7. LIVING WITH THE BRAKE

/Charles/

“The sun breaks through the darkness of the sky beyond the horizon. The first pink-gold ray shines, splitting the blue that was gradually becoming less intense.
I have seen other sunrises, but it’s the first time from the plane.
As the plane flies towards Melbourne, I look out the porthole with eyes that are both sleepy and dreamy. The emotion grips my stomach, quickly replacing the anxiety of take-off that I will never get used to, even though I don’t like flying, the rising sun makes the landscape spectacular from up here and I can’t help but be amazed by it.
Inevitably my thoughts fly to them and my slightly tense nerves end up relaxing.
Hi Dad, hi Jules. You’re here with me, huh? It really is a nice gift, I wasn’t expecting it.
I can’t help but think of you as the plane travels in a splendid dawn, towards my new adventure, towards the dream that I have longed for since I was a child, when on the balcony of my house I watched the F1 cars speeding around the Monaco track.
I remember my trusty little red car that I played with every time we watched the GP together. We started dreaming together, dad.
My first dream was to see myself on those big cars down there and win that city race. I dreamed of doing it on a red car, the one I had in my hand. Because I knew somehow that red cars were always the strongest.
Memories take over for a moment and with them the emotion catches me in the stomach that contracts, before this can resolve in some burning eyes or worse, I take some deep breaths, I concentrate and control myself before the feelings take over. It would be out of place.
We don't cry anymore, it's not allowed. I haven't cried since the day he died, I promised that I would be strong to always do everything necessary, especially to get the results you always worked so hard for. To make our dream come true.
Now I've landed in the top category, I've finally put both my feet in F1, I have a contract with a smaller team, but I'll do everything to get to what matters, what we both wanted.
I told you that day, when I knew you were going to die.
I told you I had signed for Ferrari, for now I'm with Sauber, my lie is only half a lie, but I know it was just an anticipation, not a lie.
You know it too.
So don't cry, don't get carried away by emotions, those make you go wrong, they don't help you do well.
From today you’re officially grown up, Charles, and not only because you are 21, but because there will not be another opportunity to get to where you promised and always wanted to be. From here if you make a mistake you’re out and you’ll never return, so try to stay here. Don't stop, do you understand, Charles? You can’t.

As soon as I step out of the car, once we arrive at the hotel, I am overwhelmed by a heat wave partially caused by the mugginess and heat of Australia, but it’s not just that or the jatlag that I will probably suffer for the whole day.
It’s my first landing in an F1 race week.
We’ll put down our bags and our things, settle into our rooms and then we’ll be free for the rest of the day since tomorrow we start with various commitments. I can't wait to go around Melbourne, it’s my first time and I’m very excited. We arrived a little early because it’s a habit, but in this case I’m super happy even if perhaps from the outside you wouldn't say so.
I glance at my best friend that is also my personal assistant, Joris. If I didn't have him I think I would be truly lost, but luckily I’m in more than good hands and I trust him. Besides, all I have to do is make a wish and he’ll make it come true. I told him I wanted to go around the city a bit and he already made a well thought out program so as not to get too tired. Obviously we always move with Andrea, my personal trainer who is also now our third part. If Joris is there, Andrea is there too, always and without exceptions.
He comes alongside us with the rest of the bags and nods to let us know he’s ready, so Joris and I exchange a look full of excitement that is perfectly noticeable despite our dark glasses. We smile at each other, nod at each other and with a huge sigh we head towards the entrance of the hotel where many other people enter with us.
As soon as we set foot inside, we stop disoriented noticing the abnormal amount of people who have just arrived like us, many waiting to be received, others who are starting off. Several small groups form, some have shirts with their team's sponsors, others are in civilian clothes at the moment.
I remain stunned by my first entry which is so similar to the one on test days. Luckily I had those otherwise I would be even more disoriented.
It takes me a while and I feel Joris and Andrea taking control of the situation, probably they understand that I’m lost for a moment.
They tell me to wait here while they go get the rooms, so I nod without realizing it and estranged I look around trying to spot those from my team or some other familiar face.
