Oneshot - Now and Then

Carles Puyol Oneshot – Now and Then

Now:

Her hands nervously ran down the ivory fabric of her dress, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. Her hair, perfectly curled and styled, wasn’t good enough. She felt like her face was splotchy, even though her makeup was immaculate.

Her feet already were sore in her heels, even though she’d just put them on.

There was a knock on the door. “Five minutes!” In five minutes, she would no longer be unattached. She would be one part of a whole, at least legally. She’d felt that way a long time ago. Ever since they’d first met there had been a connection between them, something neither had ever been able to properly explain.

In five – no – four minutes she would leave her current life behind. She would be a wife, perhaps a mother, and one day a grandmother. She would wear a gold ring around her finger with the diamond that was already there. She wondered if the ring would feel heavy, or like something she’d been missing her entire life. She hoped it was the second, since that was how she felt about him.

After the vows, they would go to a beautiful reception at a beautiful building, and they would dance to slow and romantic music. They would be congratulated by his teammates, his friends, their friends, her friends. Then they would be off to their honeymoon.
But first there was that final barrier. All that separated this life and her current one was an aisle. A long, carpeted aisle that would be sprinkled with petals by David Villa’s older daughter – white petals, since she wasn’t fond of pink.

Instead of a traditional wedding march, she’d chosen a Beethoven piece. She wasn’t traditional – she was sure everyone who’d been sent and invitation knew that. The media also knew by now, the media that were lingering outside the church, waiting for a glimpse of her, and her soon-to-be husband. They would exit the church and be met with bubbles for good luck as they got into the white limo to go to the reception. They would be wearing matching rings, symbols of their love for each other.

Another knock – “It’s time.”


Six Months Ago:

Carles was late.

She sat in the restaurant, watching the candles in front of her flicker. The roses were bright red, fresh. The silverware glistened, freshly polished. Her menu was resting on the table. She had it memorized after reading it multiple times, waiting.

She had worried at first. Maybe there was an accident at training? No, he would’ve called. Then she thought he forgot, but she knew her absence would’ve reminded him. Then she thought something came up, but she knew he would call to reschedule. So she was back to worrying. Perhaps she’d done something wrong.

Violins had started to play in the background – Vivaldi, if she wasn’t mistaken. They were soothing, helping her relax some.

She had put a lot of effort into her appearance that evening – a maroon dress that hugged her curves, and makeup carefully applied. Her hair was swept into an up do, clipped with an elegant hairpin. She was hoping to impress him, but she needed someone to impress.

Her gaze drifted out over the balcony, looking at the twinkling lights of Barcelona. The city was beautiful, the most beautiful she’d ever seen. Not even Rome could compare in her eyes. She was getting lost in thought when she heard footsteps approaching.

She thought it was the waiter coming to check on her, but there he was, looking slightly ruffled, despite his fancy attire. She rarely saw him in anything by a kit or jeans, but the black slacks and grey dress shirt fit his muscular frame well.

“Ay dios, forgive me,” he said, but he didn’t sit down.

“Carles?” she asked, wondering what had gotten him in that state. He looked around, fiddling with his sleeve. He then looked up, at the barely visible stars. He heaved a deep breath before looking back at her. “Madre mia, eres bonita,” he whispered, eyes traveling down her frame until the table obscured his view.

He moved suddenly, grasping her hands in his as she knelt in front of her. “I think it so often, but I really do not deserve you,” he said. “You know I feel the same,” she said, wishing he wouldn’t think badly of himself.

“I mean it, cariña. We walk down the street, and heads turn because I’m famous. But also because you’re beautiful – you never play it up, but you’re so gorgeous it doesn’t need to be presented to the world in flashy clothing or overdone makeup. The way you smile, I fall in love all over again every time. Women like you, they don’t wait around because they don’t have to. You’re the woman to spend a lifetime with, the woman I want to spend a lifetime with.”

Her mind was reeling.

He let go of her hands, fumbling in his pocket, at last withdrawing a small red box. With shaking hands, the small red box opened, dwarfed in his large hands. Inside was a diamond ring, the candlelight illuminating the stone as if it were on fire. Her heart felt ablaze.

“I can’t stand to think about what it could be any longer, because I know I love you and I want to spend every second of my life with you. I want to stand beside you, and I want to grow old with you. I want to give you the world. Would you, Adela Baskaran, do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The entire world seemed like it was filled with diamonds through her tears.


Two Years Ago:

Adela smiled as she spotted him, her boyfriend. It was still foreign to her, but pleasant.

He was walking out onto the pitch with his teammates, his friends, his family. As she had gotten to know him, she’d gotten to know the team as well. They were more than a club – més que un club – just as the slogan said. She had seen the way they rose and conquered together, the way they seemed to know what the others were doing at any moment, and the way they would always be there for each other.

Most importantly, they were genuinely good people who loved the beautiful game. She couldn’t ask a team any more than that. They were devoted and fair, the perfect combination.

They were football’s team, his team, her team. Their team.

Football hadn’t brought them together, but it made her fall in love. It wasn’t his paycheck or his status, but the passion that he exhibited on the pitch. She saw the fierce effort he put into defending the goal, the way he directed his team, and the pure passion he had for the game itself.

He had come to represent more than FC Barcelona on the pitch – he represented the team, the older generation, and the Catalan nation. So much depended on him, and he bore the weight without complaint.

The same amount of importance and passion he displayed on the field, he showed to her as well.

He was a devoted boyfriend. He always asked her how she was doing, how her family was doing, what she was doing, and most of all if he could do something with her. From the moment they happened to meet in a club, one of the many clubs in Barcelona, there had been something. The odds of two people meeting in Barcelona in one of the numerous clubs were already high. But the odds of those two people falling in love were ever greater.

Yet, they somehow defied the odds and found each other, fell in love, and remained together despite everything the press had thrown at them, or the public.

Neither of them needed approval of their relationship from anyone.

A loud cheer rose in the stadium as the whistle blew, and the game started. Surrounded by culés, her own family, she watched the team she loved captained by the man she adored.


Then:

If Adela was lucky, she would get to serve drinks to people too drunk to know what they were ordering.

However, Adela wasn’t lucky, and instead she was cleaning up after people too sick to hold their liquor or drinks. Whether it was spills or vomit, she was the lucky employee to mop it up.

Earlier in the evening, she had gotten to clean up a bathroom stall that was coated in puke that was a disgusting shade of purple. In the stall next to her a couple had been having sex, serenading her with moans and grunts as she inhaled the putrid human waste.

It was just her luck it was a busy day. Bodies were packed so lightly in the club one could hardly move. People gave her a wide berth, at least, when they saw her coming with a mop and bucket. They were sober enough to know what that meant. No one wanted to dance in a puddle of puke. There was no amount of nakedness that could make that sexy. So that was her job – the unglorified and far from sexy position of cleaning.

“There’s a spill on the steps,” Núria, her boss said.

‘It’s probably because she’s having boyfriend problems,’ Adela groused mentally as to why her boss was being worse than usual. At least she had a boyfriend to have problems with. The last relationship Adela had been in hadn’t gone well. As usual, she found a guy that couldn’t commit.

She got the drink up as quickly as possible, but she was invisible to everyone in the club. Invisible enough, that a patron tripped over her, spilling their drink everywhere. Drunk of his ass, the man laughed, not bothering to be upset.

Frustrated tears filled her eyes. If only she didn’t need this job.

“Hey, let me help…” a voice said. She paused, and looked up into the most beautiful pair of blue-grey eyes she’d ever seen, and a mane of curly brown hair. He smiled at her. She smiled back.

She was visible every now and then.