A woman in a jean jumper and a transparent raincoat asks a teenage boy wearing a black raincoat. It was drizzling around 11.00 pm at the national racetrack, where the final race had just been concluded. The road was quiet as people left the grid; only after-hours staff were to be seen for refurbishment. He was sitting on the barrier, recalling what had happened 2 or 3 hours earlier.
“How on earth did you find me?”
“Every door has an ear. I happened to crack the doorknob’s lock and relock it again.”
She looks straight ahead, not turning her face toward the person she's talking to.
She casually pushes herself over the barrier and sits down. The teenage boy stared at her in every movement.
“Don’t worry, I will be as quiet as possible.”
She tells the boy. They sit on the barrier 7 feet apart. His reluctance allows them to enjoy the late-night silence.
Being in his position is a dream for everyone his age to experience the success in a racing career. Even though it was part of the entire sport, it was still attractive to many people. At the same time, it comes with great endurance; one must accept. Turns out, he just experienced it today.
He knows that it was a mistake and it can’t be undone.
It is pointless to blame him for anything other than the obvious.
It is pointless to falsely accuse in a scenario that doesn’t roll out like that.
It is pointless to believe in the possibility before the finishing line.
He sign. A hot breath flew out from his mouth as he looked up at the sky. He jumped off and walked to the woman. Who happens to write something down in a notebook?
“Are you a stalker?” A boy asks her in a deep voice. She looked up to face him in confusion.
“Hm?” She wears a clear, confused expression with both eyebrows almost touching.
“Do I look like a psychopath with a big camera and a hidden microphone? I can hardly afford an entry ticket for the full weekend. ”
She looks back down at her notebook again. The teenage boy was stunned by her answer. Weirdly, no outsider can enter the place without a permit at this period.
“Who are you exactly? Journalist? Photographer? Intruder?”
“Neither of them. I am a broke mid-20s woman who loves to craft stories after overtime at a publishing company.”
She answered it with a joyful voice as she finished the last sentence and closed the notebook.
“You know that you could be everything that I just mentioned, right?”
He crossed his arms as he felt even more confused about this peculiar, incomprehensible person in front of him.
”That's true, at least I am not those columnists or public threat comments you desperately try not to respond to, right?”
He goes quiet for a moment. Seems like all the news, both real and fake, went loose. He is well aware of that. He cares about opinions, performance, and expectations. It's everything that he knows could happen, but no one told him how impactful it could become.
“Let me tell you something. You are still young, and you have the privilege to work in a pretty competitive industry with high investment and lots of public interest.”
She stops and then faces off with a teenage boy, whose eye reflects the streetlight.
“But that also means you have a privilege to experience an unfortunate event, backlash, and unfairness. If I were in your shoes, I would have had a sub-series of depressive or bipolar disorder before finishing high school.”
She smiled at him, then stared out into the barrier on the opposite side. Admiring the gradual degradation of the color of commercial sponsorship, slowly peeling away from its constant wetness.
”How could all of that be a privilege?”
“Well, you learn it the hard way, and you face it earlier than typical kids of your age. Sometimes you have to be mature enough to face those picky, toxic opinions. People often assume something over another before actually learn the truth. That’s life, both online and off-screen. Try to keep those you care about close is good enough.”
A silence crept in between them. The boy walks into the track, standing in the center, recalling the possible actions one can experience beyond his narrow helmet view. He turned back to speak something.
“Did it have to be overwhelming all the time?”
“Probably as your position also holds for the public figure. People experience it differently; some express their concern openly, while others hide it in the barrel, waiting to explode like a water bomb.”
She pushes herself up from the barrier and steps out onto a borderline between the grass and the asphalt.
“May I suggest something?”
“Go ahead, it won’t make much difference at this time.”
He mumbled as he walked toward the incident corner.
She takes a deep breath and speaks out in a gentle, low-toned, cheerful voice.
“It’s just an error, move on to next corner, where champagne is waiting.”
“What did you say?”
The boy turned back to face the woman, his face flushed with anger, preparing to argue with her statement.
To his surprise, she is gone. No footprint is visible on the track, and the barrier where she sat shows no dry spot.
A closing staff member shouted at him from the second floor of the garage, urging him to return to the hotel.
The boy slowly walked back to the garage side.
He didn’t understand how she could disappear in the middle of the night with hardly any blind spots around them.
Is he hallucinating? His body is still recovering, so it’s possible. Then he turned toward the opposite direction he had intended to walk, and he saw it.
A podium in the building corridor, right at the last corner. A bottle of champagne was left near the base. A spotlight under the podium is left on. The teenage boy rubbed his eye, then looked at the place again. There was no champagne, and all the lights in that area were already off.
Maybe a conversation he had tonight will not make any sense if he denied her request at first.
Maybe a conversation today is more of an inner talk with unknown identities he is unaware of.
Maybe a conversation with a lady, who could be fate in disguise, could actually be comfort in the dark times.
Nothing is really true or false, but certain things he learns tonight are that he will drive forward to the next corner, where he will improve himself and enjoy the life he has worked hard for.
