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The heavy white ceiling of the hotel room was pressing him into his bed, making it impossible to get up, however hard he tried. It seemed that he was hearing them celebrate – delusional, he thought. If they were celebrating, they were probably in the paddock still, or in some bar. Definitely not here in Ritz. They wouldn’t mock him like that, he hoped.
The first moments filled with frustration were long gone, he was now just lying there devoid of any hope, the debris of his shattered dream piercing through his chest trying hard to make him cry or do something, but he remained motionless and watched the ceiling come closer and smother him, without letting a single emotion waver him from his goal to just rot there, disappear into the soft fresh blankets and pillows, deeper into the mattress, with no way out.
He scoffed as he thought of what his therapist would say to that. Probably he’d just tell him to take a walk. Stupid, but it always worked. The only problem was to push this damn ceiling away and get up.
He couldn’t just disappear, however much he wanted to. Two weeks from here he will be doing it all over again. There will be more hate, more mockery, but at the same time – less pressure. He enjoys his job. It won’t change. He will carefully gather all the fragments of his dream and put it away until its time comes again. Hoping it will.
A mournful groan left his chest and he turned his head to peek into a space between the curtains. He had to lift himself up now – nobody would do that for him. The night was cold from what he could see from the window, but maybe this was exactly what he needed. Freeze to the bone, and then run into soft lights of a café, rubbing his hands to warm them up, feeling alive. Have a nice hot cup of tea, feel its heat pouring into the chest, melting all sorrows away.
The city must be beautiful now. He has already been at Kondiaronk Belvedere, like, a hundred times maybe, but it still fascinated him like he was 10. Looking at the vast urban landscape, buildings stacked and packed with people, people who might have experienced grief, much greater than his own, or vice versa, overwhelming joy might have come their way today. And maybe, for a second or two, he will be connected to all of that – kids playing tag and laughing, a grumpy man who is never impressed with anything, a girl taking a photo for her mother who couldn’t come to visit the city with her. And maybe, it heals him. He had to lift himself up.
The clock was ticking loudly, urging him to act on his intention. At some point, the sound became unbearable – he growled with annoyance and sat up on his bed. He pushed his palms into his face, exhausted, battling with his own reptile brain that was telling him to just stay where he was – he had every right to be sad, of course. For a moment he wished there were someone to pick him up, slap him and drag him outside, but no, no one would do that. He was alone, and alone he would go to have his little walk. Joys are easy to share, sorrows - not so much.
He wrapped himself into a warm coat, put on a cap without logos and hid his face even more with a massive hood. May the big city night be gracious and not reveal him to anyone.
He walked out from the back door - the cold, fresh air burst into his nostrils, and he awkwardly sneezed. He looked around sheepishly at hotel employees smoking in the backyard; they looked back at him, faces neutral. He breathed into the neck of his coat and inhaled a portion of warmer air. He was ready to go.
He took backstreets when he could, walking slowly. People didn’t notice him, some drunk on alcohol, some – on the bubbling joy of the weekend. He reckoned there was a bar nearby – many voices were blending into each other, creating the soundtrack of the evening. He smiled softly at that.
When he was passing through another quiet backstreet behind a bar, the backdoor opened sharply, letting out someone heavy, who hit George with their whole weight.
-Mate, watch your… oh, - the man said, recognizing him.
George looked briefly into the man’s face, and he knew instantly why he was there in the bar. He maybe even knew who he was there with. George felt bitter about it. “Selfish of me”– he thought. Max had every reason to celebrate tonight.
Max scratched his head a bit lost. Pursed his lips a couple of times not really knowing what to say. George suddenly felt himself a burden spoiling the evening - that one relative at a Christmas dinner no one wants to see, but invite anyway out of courtesy. Situation demanded to say something, and Max now had to work out his words, the words that wouldn’t change anything. The feeling brought George down, nailed his heavy feet to the cold ground, and he thought that he was very close to crying right now. He won’t.
- You don’t have to… - George started.
- Kimi can… - Max interrupted, then coughed and continued, – Kimi can drink here in Quebec, haha… So, he invited some of the guys for drinks. And, well, he pays, so I’m in!
