Saturday, September 1st, 2018- Monza, Italy
Italian Grand Prix, the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza
Max had never been great when it came to emotions, and he was more than well aware that amongst the vast majority of people in his life, and regardless of whether he knew them professionally or personally, whether they were friends or family, or they were coworkers or fans, there existed a general and widely held consensus about his degree of proficiency at emotional intelligence.
Most wouldn't even go so far as to categorize him as anything beyond just barely qualifying at be considered mediocre at best with his emotions, with his feelings, with remembering to read the room and to react strategically to what he'd learned, rather than simply relying upon blind, incendiary impulse alone to guide him.
As far he was concerned, the fact that he could admit to that, that he could grudgingly bring himself to acknowledge his substantial lack of emotional wherewithal and permit himself to operate under the basis of that crucial understanding, was the most crucial component of all.
Life had been easier since he'd finally brought himself to cop to that particular shortcoming, and not just because now that he'd accepted that he had a problem in the first place he'd been more amenable to accepting help from others, something which had made a world of difference when it came to press briefings and interviews, but most significantly, it especially mattered because it meant that his father had been wrong.
Jos had been incorrect in his absolute certainty that to do as much would be tantamount to waving a white flag, surrendering himself to the judgement of others, and he'd be infinitely far from the truth because Max had conceded to the assertion that he was indeed bad at being personable, had admitted he needed assistance and still, no one thought less of him for it.
Not that any of this was really at the forefront of Max's mind when he clambered out of the car, feeling slightly drunk off of the adrenaline high he'd built up to and pushed aside for the duration of qualifying, and had only allowed the full force of the rush to hit him now, when the clock had run out and his boots were firmly planted on the cool, concrete floor of the Red Bull garage, relishing the way his blood seemed to be singing with the surplus of anticipatory excitement he always had left over after any time spent out on the track.
Since, as roughly three and a half seasons in Formula 1 could attest to, his body and its chemical response both couldn't have cared less where he'd finished on the grid, because as far as it was concerned, as long as he was in the car, that was all that really meant a thing.
Because to say that Max wasn't overjoyed with where he'd ended Q3, finishing in 5th place and falling just outside of the 1:19 threshold that had booked out the first two rows of the starting lineup, would be more than bordering on a falsehood, and yet it still didn't mean quite as much to him as he knew it would to Jos.
There was no part of Max that doubted, even for a moment, that his father was waiting impatiently for a chance to pull him aside, lurking off in a far corner, lost amongst the crowd of mechanics and engineers, and already overly eager to tell him the nitty gritty details of every single thing he'd done wrong today, of every mistake he'd made, all but dying to remind his son that in spite of whatever Christian or GP might have to say, and whatever Helmut or Daniel might have to contribute, Max still hadn't have done well enough today to be permitted to do something so foolish, so simple, so inconsequential as to be proud of what he'd accomplished.
And yet, even as he pulled off his helmet, his balaclava following it in quick succession, and began to peel off his gloves as the world rushed back in, Max couldn't help but to take note of the fact that he felt good right now, that he was content with himself and what he'd managed to do today, but still no less ready for tomorrow, already setting his sights on the race and, critically, on everything he needed, or wanted, to go over with the team before lights out.
