Number Nineteen (Mario Götze/Goetze/Gotze)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

    I take him for granted. I really do. He's the most important man of my life by a long shot. Without him, my love for soccer wouldn't exist, my passion wouldn't exist, hell, I wouldn't exist. Literally.

I decided to take the Mercedes Maybach 62 today, and currently I'm driving it into the driveway of my parents' home. It was a regular, average-priced home with a neatly trimmed lawn and bushes and plants in perfect form. It had two floors, not including the attic or basement, and a balcony that hung over the front door. Naturally, my parents sat by the wooden table upon it, chatting nonchalantly while waiting for my arrival. I honked as I stopped the engine, and proceeded to get out of the car.

"Oh Lena! Look how round you've gotten!" my mother exclaimed as soon as she saw me, immediately leaving the balcony with my father on her heel. I laughed as I walked up the steps to the front doors, which swung open seconds later. My mom embraced me in a tight hug, and I instantly felt like a little kid again. She smelled of cinnamon like she always did, and I just wanted to hold onto the scent forever.

"Dad! Happy Birthday! You're an old man now!" I joked as my dad wrapped his arms around me and held me closely. I missed this. I missed my dad, I missed my mom. I missed not stressing out about guys or fretting about my pregnancy. I missed being care free. I missed being picked up and being swung around.

A tear escaped my eye which I wiped away before anyone could see it.

"You're probably right. In a few months I'll be a grandpa," he paused. "Oh, where did the time go?"

I shrugged and together the three of us walked inside. The house was cozy and everything about it felt like home. This was where I grew up. It's where I received my first soccer ball on my 6th birthday. It's where I got my first kiss playing truth or dare in my bedroom. This place is a part of me.

I clambered up the stairs and followed my parents out to the balcony. A pitcher of lemonade rested on the table, and three glasses were set up as well.

I took a seat, and pulled a bag I had brought up onto my lap.

"I've got something for you!" I exclaimed. First, I pulled out a cake. It was black forest cherry, my dad's favorite, from his favorite bakery across the country. His eyes lit up the minute he saw it, and I couldn't help but smile. Next, I pulled a small box with a bow on top out of the bag, and handed it to him.

"You shouldn't have," he said, but I shrugged. He looked at me curiously before opening the box. He gasped as a bunch of letters fell out of it. He picked the first one up, and his smile widened as he read on and on.

"I started writing them on my tenth birthday," I informed him, referring to what he was reading. It was a letter I wrote to him. Every year since I was ten I'd write one and save it for the future. My handwriting changed as I grew older, as did the neatness and substance of them. My dad embraced me and my mom joined in seconds later.

Where would I be without my parents?

---

Is there a place you go where hundreds of memories flood back into your mind, and you want to smile out of happiness and cry because you missed it so much?

I stood upon a green field, behind a farm that belonged to a family that I'd known since I was born. It was beside a corn field, and had they had made it into a soccer field for the community to play on. Everyone was welcome.

This had been where I learned to play my game. Where I developed my passion. All with the help of my dad.

"C'mon Lena!" my father exclaimed, tossing a ball we'd brought onto the ground and taking a shot on the old goal that stood on the opposite side of the field. It sailed into the goal, and I ran to retrieve it. As I did my dad set up two games on the halfway mark, making for a smaller field.