The first that comes to mind is Pierre, I look for him but I can't find him. He also starts with Toro Rosso officially. It's nice to start in F1 together, we had never really hoped for it, but we both knew we would succeed. Now the most important thing will be to stay here and climb to the top. He’s not ambitious and fanatical like me, so it’s likely that he’ll have much more fun than me.
Thinking about him makes me smile and I realize that I’m relaxing. He probably hasn't arrived yet, but it's so chaotic here that I might not notice him or maybe he's already in his room. I'm about to text him when I spot some Sauber staff, so I'm going to them, but an all-too-familiar voice reaches me from behind.
It's hoarse and scratchy and not particularly powerful and shrill.
I recognize him, it's not like the first time I saw him after our adolescence.
Really? On all hotels, did we have to choose the same one? How many possibilities were there? I don't really know, because it's my first GP in F1, but I know that the hotels popular with drivers and teams are usually always the same, but there's never just one. In short, there's a chance that someone will go to different hotels. We don't, obviously. Luckily I know that Pierre will be in this one.
Well, it's also the closest hotel to the circuit so it was pretty obvious. I think I'll find other drivers or many of them.
I turn around knowing who's face I'll find in front of me and when I see that Max is actually smiling, I'm taken aback.
He seems really happy to see me, I don't think he's good at pretending, I remember that he's always been direct and spontaneous. Maybe not very cheerful and sunny, but in reality I haven't had anything to do with him since we separated at sixteen. F1 may have changed him.
- Hey Charles! You're here! - he talks to me as if we were old friends and used to talking, but I look at him perfectly aware and with a memory that works well. We have never been friends, what the fuck does he have to talk to me about? Who told him to be so familiar with me?
- I had already seen you at the tests but I hadn't had the chance to say hello! Think what a coincidence we are meeting now! So, are you excited?
Shit, how much does he talk? I didn't think he was that chatty. I remember some pseudo-pleasant conversations with him when we were teenagers, but nothing worthy of note. I mean, we probably laughed together the last time we saw each other at the go-kart; why is he talking to me with such happiness now?
So it's true that F1 changes you. In his case, at least, it's true.
Aside from the fact that he has grown in appearance, his features have become a bit more adult compared to the last time I met him, which I don't even remember when it was. Just as I’m about to reply, something composed just to be polite and to shut him up, I remember when it was.
When my father died. Baku 2017, last year.
The flash hits me like a punch in the stomach. I clench my fists and stuff them in my pockets to keep my cool. Don’t make expressions, don’t express anything, Charles. Be an adult.
I make a sign with my lips that doesn’t reach my eyes, I realize it as I do it, but it’s my typical smile now. It’s nothing personal. Yes, I don’t have the best memories of you, in fact, I know I called you an asshole, to myself. Now we can bury the hatchet, although it depends on how you behave on the track and if you’ve learned to drive in the meantime. Maybe having Red Bull professionals follow you rather than your father has calmed you down.
- I’m fine, thanks. We’ll see when I get on the track. For now, I’m happy. Are you okay? - I have to ask, I know that's how you do it in these cases. But I hear my own voice as if it were coming from outside. I don't have even a shred of enthusiastic inclination and he notices it, in fact with an all too spontaneous disappointment, he fades away. He surely thinks I'm still angry with him.
It's not that I've ever really gotten over it, but we've grown up, we're in F1, we have to put the past behind us and move on. I have more important things to do now than give you racing lessons, dear Max.
- Good, thanks. - he replies, taken aback by the sidereal distances I'm putting in.
He's thinking about what to say and while he does so I wonder why we have to talk at all. What the fuck do we care, can I ask? None of us wants it. Maybe he wanted it, MAYBE, or being as frank as he’s, he wouldn't have greeted me first, but if you see that there's no drive there's no point in insisting.
Luckily I notice Esteban in the group a little further on and turning towards him I throw a last glance at Max still here in front of me.
