Two Lives
#3 of Thin Paper Walls
_ ACT 1: _
_ Something About This Night _
01 - Two Lives
I always believed my life was destined to be different. Being a husky-lynx fails to cover the half of it. Add NAFSCAR driver into the mix and you've already got one in seven billion. The more I thought about it, though, the more appealing it became. Over time I began to wonder if being different was really such a bad thing.
Doing the practice rounds at Homestead-Miami Speedway had increased in fun compared to recent years. Not that Homestead doesn't provide a good amount of fun for the drivers, but this particular weekend, I had been blessed with a hot rod.
"You got the 37 car on the high side and the 20 tucked in behind you." My spotter radioed to the cockpit of my car.
"10-4." It says a lot about how comfortable I am driving a car when I can round the corner and simultaneously be able to hit the radio button.
I checked my mirrors on the backstretch. The 37 and 20 started to get smaller in my mirror. I cockily laughed under my breath before I broadcast myself back to my team again, "Bringing it in this time."
"Lookin' good out there bud!" Tesla Corey encouraged over the radio. Tesla was my crew chief - a rather laid back red fox. His voice always held a calming smoothness over the radio, even if he had to guide me through an accident or bad pit call. Race practice, however, didn't hold anywhere near as much magnitude as the actual race did. It only heralded the thunder before the storm.
I licked my lips as I rounded the corner one final time and pulled it onto pit road, "Wooo!" I hollered over the radio.
This was just one side of me. The one I showed on the track, and the one I wanted the world to see, but did not make itself present as much as I wished it did. My paws gripped the wheel through the thick gloves as I breathed slowly, poised and ready for anything to happen. My insides ablaze with focus, my mind calm and everything hazed, tunnel vision on my one passion; driving this car and driving it well. But to every upside there's a downfall, and thus we have the other side of me. The one I did not want the world to see, but made present every opportunity I could.
As I pulled the car onto pit road, I wasn't alone. It seemed like all my competitors wanted to go out onto the track and get their laps in at this particular moment and I had to be extra careful not to hit any pedestrians or cars as I pulled down pit lane. I sure didn't want to ruin this piece; it had just taken the throne on the very top of the infield scoring pylon.
"If you wreck this car before the race, you're fired!" I heard as I pulled the car into the pit box. Turning my head, I recognized the long snout and orange fur of my crew chief, Tesla Corey.
"Tell it to the traffic jam out here! It's like they're gathering for the second coming!" I yell back.
"Naah, it's the weather." He responded. The golden sun is glaring off his long-muzzled helmet and the portion of his face isn't blocked by it, and given that I threw an odd look at him with the mention of bad weather, "They're saying practice may be rained out before it's over. Race will be fine, though, I think." He lifted a black paw and felt the air for any sign of precipitation.
"Alright, I think I'm good, though. I'm gonna pull it around back." I shifted the car into first and pulled it a couple dozen more yards down pit road, making the left turn into the pit crew area we refer to in NAFSCAR as "behind the wall" - the place you don't want to be at the end of the weekend.
I drove it at a snail's pace through a mass of other team members and rolling pit towers. It roared into the garage and I parked it, and then I pulled off my helmet and neck restrains, unfastened my belts, removed my tail from its air-conditioned holster in the lower rear of the seat, and pulled myself out of the car into the shaded garage that held a miasma of oil and tire smoke to see my best friend waiting for me. "Heya Louis." I pleasantly smiled back at the cat whose gray fur was hidden by his firesuit.
"How's the car feel, man? I see ya on top of the leaderboard." His deep voice sounded encouraging, like his confidence in me seconded as confidence in himself. I could hear a few of my team members complimenting the car behind me, including my crew chief who had just walked back into the garage.
All this provided, my smiled widened and I threw my head back, "Fan-fucking-tastic!" It's rare enough to find me swearing in excitement, rarer still to find me slamming my fists on something in excitement, and I did just that, my clenched paw meeting the sheetmetal of car's decklid.
"So do you think sweet wittle J will find himself getting dwunk in victowy wane tomorrow night?" Louis asked in a baby voice.
"Not a chance." My tail wagged behind me.
"Oh, so you're saying I'm gonna win?"
After he said that, I caught my error and my tail stopped. My fuzzy ears flicked back and then forward again after I'd taken a moment to formulate a retaliation, "Nope. I'm saying I would never get drunk on national television."
