"And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?"
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Maya Beaulieu, born and raised in Montreal, has heard the stories about Lance Stroll, the boy who grew up down the street of where she lived. All the reason to stay...
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𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎'𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚟
November 26th, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates
And then I died.
Or I thought I did.
The moment my eyes shut open and the air burst into my lungs again, my whole body starts to ache. I groan, my head is pounding.
"Lance, do you copy?" My dad says through the board radio, he sounds desperate.
"I do," I say, softly. "I can't come out of the car."
How long have I been passed out? It can't be that long right?
"Marshalls are on their way. There's no immediate danger. Red flag has been reported."
If the marshalls are still on their way, it really cannot be that long. What even happened? I try to move my head, receiving an immediate wave of pain through my body.
Everything happens in a blur, at some point the marshalls arrive, helping me get out of the car and to the ambulance.
"We're taking him to the nearest hospital for a good check up. He might need a CT-scan, just to be sure," Speaks one of them through their walkie-talkie, closing the doors from the ambulance. "We will pick up Lawrence first, yes."
The ambulance begins moving, and they carefully try to remove my helmet, which fails due to the amount of pain I'm in.
"We will leave the helmet on for now, they'll remove it in the hospital, but I don't want to pull too hard and create spinal problems. How is your pain?"
I clench my teeth, battling the persistent ache radiating through my body, "Seven... it's a seven out of ten."
The siren's wa echoes in the distance as I hold my breath with every jolt of the ambulance, each bump and turn sending shock waves of discomfort through my body.
The doors fly open, and my dad steps inside the ambulance, "Let's go, come on."
"Dad," I murmur. "What happened? I can't... What happened?"
"Ocon made contact and you crashed."
It definitely was an 'oh' moment. Bits and pieces come together, and my heart begins racing as soon as I begin to comprehend the severity of the situation.
My dad's presence is both comforting and disorienting, a lifeline to reality amid the turmoil. He looks worried for the outside world, but I know that I'll get this crash thrown back into my face.
And then, as if the world decides to grant me mercy, I drift into unconsciousness once more.
Next thing, I wake up in the hospital.
Immediately the harsh, sterile light and scent of the hospital fill my nose and eyes, the steady beeping of the machines fill the air.
