Hi,

Since I haven’t had much time to write to you, here’s part of the story; I’ll send you the rest next week. I’ve been working until 7-8 PM these days and end up pretty tired. I hope this story distracts you a bit and you like it. I recommend you destroy the envelope and keep the sender, sorry, tear up the sender, just in case, and save the story. Good luck!

Cheers,

Antonio

Letter # 1

Dear Andrew,

Honestly, I don’t really know how to start telling you all this because I’m scared you’ll get bored once you start reading and just toss the letter. But anyway, I’m gonna risk it. I don’t have much time, so to keep you from getting tired with the story, I’ll send it in two or three parts. If you need me to clear up any detail, just shoot me an email telling me what it is, and I’ll sort it out in the next letter.

Alright, let’s dive into my life story. Yeah! I love football, not just watching it but playing it too, and thanks to it, I had a 6-year relationship, all back in high school. When I was about 13, I was dealing with some serious obesity and the pressure of being the middle child. In front of me were my two older brothers, influencing my decisions but respecting my space, and behind me was the youngest, stirring up my jealousy and collecting my grudges. I’ll try to keep this less literary and more down-to-earth.

One of my dad’s biggest disappointments was never making it as a pro footballer, but God gave him four sons instead. My older brothers never really got along with him; on the contrary, they’d tease him because they always went against him. So, it was just us, the two youngest; he started this big push to get us into football. I was the only one who fell for it since the youngest was shielded by mom’s loving embrace. Unable to say no to my dad, I ended up in football school within a week, twice my weight and crying at the slightest thing. Those were the toughest days and months of my life; running was out of the question, hitting the ball a dream, and the teasing from the other kids was inevitable. The first week was the roughest, with the coach pushing hard, and I just couldn’t do it; sometimes I’d lie down on the field and not get up, waiting for someone from home to come get me. The coach would just tell my dad he couldn’t force me, that it’d be best to pull me out, since I was crying so much.

In the following days, I was in charge of gathering the vests and stowing away the balls, plus helping with the player list.

By the fourth week, that is, a month in, Pablo César showed up. Let me fill you in on who he was: a classmate from the same school, in football school, we were the only ones from our school. Pablo was shocked to see me there since no one at school knew I was into football; plus, during breaks, they’d set up games, and I was always just watching. Back then, neither guys nor girls excited me; all I cared about was eating and sleeping. Pablo, though, he played football, had the build of a player his age, which was the same as mine; he played in his neighborhood on Sundays and at school during the week. I don’t know what Pablo saw in me; I’m sure it wasn’t my charm. Anyway, this crazy friend of mine noticed my situation at school and much later confessed it really bothered him. One Saturday afternoon —I remember it vividly— he asked why I let those guys push me around, to which I replied it didn’t bother me. Pablo argued I was making the school look bad and he wouldn’t stand for it. So, he told me to stay an extra hour after practice with him to train. That’s how we planned it; we’d wait for everyone to leave, which they did quickly since we all had afternoon classes from 12:30 to 6:10, practice was from 8 to 10, and I’d stay with him until 11. We barely had time to go home and change, luckily our houses were close to the school. Sometimes we’d miss lunch or arrive late, missing the first library hour, but it wasn’t often, so we never got our parents suspicious.

When you’re 13, nearing 14 like I was, since these events kicked off in September when I turned years old, the physical changes from growing up start to show. In less than three months, before the year was out, I lost the extra weight, grew taller, and put on muscle, all thanks to those hours of running around and having fun, because that’s what we did with that crazy guy, have fun. I have to say, with Pablo’s arguments and the trust he built in me back in class, I started playing. Keeping it from the coach was tricky though; one day he told Pablo he didn’t need to do that, it was his job. But anyway, he just said it, because nothing came of it in the end.

By December, I was in the game, good at kicking the ball, knew how to head it, ran faster, got more physical, you name it… What happened was the coach let me play in a match, and with just one go at it, and without being cocky, I got made starting midfielder. The next year, after just two weeks off, I started new classes, new friends, new look, and 14 years old, but most importantly, with one of my best buddies by my side, Pablo César. Things got better those months; on one hand, my dad wouldn’t have traded places with anyone because every time he was at the field, the coach sang my praises, and on the other, I was team captain, which earned me respect. At school, one day they set up a match and called Pablo to play; then, that crazy friend pointed at me because they needed one more, and without any bullshit, we gave them a lesson; since then, the guys didn’t mess with me anymore, though I had to earn that with a fight or two.

The point is, Pablo and I became best friends; when we had matches, usually on Sundays, he’d stay at my house, or I at his, depending on how Ms. Amparo and my mom arranged our ride since most games were a pain to get to, and I was scared. They’d take turns, one Sunday yes, one no, that’s how it went until we were around 16. At first, Pablo would come on his own, and I on mine, but my mom and Ms. Amparo became friends, and years later, they were best friends. By then, I think Ms. Amparo and my mom, especially when we got older, started suspecting something, considering that besides football, we even had girlfriends for a bit.

Pablo was three months older than me, but I was taller, 1.68 at that time, 14 years old, and he was 1.65. We thought alike, we both had short hair, he was more tanned than me because he was from Cali, a warm place, with chestnut hair. We liked the same silly stuff: watching TV, listening to rock, eating ice cream, etc., and I’m not lying, we were always hanging out, what a mess, the guys were starting to get suspicious. Pablo would crash at my place on weekends, and we’d play PlayStation or catch up on missed games, but what we did most was watch football. We only had two friends in common, one’s passed away, and we catch up with the other now and then. They both knew about us and accepted and supported us; we’d hang out, the four of us, playing ping pong, pool, going to the movies, in short… a great friendship.

I never imagined Pablo was into me; I had, after so much time together, started feeling things and kind of liked him, but with my very macho dad and my brothers, even more so, I had to convince myself it would pass, but that’s not so easy. Well, Pablo never made a move, but he always spoke well of me to others, defended me, even fought, which seemed normal to me since I did the same, though for me there were reasons, because I was into him, but he, until this moment, I still don’t know why he did it. What came later was even cooler, I’ll tell you about it in the next letter.

Sincerely,

Antonio