- See you around, then... - I say finally. He nods with a smile that's much more forced than before and so we both head towards other drivers. He goes to Daniel, I think, I happily cling to Esteban, an old acquaintance of mine who I’m definitely much better friends with than I’m with Max.
Luckily I saw him, so he saved me. Pierre, why the hell do you dare to be late? You should have been here too, if you were here you would have saved me from that embarrassing forced conversation. You have the gift of the gab, you’re a public relations guy and not because you know what to do, but because you really like it.
While I think about him, I slip into a much more pleasant and flowing chat with my friend Esteban, we speak in French and the enthusiasm turns on again on me a little, even if always well controlled and limited.
I feel by myself that my eyes never join my mouth, when I smile or when I joke. I know it, but I think that my eyes remained with my father in the cemetery.

The feeling of being disoriented finally goes away when Pierre shows up at my door. I had already understood that it was him from his frantic knocking like a crazy squirrel, in fact as soon as I opened I braced myself for impact and he landed on me, hugging me with enthusiasm, shouting with joy.
I only allow certain things to him, but luckily he leaves me immediately so he can hop around my room like a pinball, he goes from one side of the room to the other shouting I don't understand what, then he goes out with his river of words on the terrace from which you can enjoy a splendid view of Melbourne on a sunny morning that makes you happy and want to go to the beach. In general I don't like hugs, but if there are circumstances or if I'm in the mood it's fine. Or if come from Pierre.
- We're in the room alone, Charles! And we're on the same floor, we can see each other whenever we want! It's crazy cool! I don't have to share a room with anyone, I thought it was like in the other categories where you shared everything with your teammate! Here we are alone and the hotels are stratospheric! There’s a swimming pool, a sauna, a restaurant that I can't wait to try!
Pierre continues to talk quickly while running, he exudes happiness from every pore and it infects me. I don't even try to fit in, I let him continue by sitting on the bed while I watch him as I would with a sitcom. While he rambles on, I bask in this pleasant feeling of home. I immediately feel better and understand that I can do it.
I was worried because I feared that the tension would grip me, I had thought a lot about how to behave here, I know exactly how I want to be.
Adult, professional. I have to climb the ranks quickly, get to the top. I have to get noticed by the companies that count, become the first guide, win.
I have clear ideas about what I have to do and what I want, but when I first arrived I felt lost and I didn't want to let Joris or Andrea know, I don't want to worry them and in any case I don't want to give anyone the idea of ​​a kid. I'm an adult, I have to act like an adult. Being young and  rookie doesn't count.
Then Pierre gave me back my peace of mind.
- Can you imagine? It's the first time we've been in the same category! It's crazy, Charles! I couldn't imagine what it would be like, but I knew that one day we would make it together!
Finally he calms down by throwing himself on the bed where I am, only he lies down as if it were his. I turn around smiling amused.
- I'm happy too, I knew we would both get here. - I answer much calmer than him. I'm objectively happy, but I think that as usual I'm not showing it, however he knows me well and doesn't pressure me on this subject.
My brothers or my mother always tend to stimulate me and push me to let go of emotions, but I do what I feel. The more they tell me to let go, the less I can do it. I know what they're talking about, I know what I look like from the outside, but I don't care. I can't force myself. It's not that I don't want to, I can't be expansive, laugh, chat, make a racket and who knows what else. But I have Pierre who does it for me and I'm happy, really happy that he doesn't ask me to show my happiness better.
He looks at me carefully, calming down for a moment, he's probably thinking about this, but luckily he doesn't say anything. His light eyes are almost transparent and they speak very well even without words, in the rare case that he decides not to.
It's nice to be with him. It's easy.
- Shall we go for a ride? Maybe we'll find some famous driver!
He's so full of hope that if I said no I think I'd feel guilty forever, but in the end I let myself be infected and I gladly accept the proposal.

We haven't even set foot completely out of the room, that Pierre suddenly stops and plants himself, I go against him of course and complain, but while I look at him to understand what's wrong, he grabs my wrist with some force and starts to shake tense as a violin string. Worried, I scrutinize his face and his always delightful and pleasant features, now they’re transformed into a stone statue that represents panic.
