Entry Four: January 19, 2008

~Eva~

I knew it was a bad idea meeting with Xavi again, but something about his voice and how much emotion it had held, I had agreed. What I really, really didn’t need was the entire world finding out I was homeless because I agreed to have coffee with the guy.

It was almost a form of art, hiding homelessness.

I showered at the hotel while the vacuum was running, quick and efficient, always using cold water. I would dry my hair under the same guise.

I didn’t like to repeat clothing but so often, and would recycle clothing through thrift stores. I also learned that around colleges where the students live I could fine tons of unused or almost full hygiene and beauty products. I had makeup and tampons for when I needed them. Most important was to never wear clothes you sleep in out in public, and to be unrecognizable. I always slept with my back out and with a hat.

Now I would be sure to take extra precautions, because I would be under scrutiny if they thought I was dating Xavi.

I couldn’t afford to have that secret be let out. My pride would be hurt most, but it was something I didn’t need the world judging me on when I already knew what they would think. They would assume I didn’t work, and that I didn’t care. They would assume I was just a know-it-all that ran away from my family because I didn’t want to deal with reality. The reality – I would work two jobs if the economy allowed it, and the remainder of my family ran away from me.

The bells on the door jingled as I walked into the café. I had put effort into dressing nicer, since I knew I would be meeting with him, not just colliding with him.

I wore my nicest pair of jeans, which were somewhat faded from their original color and slightly ripped, and rather worn brown long sleeve top, and a rather new, unworn sweater to hide the top, which was merely for warmth. I had also managed to buy a cheap pair of Ugg knockoffs.

Being homeless didn’t mean old, baggy tees and such. It just depended on where you shopped, and if you knew the good areas to scavenge. The sweater had come from a rather rich neighborhood, tags still on.

Xavi was already there, sitting with two cups of steaming coffee on the table.

He looked relaxed in a hoodie and jeans combo, wearing ADIDAS sneakers. He smiled upon seeing me, and I made my way over to the table. Stares followed me, but at least I looked presentable today. He slid the second cup of coffee closer as I sat. “I’m glad you made it,” he said once I’d settled in.

I wasn’t exactly sure how to respond, so I smiled, and took a sip of the coffee.

We mostly sat in silence before Xavi offered to go for a walk in the park. I accepted, following him out into the mild Barcelona winter.

As we walked side by side he looked around in contentment. “I don’t come here often,” he spoke at last. “Oh? It’s the biggest park in Barcelona,” I responded in slight surprise. Most people came here at least once a week, either for the nature, or it was part of the commute, since so many people walked in the city. I myself slept here nightly, so I knew the park quite intimately.

“I live in Terrassa,” he explained, hands shoved into his pockets, “That’s where my family is. Crazy as it is, I live with them still. People don’t understand really, but I don’t have a reason not to, and all the reason to stay with them.”

I envied him in that moment. I envied he had a family that would open their home to him, loved him that much, and never tired of him, let alone ran away as if he was infected with a disease. That was my family, what was left. I was beyond envy most times, but not in that moment.

He seemed nervous at my silence, and absently rubbed at his jaw. “I mean, I do own a place here too. I figured once I did settle down, or when I needed my privacy…”

I rolled my eyes, “You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”

He smiled shyly, “It usually turns women off, knowing that my parents are waiting at home.” I laughed, “It is a bit of a mood killer, I’ll admit. Why, do you use that often?” He shook his head rapidly, “No, no – but Elsa always complained.” “Elsa?” I questioned, glancing up at him. “My ex-girlfriend – she’s the one that resented my passion for football.”

I nodded thoughtfully, but again kept silent, opting to instead look up at the stars. In the park, where the trees blocked a lot of the light, the twinkling lights were visible.

“I think what you need is to stop comparing everyone you meet to Elsa. Not everyone judges your love of football, they even admire it. But how are you going to be happy if you keep reminding yourself of the woman that hurt you, and comparing that to every other woman. You’ll just feel that hurt instead of how other women differ,” I said at last. His gaze followed mine up to the sky. “I didn’t even realize…” he murmured.

I smiled at him, and forced myself to start moving again. He trailed behind, quieter than normal. I turned, walking backwards, "Are you alright?”

He nodded, his eyes clouded in thought.

At last he looked up, “You’re actually the first woman I haven’t compared to her.” I grinned, “I’m the female version of Doctor Phil.” He shook his head, smiling widely, “You’re so much more than that, Eva.”


~Aurora~

I didn’t really know what was going on between Carles and I…we had only know each other for several hours, yet everything had been so real, so intense.

I hoped that he had felt it too, though by his last gestures, I could only assume that he did.

Part of me regretted not getting his number. He had yet to call, and since I was not one for the horrible cliché of the man calling, I wanted to do it myself. I found myself aching for his presence, his slight smirk – that smirk was going to be the death of me. His dark eyes, like many Spaniards, held warmth and passion, all of which had been directed at me for those few hours.

I hadn’t even realized how much it had really meant to me until it was suddenly gone. Suddenly, as I walked home, his presence was no longer at my side. He didn’t tower of me, but He was still massive in comparison. He was not built like the average footballer, say Iniesta or Fàbregas. Instead he was muscular, and solid, unlike the slim and agile build most footballers possessed.