Max smiled hesitantly, watching George’s reaction. George hated it. It sounded like Max was trying to explain himself, while he absolutely didn’t have to.
- Yeah, first podium this year for you, – George said quietly, trying to make this conversation just die out naturally.
- Well, I might not have been up there if you haven’t… well, - Max sighed. George felt there was suddenly less air to breathe. This dialogue had to end. It was way too difficult.
- Ah, shit happens, - George faked some cheerfulness, forcing a smile onto his face. – Don’t mind me, just go back and have a great time.
He quickly waved Max goodbye and turned to go, or, rather, to escape, but the dutchman took two steps forward as to walk alongside.
- Yeah, I’m done for today, - he said, crossing George’s path and making him stop. – Had enough expensive drinks, hah. Was going back to the hotel. You with me?
George looked closely at Max. He was slightly drunk. Cheeks had that trademark redness. Eyes sharp, however, searching something in George’s face. Why Max is making his own life difficult? Just go. Go to the hotel.
- Nah, I wanted to take a walk, - George answered. - You go.
- A walk? – Max raised his eyebrows. – Where?
- To the park, Kondiaronk, maybe.
- What is that?
George scoffed in disbelief.
- Are you serious? It’s, like, a famous lookout point here in Montreal. You’ve probably been there, just forgot the name. You can see the downtown skyline from there, it’s rather unforgettable.
- I’m more of a restaurant guy, - Max shrugged his shoulders. – Well, maybe it’s time for me to enjoy some sightseeing.
- This is unbelievable. I’m just… speechless.
Max laughed. George couldn’t help but smile in return. Something snapped inside and then let go, and though there was pain, it didn’t hurt as much.
They took a long twenty-minute walk. The noise of the street was hard to talk over, but Max still screamed into George’s ear, describing his battle with Lewis in his own funny way. All of his silly comparisons, references, the faces he pulled - it all made so much sense as they walked through the sparse crowds on Rue Peel. Some people recognized them, some even took photos, but it all didn’t matter, as the stone tied around George's neck was now a mere feather, and the air he breathed was no longer painfully cold.
Max talked, George listened – that was what they both needed. Their odd harmony made George think that somewhere in another life they might possibly be friends. Like two old neighbors, grumbling about each other, bantering here and there, and yet being weirdly tied to each other, talking about everything in the world while having a break from mowing the lawn. He might even want something like that.
As they were reaching the terrace, George got rather excited; you always do, when you show someone something cool. The sun has set a while ago. Despite the weather, the place was still quite crowded. George rose on his toes and looked around to find a spot for them. He heard some fans greeting Max, taking a photo or asking for a signature. Fortunately, people weren’t pushy or in your face, as if the terrace was a drinking place during the water truce. Someone patted his shoulder with a quiet “Bad luck”, and George just nodded politely, too busy with his search. Finally, an older couple moved away from the balustrade, leaving a spot for two. George grabbed Max by the shoulders and dragged him there, making the dutchman let out a short crow-like grunt.
- Look.
The sky was already dark blue with the wide brushstrokes of magenta close to the horizon. Thirty thousand little windows lit up randomly, thin shining ribbons on the façade of Place Mercantile stood out a bit, but then, there was so much to see. Streetlamps lit the smaller buildings dimly, but the lights on the whole were overwhelming, like a final grand chord of a symphony. Distant lights told you how unfathomably big this place was, and George just loved this. He took a glance at the dutchman, who leaned with his elbows onto the balustrade and drilled the landscape with his focused stare. This made George chuckle.
- What? – Max asked.
- Nothing, you just look like you’re reading telemetry.
Max’s face softened as he smiled. He looked down from the balustrade.
- So, this is where you wanted to jump from after the DNF? Beautiful choice, I admit it, but should I tell you that this life is still worth living?
- You are so stupid, oh my God, - George laughed and bumped Max’s shoulder slightly.
They fell silent, finding comfort in this uncomfortably cold night. Their shoulders touched, and George felt warmth radiating through this tiny point of connection.