end up here ≫ marco reus

002

From: ELO135@yahooh.com

Sent: Thursday, May 15, 2014, 09:18AM

To: MaR1989@hotmails.de

Subject: add something interesting here: ...

You must definitely add something interesting to the email subject, because I can't come up with a proper title. And 'no subject' sounds so stupid. Even though it's the least important part...

What's your favorite color?

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From: MaR1989@hotmails.de

Sent: Thursday, May 15, 2014, 09:24AM

To: ELO135@yahooh.com

Subject: RE: add something interesting here: you

I added something interesting to the subject.

My favorite color is yellow. The jersey's of my favorite football team are yellow: Borussia Dortmund. What's yours?

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ELOISE

        Squealing a little as I read his last email. I had been emailing with him for the past few months and it was starting to get a little serious now. We emailed each other every day and sometimes we flirted with each other. At least, it's what you can call flirting over emails. He and I. We haven't particularly discussed what we looked like. I barely know anything about him. At least, now I know that he is a fan of football, which is great, because I'm a football fan myself. Not that fanatic, but I enjoy to watch some games. My little sister is a huge fan of Ronaldo, I'm not sure what country he plays at, but I'm sure it Portugal, but she really thinks he's adorable and sexy, while I'm not really into that kind of people. I'm into my mystery email guy. Whatever his name is. Whoever he is.

        I usually spend my days in Paris, that's where I live and I was born just outside of Paris. I wouldn't want to change anything about my situation. I own a fairly big place outside of Paris, close to the university where I'm just finishing off my last year as a Journalism student. I never really planned to study Journalism, but I wanted to something with writing and this seemed to be the perfect opportunity. Interviewing and all isn't really my thing, but I did get to interview a great Spanish singer, some Italian author that I didn't know and I got to interview Antoine Griezmann, who is a really cute football player that plays in the French national team. You might wonder how I got to interview him, well that is not such an interesting story. My teacher is an aunt of a player in the national team, don't ask me who, and she somehow managed to arrange interviews for me and the other students. It was a really big thing, we had to write an article about it and all. It was fun, but it took quite a lot of time to arrange and finish.

        And my phone rings once again. I have been phoning the entire morning, and it's starting to get on my nerves a little. I have no problem with phoning, not at all, it's just really annoying when you're trying to something else and someone is constantly calling you. In this case, my sister. She is 20 and in her second year of History somewhere in the south of France. But she has constant technical problems and she thinks I'm the one to call when she has problems with her internet or her television. I honestly suggested to call one of her male friends whenever she has concerns, but she always calls me first. Sometimes I wish I could not answer and she would give up. But she doesn't. That's the problem.

        “Salut Rosalie, is it time for me to help you again?” I say sarcastically to my sister on the other end of the line.

        “Eloise, thank the lord you're picking up, I have major issues with my internet and-” she says before I cut her off once again.

        “I am not an expert with the internet, I think it's best if you call someone that does understand all the cables and all the words and buttons, because I don't, especially not with this distance between us,” I say and in the meantime I stir in my pasta sauce that I'm already preparing for the evening. Thank the person that invented the speaker option on the phone.

        “Oh...” is all I hear at the other end of the line and I chuckle, “Who do you think I should call?”

        “Anyone, you probably have a lot of friends, maybe some in the IT department of your college,” I mumble and my phone buzzes, which means I either have a text or an email and I'm hoping for the latter one, “Look, Rosalie, if you really don't mind, I have to continue with my day, okay?”

        “Okay,” she says, “I guess we'll speak later.”

        “We will, don't worry,” I say and turn the heat of the stove down a little.

        “I miss you,” Rosalie says and this is the point where she gets all emotional over nothing. I sigh, deeply. It's great, having a sister and all. But if you have a sister like Rosalie, it's a little hard to deal with. She's different. Not so much in looks, but more her mental state. We had her checked and every doctor, psychologist or psychiatrist came to another conclusion, so we ended it all. We just know she is a bit different, but she is really smart, just not that social and she likes to keep around the same people.

        “I know, I miss you too,” I say to her, “I will see you in a couple of weeks.” And with that I closed the call. I might sound a little bit rude to her, but she calls me so often, that at some point she gets on your nerves. I click to see who send me a message and yes, it was him again. In a couple of weeks, my sister and I would go to Brazil to watch one of the games of France. I wouldn't know if they would get any far in the competition, but I'm sure they would do their best. My sister really wanted to see Ronaldo play, but we couldn't score any tickets at a reasonable prize. Then again, it's the World Cup, everything is way too overpriced.

        I hum a song and turn off the stove. I dance to the sofa and sit down as I read the message he wrote me this time. I grin as I send back that I have no specific favorite football club. He says he plays football and that he might go to the World Cup too. My heart drops to my stomach. This could obviously be a reason to meet, wouldn't it? I hope so. I hope he'd be willing to meet me. But every time I had asked him about his name, he would wipe it away. He could be catfishing me. I shake the thought away. He wouldn't, would he? I thought we had some connection, and I was really hoping that this connection was real even when we meet in real life. Because he seems great, absolutely fantastic.

         My stomach fills with butterflies as I type an email back. An email that mentions that I want to meet him. And that I want to know who he is. Because honestly, in these few months, I have fallen for him. I have started to like my mystery email guy. Whoever he is. And I think I'd be gutted if he ended up to be a woman or a 50-year old man. Mystery email guy listens to what I have to say, well, he reads what I have to type. He's great. I start the computer and start doing some googling. I visit my Facebook and read the news. Nothing special happened in my boring life. So I decided to open some coursework that I still have to do before the end of the week. Great. And the only thing I want, is him to email me back.