It’s Not That Complicated

Home : Stories by Catw00man : It’s Not That Complicated

Summary: I race to win.

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER: Kyle Busch, Kyle POV
PROMPT: Taming the Muse #150 (#18/21 for me 2nd run) - Taciturn
COMPLETED: June 12, 2009
WORD COUNT: 1,181
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: I’m so giving this to Heather. ;)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes. I did write this. No, my opinions have not changed. I just feel like you should give all POVs airtime. ;) I’d REALLY love to know what you guys think on this one. Love it, hate it, I’d love to know. LOL
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Nashville Superspeedway – Nashville, TN – June 6, 2009

One of these days I should probably learn to keep my big mouth shut.  But I really don’t see it ever happening.  Not because I’m incapable.  But because I just don’t care.  Playing nice with the media or the fans doesn’t mean a damn thing.  What’s it gonna get me?  Absolutely nothing.  So why should I care?

People have all kinds of fucked up ideas about me and I don’t know where they get them.  It’s not like I’m that hard of a person to figure out.  Maybe they just like to have a good story to tell, I don’t know. But they couldn’t be more wrong.  I don’t have some deep seeded resentment toward my brother, some childhood feud that got out of hand.  I don’t have a twisted, insecure relationship with him or an insane competition.  On the track he’s another driver and I could care less about who he is.  Off the track, he’s my brother.  End of story.

I don’t know how all these things get started.  I don’t give a damn who I race with just that I win.  It’s that simple.  And I don’t have some long standing hatred towards HMS for not coddling me enough.  I read somewhere people thought I was resentful I didn’t get a “mentor” like Jimmie did with Jeff.  Where do people get this shit?  I didn’t care about a damn mentor.  I didn’t need advice.  All I needed was to race.  Mr. Hendrick gave me that chance.  He gave me the break Roush couldn’t and for that I’m grateful.  I’m not bitter about how it worked out.  It was just another ride along the road to wins.  Now it’s over.  ‘Nuff said.

And the shit about Earnhardt.  Dear God could things get more ridiculous?  I don’t care about Junior or his legion of Kool-Aid drinking followers.  He can have all the fans for all I care.  Fans don’t make your car go faster.  Fans don’t make your team work harder.  If anything they do nothing but add pressure and cripple you.  He can have it all.  I don’t care.  And I don’t care that he got in my piece of shit wrecked racecar in Texas.  Talk about making something out of nothing.  The car was a piece of shit and I wasn’t driving it.  If they want to put someone else in there to make laps more power to them.  I race to win and I wasn’t winning that day so who cares. 

The only issue I have with Junior is being asked about him.  You wanna know about Junior, go ask him and leave me the hell out of it.  Why is it so hard to understand me?  I’m not so complicated.  There’s only one thing and one thing only I care about and it’s not some feud with a sad legacy or old team or even my brother.  I don’t care about any of that shit.  I’m not that complex.  All I care about is winning.  How hard is that?

 For as long as I can remember, winning is the only thing I ever wanted to do.  It’s still the only thing I want to do.  So why do I have to have people following me around and shoving stats in my face every time I go run a race?  I don’t give a shit about numbers and I don’t care about the whole “youngest to do stuff” because I’m not.  I’m not the first so why should I care?  Jeff already got that honor so why can’t the media give it a fucking rest?

It doesn’t matter if I’m the youngest driver to however many wins because it’s already been done.  Jeff was the first “young” driver to make it so as far as I’m concerned none of it matters anymore.  So what if I’ve won more than he did at whatever age?  It’s just a repeat of what someone else did.  I’m not breaking new ground.  The only difference is the numbers and I’ve never cared about numbers.  I can’t ever be “first” so what does it matter?  All the damn statisticians can take all those numbers and shove them up their asses.  There’s only one thing that matters and it’s not the numbers or even the trophy.

It’s the win.

It’s the rush of crossing the line first and being better than everyone else.  I don’t care if it’s in a Cup car, or a truck, in a small town race somewhere or a dirt car.  Hell, I don’t care if it’s a damn foot race.  I just want to win.  I want to stand in Victory Lane and for one fleeting moment be better than everyone else.  There’s no high like it and I can’t live without it.  I don’t care what the cost is.  That’s why I enter every damn race I can.  It’s not to rack up a bunch of stats or a shit ton of trophies.  Hell, I could give a shit about the trophies.  All that matters is the high and that moment where, for just a little while, you’re better than everyone else.  Where for an instant you have something everyone else wants. 

I just wish it could last.

Climb out of my car and throw my arms over my head as my crew sprays me with who knows what.  It doesn’t matter.  It’s the spray of victory and something no one else has tonight.  I’m the winner.  I’m the one getting the rush tonight and for the first time since the last time I actually feel alive.  This is why I never want to speak or even look at anyone if I lose.  Other drivers can play nice and pretend it doesn’t matter.  I won’t because I know what I’m losing and I don’t like it.  I can’t stand the thought of someone else getting this high instead of me.  I can’t stand having all the build up and getting nothing in return.

Grab the guitar and I know exactly what I’m doing.  The crew gets this tonight because I sure as hell don’t care.  Some guys make a career collecting trophies and cherishing them like they mean something.  But they don’t.  It’s nothing but a bunch of glass or wood and metal.  I can’t look at a trophy and get the feeling I have now.  I don’t even know where all my trophies are.  But I know where this one’s going.

Smash the guitar on the ground with all my might and then a few more times when it doesn’t shatter how I expect.  Oh well, the team can figure it out.  Toss the meaningless junk to the side for them to each take a piece of.  I’m sure it’ll be special for them and they can have it.  I just want to savor this moment of being the best a little while longer because as soon as I leave Victory Lane it all goes away. 

It’s really not that complicated.

I race to win.

I win to live. 

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Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com