"Man, you may be on top, but look who's chomping at the bit." His pitch changed - he sounded a bit uneasy.
I rolled my eyes and smiled, "You second on the board?" I dropped down from the window of the car and placed my shorter-muzzled helmet atop it, unzipping my driver's uniform and nodding at my car chief to confirm I was done practicing for now.
"No, I haven't gone out yet. Rhys Carter is second."
I froze for a moment before I let out a grumbling sigh, ears falling back in frustration "Dammit... pissant better not make it two for two on the wreck-Jasper streak." A little ball of fear was curled up in my stomach, and I kept my mouth shut for the moment to ensure it didn't roll out verbally.
He blew a raspberry, "Only like half the field has even put up a lap, bud." He tried to encourage me.
I didn't look up, "Yeah? What's his time?"
Louis turned his head to the pylon and back, "30.74."
I rolled my eyes, "I'm at 30.68. He's gonna be right on my ass again this week, just like he was at Phoenix and Texas."
"Bud, you nearly won with him on your ass at Texas."
I looked into his blue eyes and smiled sarcastically, "If he had only found the chance."
Louis rolled his eyes a little, "What makes you think Zed, Basil, and him are specifically out to get you? They rough up everyone from what I've been seeing and hearing."
"Not you." I stared him down, tail going rigid behind me as I took an immediate defense.
He scoffed, "Because they know better than to mess with me." He pounded his pecs once, bulging them out, "I think if you called em out on it more, they'd leave you alone." He pointed at me as he spoke, using his hands to illustrate his point. He did that a lot.
In order to illustrate my own point, I approached him and stood up tall and held my paw to my forehead and then moved it against his collarbone for height comparison. Louis is a monster compared to my five-foot four. "Yeah... I don't think so." I laughed, and then turned around and began to walk out of the garage.
"Take up weight training, man."
"Too much stress." In my own mind, too much testosterone.
"Drink a Bud Light."
I stopped in my tracks for a moment, turned my head, stuck my tongue out, and scrunched up my face in disgust. I figured that would be enough.
Louis let out a quiet laugh before gruffly lowering his voice, "Grow some balls, that'll help."
I turned at an instant and stared him down, obviously hurt by the comment. A hopeless shake back and forth of his head, and a few concluding words, "Good luck in qualifying tonight, bud." and then he tore himself back to his own garage to get his practice session underway.
A sourness hung in the air, and as I watched him leave for his own garage I didn't want to leave this feeling at all like an awkward conflict, "Same to you."
I watched the big Maine Coon leave and then scanned the perimeter of the garage area. A couple of media reporters and drivers were talking amongst each other in the distance closer to the pit road wall, but otherwise, quiet. I looked at the pylon one more time, feeling a slight chill run down my spine seeing the 26 of Carter so close behind me.
But this probably doesn't give you the whole story of what it was like being in the same sport as Rhys Carter. The green bearded dragon was probably the biggest of my worries out of his trio including a black fox named Basil Isefson and another Maine Coon named Zedley King.
"Next qualifier. The 26 Deer John Ford of Rhys Carter." The grandstand announcer's voice echoed from the distant speaker. The only noise louder than his voice was the distant sound of a race car accelerating down the backstretch.
As Rhys rounded turn 4, my crew chief, Tesla Corey, stood by my side. The red fox didn't seem intimidated at all by Rhys's flawless, fast exit of the corner. I did, despite the fact that the pace lap doesn't count.
Rhys rounded the track once, putting up a flawless lap and getting some mixed applause from the audience as he rolled the car off turn 4 and dashed across the finish line. "P1. Rhys Carter on the pole." The announcer's voice echoed.
"Oh damn it to hell." I mouthed silently.
"Shit. You'll beat that. Your practice qualifying lap was quicker." Tesla slapped me on the back as he spoke.
I sighed, "Yeah, but that's still fast."
"Don't worry about it."
The engine hushed as his green and white Chevrolet slowed in turn 2 and a wave of cheers from the audience hit the ears of every fur in the vicinity of Homestead-Miami Speedway. Already overeager from beforehand, I foamed at the mouth in anticipation to get out there now and dethrone him. Unfortunately, two cars still had to clock time before I could. I crossed my digits they'd all have an ignition failure, but lady luck wasn't on my side, and 4th-in-points Rod Brock's engine roared to life. I did all I could; get buckled in, put my helmet on, and take some deep breaths to get my mind on the game.
