Home : Stories by Jaik : The Fabulous Life of. : 3 S's of my life.Sophomore Slumps Suck!
Summary: Carl takes sometime to look over his sophomore slump.
AUTHOR: Jaik
EMAIL: jaik@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER: Carl Edwards, Carl POV
SERIES: The Fabulous Life of.
CATEGORY: Reflection
DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
DEDICATION: The actual Carl, he's had such a bad soph slump! Next year will be better!!
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Not really a sequel, just kinda the next one
AUTHOR'S NOTE2: Alright to all the die hard Carl fans like me... see if you can spot the actual Carl's quote, MBN LJ members can you spot the Vickers reference?
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I glance up sadly at the horseshoe hanging in the hall, muttering to myself “Fat lot of good it’s done this year….” I spin around slowly in my chair, gazing off at the stuff on the shelves and off even farther into space.
The phone rings and I snap out of my daze, whipping around to answer it. “Hello? Roush Racing Headquarters, Carl Edwards’ office, Carl speaking…,” I wait for the other end to say something but all I hear is a soft breathing noise before a hasty hanging up. “Okay then…cause that wasn’t weird.”
I slide the phone back onto the receiver, bored out of my mind. I reach for the phone again; about to dial Jamie’s office when I realize he’s in a meeting with Jack and after that he’s got a teleconference. I slump back into the chair again, “Man…how can everyone be so busy?”
I push away from my desk, spinning slowly in a circle, enjoying the squishy feel of the leather chair. I stare at the rolodex next to the phone, flipping aimlessly through names, trying to find someone who isn’t busy. Greg…nope he’s at the vet with the boxers, Matt…no he’s out somewhere with his wife, Mark…oh wait, he’s out music shopping with his son again.
“How can everyone be doing something?!” Pushing away the rolodex, I turn back around and hop out of my chair, wandering out the door and into the hall. I hunt for someone around the offices who’s not busy. “Geez…not even an intern to throw things at,” I sigh disappointedly. I wander back to my office and flop onto the couch, trying to keep from going insane.
Staring around my office I notice all the small details of everything, the grain of the wood on the ceiling fan. The small picturesque holes in the ceiling tiles, even the shiny curves and polished imperfections on my trophies.
I start to wander back to the mountain of signing in the back of the office and start to slowly make a dent in the monstrous acclimation of fanatical gratitude. As I come across the issue of Men’s Health where I dominate the cover I can’t help but kick myself. When it comes to being a gym rat…I’m the guy you’re looking for; but God forbid I should win a damned race.
I bite back my tongue after that last thought. Think back to the anger therapy… no use in getting bent out of shape over things that can be resolved without a conflict. I know that those lessons should help; but the thought makes me seethe “Screw you Helton”. What was the point to those things? They were just a waste of time and money on my part. Count backwards from three and other mental relaxation techniques; each an urban legend, each an ever growing annoyance.
The memories stream through my head, like the black and white movie of a taken loved one. Each one is a small life story in and of itself: The morning of the race, a small birth of hope and anxiety. Will the race be won by my team? How is the competition today? Is anything gonna go wrong? Practice and qualifying are the trials of the day…. Is the car’s set up correct? Is the crew ready for the race? Am I going to screw up the car in a pointless wreck?. By the time the race rolls around; the entire body is numb. Oh God…who am I running with today? Did I piss anyone off last race? How are they gonna get me back? Am I going to win?. But each of these just add up to the biggest question: Am I gonna make and win the Chase?
Half the time I feel like throwing up on the pace laps, but you can’t in this sport. We don’t have halftimes to run off and hide our weaknesses in; every grueling second is recorded from multiple angles by a squadron of unrelenting cameras. If we flinch for the smallest fraction of time; our weakness is seen and we’re suddenly running with a target painted on us.
The only weakness we have; can be the cost of not only our nerve…but our life. Dale Earnhardt and Kenny Irwin can testify to that. I shudder as a nightmare runs through my mind quickly. I’m coming around turn 3 in Texas, I start to get loose…I’m watching as the emergency response teams rushes to my car; they pull me out. But how? I’m right here
I lean back a little more and close my eyes, trying to block out everything. I’ve finally gotten to the point where everything can be shut out and I can finally have an alone moment. I sigh heavily and a loud, resounding crack snaps through the room.
I feel the world slowly topple back as the chair crashes backwards. I try to keep my eyes open as the darkness of unconsciousness grips me and pulls me under. The last thing I see as I pass out is the soft glowing light off a trophy.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that glow.
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Jaik - jaik@cryptoffic.com
This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission. |