Jordi was manning the counter again this morning. His mother was busy baking in the kitchen, while Uncle Ferran was out for a bunch of meetings. As far as Jordi knew, the meetings had something to do with sponsors, but he wasn't sure. Currently, Jordi leaned over the counter, recollecting the dream from last night.
Of course, there was so much for Jordi to comprehend from Guardiola's experience. The understanding of tactics, positioning, and footballing philosophy was not something Jordi could digest in a short period. He had dreamt through it, so he possessed an innate knowledge of it. However, it would take him many months to be able to express them and include them in his game. In that sense, it felt like an evolution of sorts; from Cruyff's football to Guardiola's football, with a core philosophy connecting them. What was clear to Jordi was that he would now play at a drastically higher level.
Outside of a renewed understanding of the game, it was Pep's obsession with football that left an impression on Jordi. Jordi got it. He really understood that obsession because it burned in him as brightly.
Jordi had always satisfied this obsession on the field with a football at his feet. However, there was so much more to this obsession. Guardiola pursued it on the field, but then he began discovering football. He discovered and created, from pursuing Bielsa in Argentina to creating the 'False 9' for Messi. Jordi realized that there was so much for him to learn and discover about football. The thought of it made him shiver, for he could not wait to pursue every path there was to take in football.
…
"Jordi, are there any empty trays? Replace them with—"
Layla Lloret walked out of the kitchen to see her son engrossed in a football game. This was not an unusual sight for her. However, he seemed different today. His eyes were more squinted, and the pencil in his hand scribbled on what seemed to be a novel.
Layla walked closer. Yes, it was 'The Catcher in the Rye' that Jordi had recently picked up. Why would he be scribbling on the novel while concentrated on the game?
"Jordi!"
"Hunh?! Yes, Mama?" Jordi sent a blank look towards his mother.
"Is the game so interesting? You seem to be lost in it. And what are you writing in the book?"
Jordi was confused by his mother's question. He did not understand what she meant by the book question. Wait… Jordi looked down at the novel, opened on page 63, the margins filled with insightful notes and diagrams. He had no idea when he did that.
"I tried to watch football differently, Mama. There was so much to focus on."
"Oh god. How can football be watched differently, baby? I'll replace the trays. You go up and see if Aunt Ona needs anything."
…
_________________________
Estel: Jordi, I am back home!!!
Estel: We're going to watch civil war today
Estel: NO more excuses
Jordi: How long is it?
Estel: Ask that question again
Jordi: Ok. When are we going?
Estel: Right now!
Jordi: The Yelmo cinema in Eixample?
Estel: Yep
_______________________
…
Estel leaned into Jordi's ear, "You're not paying attention, Jordi."
Jordi was woken up by the accusation, "I'm trying. I haven't watched any of the other movies, so I have no context. Also, I'll be honest, I thought this was a war movie."
Estel smiled ever so confidently, "Just watch. I'll catch you up after the movie."
Jordi foolishly nodded. He was mesmerized by that smile. Regularly, he found himself both mystified and enamoured by Estel when her confidence would radiate through the most ordinary of actions. He imagined how it would feel to be so sure of oneself. Estel, his Estel burned so bright that she illuminated him with confidence. Jordi never felt his existence more than he did when she was around.
Unbeknownst to Jordi, Estel felt his stare. She turned to his face, lost in her direction. Estel's smile turned mischievous. She pinched his cheek.
"Hunh, What?"
"You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"Staring at me like some confused philosopher."
"I just like looking at you."
Estel's smile widened into a beam. Jordi's heart skipped a beat. She really believed him! Man, she trusted him enough to accept the secret he had revealed.
"And what do you like about looking at me?"
Estel's tone suggested that she already knew the answer. And, if she did not, she was willing to acknowledge whatever answer Jordi gave.
"I like figuring you out. There is so much to figure out, Estel. You are full of wonder and miracles and—"
Estel's laugh interrupted Jordi's impassioned confession. She laughed not at Jordi, nor at his words. No, Estel laughed because she could not contain the delight within her. In Jordi's eyes, Estel saw the obsession and the dedication that only football could ever evoke in him.
In that moment, Jordi saw Estel bloom into herself. Her shoulders straightened, her eyes rose, and her smile became easier. Somehow, the wonderful Estel seemed more certain of herself than she had ever been before.
…
Under the streetlight, Estel and Jordi waited for their respective buses. The night was still and silent. She turned to Jordi, who looked so stoic under the orange light.
"Jordi, you are not allowed to leave. Understood?"
"It's already late, Estel. My bus will be here soon."
"You're an idiot."
"What's wrong?"
"You are not allowed to leave me, Jordi. Never."
"Ok."
"Promise?"
"Promise… And you?"
"Of course, I promise. That is a given."
Estel reached down to the hem of her black skirt where a loose thread hung. She pulled it gently, and the thread came unravelling. Only after a while did she bow her head and bite off the thread. To Jordi's eyes, her seemingly strange actions were executed with such elegance.
"Give me your arm… No, the left one."
Estel placed Jordi's hand on her lap and ran the black thread around his wrist. On and on she wrapped it around his wrist before tying it up. Once done, she gave no explanation. Nor did he ask her for one. A gentle smile and off was Estel, running towards her bus.
The thread was tied together into a black wristlet. Estel did not forget to keep it loose enough to take off. Left along, under the yellow streetlight, Jordi studied his wrist. An artifact of her presence. He was surely unworthy of such a gift.