
