It took me the entire duration of Rod Brock's qualifying attempt to get fastened into my car and ready to go, and after Cyril Ashe's seemingly-endless duo of laps, my hot rod awaited. I fired up the engine and felt the car thunder to life; violently at first and less dramatic as the RPMs increased. I hit the gas and the pursuit began.
Unfortunately, I messed up my first lap in turn 3 and slid the car a little up the track, and then followed that by kicking myself all throughout the second lap, knowing it was subsequently ruined by my lack of speed coming off turn 4. On the faster lap, the second one, I fell into line third of twelve qualifiers so far.
When I extricated myself from the car I could see a little bit of disappointment on the faces of my crew chief and crew members, but I still managed to smile, "Don't worry, guys. I'll get em tomorrow night." I surprised myself with this, but just because I failed today didn't mean all was lost. They believed in me, but we, of course, had to consider another mess up like this happening again. Luckily, only user error thwarted my attempts today; I loved the car otherwise, and the best news: qualifying today - race tomorrow. When it comes to qualifying, whoever makes the best lap with no mistakes gets the pole, but when it comes to a three-hundred mile race, everyone makes mistakes; whoever makes the least while keeping a level head wins.
Life runs like clockwork; full of recurring themes. In this case, my crew members leave me alone and in comes trouble. "It's such a damn shame to see such a nice car go to waste at the paws of a nutless ." A deep voice chided me from outside my garage. My nose caught the scent of a cat. I threw my head dead left to see the bristled facial fur of Zedley King. The cat sneered at me as he approached. Much to my dismay, he would be pulling a double-duty this weekend, competing in both the Countrywide and Swift Cup Series.
I cursed under my breath, "Yeah, what do you want?" I tried to sound like I didn't care about his presence, but as usual I failed.
Zedley scoffed, "Nothing. Just telling you to watch your ass tomorrow when you're around Rhys. Give him some damn room unlike last week at Phoenix."
I didn't say anything. Just stood there against my car facing him, using every ounce of my willpower to not let my ears drop in submission. I could not let that happen.
"What's the matter?! Cock in your mouth?!" He pushed me hard at the utterance of the word "cock".
I tried to stay strong, despite the internal screams for release from this conflict, cowering from the cat who stood at least half a foot taller than me, probably more. "No. It's in your mother." I surprised myself at the comeback.
Zedley's ears fell to the side and his tail swished. He pushed me again, this time over the hood of my car. He balled up a fist to his side. I knew in my mind he wouldn't punch me without a cause, but unfortunately my ears did fold back. He knew I was afraid of him, and I almost let a whimper of humiliation leave my mouth. Luckily, I restrained it. His grin told me enough; he got what he wanted.
"Such a pussy." He backed off, laughing to himself.
"Get out of here, Zed. He doesn't want you here." Louis appeared at the entrance to my garage, none too happy.
"I'd like to hear him say it for once." He gave me a sour look.
"Were you just here to intimidate him?" Louis towered over Zed and scowled down at the cat, "To cause trouble?"
Zed didn't flinch, "Nope. Just stirrin' the pot for tomorrow night." He looked sincere, but that didn't mean anything when it came to him.
Louis sighed and bowed his head, "Just as I was sayin' before, J." He walked into the garage and propped himself up against my car with his paw. Then he noticed my dejection and accurately assumed that it directed back at myself. He didn't push the envelope any further and tried to smile, "Want me to call NAFSCAR and report him?"
"No." I didn't look at him and held out a paw to silence him. My ears halfway back and my nose and tail still, "I know what my damn issue is." I put down the paw and began to pace as I mocked him, "Not enough balls, Jasper. Not enough of a man, Jasper. Need some confidence, Jasper. I've heard the same lectures from every fur in this garage."
"Jasper, I just want--" His ears perked up in sympathy.
"Just leave me alone." I took this opportunity to evade the situation and leave my garage.
I took some time in my hauler to regain my composure and think. I usually just told myself in my mind over and over again that I've got the career I've always dreamed of as the results were usually consistent and positive. I always thought to myself that this was my equivalent exchange; I get the life of luxury, I get the body and mind of a moody, weak, gay species crossbreed, all of which are true.