- Pierre?
Since he doesn't answer me, I look at the direction of his gaze and when I see that he’s pointing at a familiar figure, I start laughing hiding my face against his shoulder. Only he can make me laugh, even if I think I look grotesque because I feel my eyes as still as always.
I don't even care.
- Lewis Hamilton. - escapes him in a loud voice and with a hysterical squeal of a girl in heat, at this I’m about to pull him in trying to save his face, but I don't have time. Lewis, who was at the end of the corridor waiting to get into the elevator, turns around hearing his name with Pierre's decibels. He sees him and smiles recognizing him.
Pierre squeezes my wrist even more spasmodically, which almost breaks me, I complain but it's as if I didn't say anything.
He raises his other hand and shakes it, returning the greeting, unable to say anything.
- If you move, we can get in the elevator with him, so you can talk to him! - I suggest with my usual logic, but Pierre is stuck like a pear tree here and if he moves he'll faints, his face is a thousand colors and he doesn't move so much that I can't reach out to greet his idol, something I would have liked to do. I'm about to use brute force and push him decisively, when from the other side of the corridor another voice calls Lewis and it's familiar too.
Here I am, opening my eyes wide, but Pierre is also squeaking something incomprehensible, I suppose his brain has lost the ability to speak.
I stick my head back in the narrow space between Pierre and the door jamb and watch Sebastian Vettel walk down the corridor to get to the elevator and Lewis.
Seeing us, he smiles brightly and greets us. The first thing I notice are his eyes, I think it's hard not to notice such an intense blue.
His Ferrari t-shirt catches my attention after his eyes that inevitably remind me of Max's, which are however of a darker shade.
Seb stops in front of our door and holds out his hand to greet us with his typical kindness that is now legendary, just like Lewis is legendary.
- First season in F1, huh? - he says, knowing perfectly well who the new F1 rookies are. Pierre is still planted, his grip is shaky and not convulsive, I stretch out my right hand which fortunately is not the one Pierre is squeezing me and from the way we are it seems that I am hugging this idiot who doesn’t move. Who knows what the hell Sebastian will think?
He’s the driver of the car of my dreams. He’s the first Ferrari driver, I can't forget the prediction I made to my father on his deathbed.
'I signed for Ferrari,' I told him.
If that were to happen I would perhaps be his teammate.
The dream starts with an unexpected force, but Lewis blows a whistle from the other side that almost breaks all the eardrums. Congratulations also for the whistle, but as always I know how to control myself well.
We had both already met both Sebastian and Lewis, as well as other drivers such as Fernando and Kimi, but they were always things a bit fast that involved common events, it hadn't happened that much and now it's different.
We’re both drivers in the same category.
We’ll race against them, this consideration is crazy. It has the power of a defibrillator. For me, at least. I think Pierre is still dead, not even a 300 charge would help him come back.
They’re practically his two idols, he’s really in love with Lewis, while he has a huge admiration for Seb.
Seb nods to Lewis as if to say he’s coming, then he greets us with his typical kindness.
- Remember, let's get pumped up, eh?
It's nice that he wanted to say something to us, he didn't even have to say hello and shake our hands.
He stands out from the first moment I meet him and I don't know if it's just me wanting to see what I want, or if I really feel something different in meeting him, but I feel like this is a meeting of fate.
I'm not that much of a dreamer and I know that it's probably just my great hope of ending up in Ferrari and consequently with him, but I hope it's true.
I hope it's a meeting of fate.
He goes further and reaches Lewis who holds the elevator open and waits for him with a funny expression that I would never have associated with him. Lewis always looks controlled and composed in public, a bit like I tend to be. Pierre and I pop out of the open door like two bad spies and look at them, to do so I'm completely on top, but I couldn't miss this.
- They leave together... - I whisper surprised.
