Jordi carefully closed the door, checking one last time to see his mother sleeping peacefully. He leaned his back against the door, taking a deep breath and staring into nowhere. His thoughts could not catch up to his instincts. Moisture collected in his eyes as his legs weakened. Jordi closed his eyes and reset. Once they opened, the azure eyes contained a newfound strength, an unyielding wave rising in the shimmering sea.
Jordi changed into his Barca tracksuit, grabbed his phone and AirPods, and slipped out of the front door. Outside the bakery entrance, he dropped a message to Alessandro, who was in Barcelona to arrange for Jordi's surgery. Once he got a reply, Jordi began his run.
…
30 minutes later, Jordi came to a halt opposite the Philosophy Department at the University of Barcelona. There, he found Alessandro in his signature long black coat sitting on the bench under a streetlamp. Alessandro put out his cigarette and handed Jordi one of the two coffee cups on the bench.
"Grazie."
Jordi took a sip and sat down. The two unlikely friends sipped their lattes in silence and watched the carefree students roaming around. The Barcelona night was melancholic, a chilly wind nipping away at one's inner strength.
Alessandro broke the silence, "What was so urgent, Jordi?"
The two only conversed in Italian ever since Jordi had started learning. Right now, however, Jordi chose to speak in his mother tongue. With a task so difficult, this was the small comfort he allowed himself.
"Signore… does your offer still stand?"
"My offer?"
"For the surgery. You mentioned you could lend us the money…"
"Oh. Of course, Jordi. However much you need. I have already found a great clinic, and we can go as soon as your swelling decreases."
"Thank you, Signore! As soon as we sign the Adidas deal, I'll return it to you."
"Ma dai, Jordi! This is no big deal. Return it whenever or don't return it." Alessandro raised his hands in an exaggerated surrender. He then pulled Jordi close, the smell of tobacco assailing Jordi. Alessandro spoke in a heavy tone, "Jordi, do you remember what I told Ferran at our first meeting?"
Jordi hesitated before speaking, "That you will be constantly by my side in the future."
"No, no, no," Alessandro pulled away before leaning back in. "Well, yes. I said that, but why did I say that, Jordi? Because I want to be a part of your journey, amico mio. Whenever I can help you, I do it purely out of my own interest. I know you will change football one day, and I will have contributed a small part."
Jordi shifted away, more out of embarrassment than discomfort. What could Alessandro recognise in him that no one at Barcelona could? But wait. Was it Alessandro only? What about his family and his friends? And Pep Guardiola? And… Johan Cruyff? Maybe it wasn't that those suited men did not see anything in him, but rather, they refused to.
"Jordi, just clear your mind and prepare for the surgery, ok? Everything will turn out fine."
Alessandro patted Jordi's shoulder and got up to leave. However, he paused after a few steps and turned back. Distant from the streetlamp, his face could hardly be distinguished.
"And Jordi."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For bringing me along on your journey."
Alessandro's steady steps sounded again. Jordi did not turn away for a long time. His face still peering into the darkness Alessandro left behind. The waves within his ocean eyes settled down. His face retained the resoluteness but reverted to its usual calm.
"A journey, huh?" Jordi muttered.
…
Jordi walked up the stairs, dragging his left leg up each step. His pace quickened when he heard Teresa crying. He entered the living room to see Teresa sprawled across the floor, face red as a tomato from crying. Next to her sat the exasperated Aunt Ona, clutching her phone. Uncle Ferran was standing near the entrance, a wide smirk on his face.
As soon as Jordi announced himself, Teresa got up and ran into his arms. Still not able to grab her, Jordi allowed her to lead him to the lounge. From her explanation, it seemed that her evil mother would not let her watch cartoons. Well, Aunt Ona, glad to see Teresa with her big brother, was quick to vanish. Uncle Ferran came forward and sat down next to Jordi, Teresa, and Teresa's kitchen set.
"Where were you, Reietó?"
"Meeting Alessandro," Jordi took the plastic cup handed by Teresa and took a large gulp before handing it back.
"Any particular reason?"
"I asked him for…" Jordi paused to take 3 large bites of the plastic cake slice before returning the plate to Teresa. "I asked him for the money. For the surgery."
"Oh…" A silence settled, further highlighted by Teresa's giggles as Jordi spat out the imaginary hot tea. Jordi felt his uncle's stare but did not meet it.
"Why? You refused him and Mister Soler before. You also said no to Señor Garcia and Madame—"
"I was stupid, Uncle. Where does all this ego come from when I am worth nothing right now? All that pride, all that stubbornness, just to put my mother in such a difficult position"
Teresa panicked and ran her hands across Jordi's cheeks to remove his tears. Jordi smiled the best he could to soothe her. When Teresa finally calmed down, Jordi sent her to get a football for them to play. Only then did he look back at Uncle Ferran.
Ferran's face was ashen, and his lips trembled. There was no cheer to be seen on him right now. His nephew, his Reietó, was only a little boy. He shouldn't have to grow up so soon. The pride and ego of a teenager are meant to be settled by age. Yet, Jordi, so little, was forced to compromise on this very pride. Ferran felt like he had failed Reietó, his Little King.
"Jordi, I- I'll talk to Alessandro. This is a matter between adults. You shouldn't have gone yourself."
"Uncle, call them back… I have decided to leave Barcelona. Tell them that I'm coming."
In a single moment, Ferran's worry turned to disbelief. He hesitated to confirm with Jordi but did not end up speaking. By now, Jordi was already goalkeeping for the enthusiastic Teresa. As Ferran reeled from Jordi's words, his gaze fell on the Barcelona logo on Jordi's tracksuit. All he could do was sigh in defeat.
…
Excerpt from Jordi Lloret's Notes, May 2019.
[Found in Letter 4 of Jordi Lloret's copy of 'Letters to a Young Poet' by Rainer Maria Rilke]
May 02, 2019
- Pep has recently tried inverting Zinchenko and Delph.
- Creates superiority in midfield, but would need better fullback profiles to work.
- This system should set a trend over the next decade.
- If wingers stay up and wide, fullbacks will be forced to choose. Might be a potential counter to the system.
- Watch Leeds United matches later. How does Bielsa adjust his tactics to England?
May 03, 2019
- Research Ignacio Soler.
- My mother, who has always walked with straight shoulders and a pleasant personality, was forced to beg someone. Never Again.
- I have made my decision, and I will stick by it. This feeling of betraying my club might go away one day, or maybe it never will. It does not matter. I will no longer be prideful and selfish.
- I promise myself. One day, I will return to Barcelona. One day, I will return home. Visca Barca, Visca Catalunya.