But that was why he was a good defender. The mere sight of him was foreboding, and he moved quickly despite his build.

Each person liked something unique about the beautiful game. For some it was the flashy goal, others the beautiful passing, and some the fantastic saves in goal. I was mesmerized, however, by the defending. What made Barça that much more beautiful was that they blurred the lines between offense and defense – how often did one see defenders score goals? Yet Gerard Piqué had done it mere weeks ago.

I couldn’t put into words how it felt to see the defender put himself in the way of the striker, to strip the ball, and to prevent the other team from scoring. It wasn’t flashy, but it was necessary.

Carles epitomized the role. No one was more dedicated or more ready than he. He was the heart of the team, pressing them forward, away from complacency. He motivated them, and he never allowed anyone to give up. His spirit was what was pressing the team forward, pulling and dragging them out of Barça’s slump – that and Pep Guardiola.

I nearly jumped as I heard a knock on my office door. “Come in,” I called, clearing my head of my previous musings.

I was stunned when it wasn’t one of the other hotel managers or staff that entered, but the man of my thoughts. I gaped at him openly, wondering if it was all a dream. That smirk, which I had come to adore, was already in place. It held a fondness though.

“Bona nit,” I managed. The smirk broke into a genuine smile, “I thought I would come and visit instead of being ordinary and calling,” he shrugged with casual grace. I envied that quality. No matter what he did, it was done with purpose, and without doubt, which was without question the reason he was so good at what he did on the pitch.

He seated himself across the desk from me, “So what time are you getting off?”

I smiled, “Whenever, seeing as I’m my own boss.” He arched an eyebrow, “A woman in charge? I like that.” I blushed at his implication, but smiled nonetheless.

“Did you have something in mind?” I questioned. “What type of date would I be if I didn’t?” he grinned. I arched a brow in return, “This is a date?” His smirk returned, “As far as I’m concerned.” “Good,” I said, shutting my computer off. I grabbed my bag, and stood, “I do believe the boss has ended my day.”

He smiled, and opened the door for me after standing. We walked out, and through the lobby together.

Murmurs followed us. Carles attracted attention, almost demanded it with his well-built form and mane of curly hair. His tanned skin seemed flawless, especially under the mood lighting of the contemporary lobby. I assumed, though, it would be no different under the disgusting fluorescent lighting in most stores.

He was dressed more casually than the previous night, opting for a pair of jeans that were a perfect mix between modern and classic, and after a quick check, I saw they did wonders for his rather sculpted lower half. His shirt was a tee, which bore a band logo, but it fitted his torso quite well, displaying his muscular arms and chest quite well. As my eyes roamed over his defined back, he shrugged his coat on, reminding me to do the same.

I self-consciously glanced down at my own state – casual black work pants and a fitted lavender blouse. It could have been worse, I decided, and thought no more of it.

“Where are we going?” I questioned as he led the way down to his car. “It’s a surprise,” he answered in return, opening the passenger door for me. I smiled, for once thinking of the act as chivalrous as opposed to chauvinistic as it normally appeared in my eyes.

Once he was in the driver’s seat, the engine roared to life, and we were flying through the lit streets of Barcelona as fast as the traffic allowed.

He finally pulled over, and led the way into a beautiful restaurant. As opposed to the normal contemporary restaurants I frequented, it was rustic, yet charming.

The stucco exterior was in the typical Spain style, and the interior was warmed by brick. A roaring fire was near the rear, spreading smoky warmth that was pleasant, far from overbearing. The tables were wooden as were the chairs, each decorated with a small candle, which were the only source of light, save for the large chandelier which hung overhead in the center of the room, lit with candles, and the roaring fire.

The name of the restaurant, Enyorança, was fitting, I found. It felt traditional Catalan, and I felt a swell of pride for my nation, even if it wasn’t mine by birth.

As we sat across the table from each other, reading over the menus, our gazes constantly returned to one another. Brown met brown, unable to look away. The warm light between us reflected in his eyes, illuminating his chiseled jaw and cheekbones in a flattering way. This man before me was perfection, I realized, and for the moment, his attention was focused solely on me.

“Have you ever had that moment,” he began, breaking the silence, “that you were incomplete?” I nodded, knowing precisely what he meant. “Yes, like no matter what you did, there was a void, something that you couldn’t fix despite your best efforts,” I supplied.

“When I saw you in that club, something within me stirred. That pit seemed to fill in those brief seconds,” he murmured, the menus completely forgotten. “I felt it too,” I agreed, my heart racing.

“I never thought something that genuine could happen so fast,” he mused, reaching across the table to grasp my hand. “And yet here we are,” I sighed contentedly. “Yes, we are,” he smiled, “and I couldn’t be happier.” “I don’t know about that,” I murmured despite myself. He arched a brow in confusion. Putting my nerves aside, I leaned across the table, careful to avoid the flickering flame of the candle, and gently kissed him.

After several seconds I pulled back, and dropped as gracefully as I could back into my chair. “You were right,” he said, his eyes darker than before. I blushed, but finally managed to look back down at my menu. Seconds later the waiter returned for our order.

Carles smiled at me, and I felt his foot brush against mine. The dish I had in mind flew immediately from thought.