Seb greets Lewis with a wonderful smile and a truly affectionate, if not downright sweet, look. Lewis reciprocates in the same way, Seb touches his neck in a familiar and playful way and as they enter the elevator disappearing from our sight, Pierre gives voice to my same impression.
- They are beautiful together!
I would never have said it because it’s not my thing to notice certain things, but he’s right. They’re really beautiful together. The impression I had watching them now was strange. As if something tied them together, as if there was a different chemistry. You notice it, in certain cases, I can't explain it and I have no specific terms of comparison. Maybe Pierre and I could give the same impression, something that goes beyond a good relationship or friendship. A different chemistry.
It's something that when you see it, you notice it.
- But weren't they breaking up? - I remember a controversy that arose right after Baku 2017. I was out of my mind that weekend, but I remember that there was something between them that continued into the following races and everyone was convinced that they would start to hate each other openly, that their relationship was ruined.
In short, they were never friends like Lewis and Nico Rosberg, the most famous pair of friends turned enemies in the world and in the history of F1, probably, but Lewis and Seb had always gotten along. It was hard not to know something about them, they won 8 world championships between them, if you are a F1 fanatic you know everything about the champions of the moment, it’s inevitable if you talk about them a lot.
I remember that just last year they had said that the relationship between them was tense, then honestly I was no longer interested because it was a difficult year for me and even if I followed, it was always with half a brain. Pierre certainly knows everything.
- Yes, after Baku they had argued, but then suddenly at a certain point they became more friends than ever, indeed! Oh God, you don't know how happy I am to see them so close! 
I raise a skeptical eyebrow at Pierre's conclusion, all happy and dreamy. I sigh with relief because he's unblocked, I was afraid I'd have to call a doctor, but finally he lets me slip out of the room, pulling the door behind me and closes.
They didn't seem like two friends, but maybe it was just my impression and I went crazy.
I avoid feeding his strong romanticism and his enormous sense of gossip and I precede him towards the elevator that his two Gods have just taken.
- Come on, let's go find Stoff and Esteban!
When I mention them Pierre lights up and nods, but as soon as he enters the elevator he starts to sniff in an embarrassing way the air that is indeed still strongly scented. I assume it's Lewis who will now fight with this very sweet of Pierre who always bathes with.
I look at him, he continues to sniff dreamily with his eyes closed, I move away and shake my head perplexed hoping not to be infected by his madness.
I envy him, I would like to be spontaneous like him, enjoy everything, small and big things, always and in every circumstance without holding myself back all the time and thinking about what is good or what is not. Sometimes I don't even think about it. Sometimes I'm just held back but if they ask me why I wouldn't know how to answer.
Why do I live with the brake on?”

NOTES: It’s true and well-known the story of Charles as a child who watched the Monaco GP from his balcony, with his father and the little red car in his hand dreaming of racing in F1.
I wanted to accentuate Charles's hatred towards Max, I don't know if at that moment he was already as annoyed by him as we know he’ll be at a certain point in the races, but I decided to do it this way.
I’ve never flown to Australia, so I’ve no idea how a Monaco-Melbourne flight works, I know that the drivers always leave very early in the morning and that there’s a considerable time difference, I tried to imagine but to tell the truth I’ve no idea.
It is also true that Charles is afraid of flying.
I know that drivers tend to use the same hotels but often there’re more choices and it isn’t a given that they all end up at the same time, for obvious reasons I did that happens.
I don't understand when the problems between Pierre and Esteban started, I know they were childhood friends and that they ran a lot in the same categories, often training together and I know that at a certain point they started having problems that they always defined as 'differences of ideas', but I'm not sure when it started in detail. However, it's another thing that I wanted to 'use' in the fic and it will come out later.
Seb and Lewis (but more Seb actually) are entities that will appear from time to time, sometimes they’ll be more present and maybe with more incisive roles, other times obviously less. Because Seb is my God, I can't do anything about it.
Speaking of Gods, it's true that Pierre is in love with Lewis, he's always been his idol and he also admires Seb a lot.
Thanks to those who read and comment, I'm happy to know that it's liked and interesting. See you next time. Kisses Akane