end up here ≫ marco reus

004

From: MaR1989@hotmails.de

Sent: Saturday, May 24, 2014, 13:08PM

To: ELO135@yahooh.com

Subject: what did I do wrong?

What did I say that made you uncomfortable? You have been ignoring me for a week and I don't even know why. Please, what did I do wrong?

I miss you.

---

ELOISE

        It is difficult to explain to him why we can't meet up. The first reason is most likely that I live in France and I have no money to go anywhere and I expect him to be American and I can't just go to America. The second reason is that he doesn't know me. He doesn't know what I look like and for some reason I like this. I like it like this. If he does like me like I am in my emails, will he still like me when he knows what I look like? I don't know. Maybe it's time to tell him my name.

        I have been ignoring him for the past week now, not sure what to answer to his emails. He has been asking what he's done wrong and actually, he has done nothing wrong. He's a great guy and he's probably too great. Too good to be true. And I don't want to be the one to break his heart, so maybe it's time to come clean about who I am. At least, my name or where I'm from. He knows that I study Journalism but that's all. I could study Journalism in every country of the world.

        I click on the new email icon and I see it's another message from him. He misses me. It just breaks my heart. I miss talking to him as well. I really, really like him. More than I had expected and even if he wants to meet up with me, it should happen after the World Cup, because I'll be spending my time in Brazil, well not the entire time, but for just one game and a few more days. I start to type a new email. Not sure what to type yet.

        “You have done nothing wrong, apart from not telling me who you are and where you are located, because just as you, I want to meet you. But that's not possible. I have no money to travel all the way to the United States and I will go to Brazil soon, so even if we were ever to meet up, it would have to happen after. Besides, if you know who I really am, you're probably not going to like me so much anymore. You're too good for a casual girl like me. I'm not even able to pay for flight tickets and all. I'm sorry.” And then I hit send. Before I can cancel it, it's gone and I'm not sure if this was the right strategy, but I didn't know what to do. I started to freak out. Just like Rosalie said, it's probably best if I find myself a regular French guy, not someone so far away.

        I refresh my inbox over and over again and that's when it strikes to me. His email address. It doesn't end with .com. It ends with .de. And I'm not entirely sure what country that is, but luckily, Google knows best. I end up finding that it's Germany. He is German? I really thought, I mean, I was convinced he was an American. For some reason I start picturing him in Lederhosen. I know it's stereotypical, but I can't help it. Ping. An email pops in. And I start reading it immediately.

        “I'm actually not from the United States, but I'm German, but I hope this was a compliment that my English is great, thanks! And honestly, I'll pay for the tickets if that bothers you so much. I'll like you no matter what you look like and no matter who you are, because I think you're absolutely great. I just hope you'll like me for me and not for what I am. Just please, let me get to know you. Let me get to know the real you.”

        I sigh. I don't know if I'm able to do this. I don't know if I want him to know who I am. And what does he mean with the last sentence? What he is? I doubt that he is a werewolf or anything, so I have no idea what he means with that. I start pacing around the house, nervous. I don't know. Should I send him a picture of myself? Should I tell him my name? I guess it would make things a whole lot easier. It would make things easier to talk about. I could even say that I'm actually kind of in love with … instead of that I'm in love with an unknown guy that I met over the internet.

        “I'm Eloise, I live in France. Nice to meet you.” It's all I send to him. I put my phone down on the table and I walk to the kitchen, looking for anything to eat. I haven't yet lunched and I am starting to get hungry. I decide on yoghurt and sit down in front of the television. It stays quiet for a while. At least a good half hour I get no reply back from him, but I keep patient and keep watching the boring shows on the television I have no interest in.

        My phone rings and it's Rosalie. What a surprise. I sigh deeply and just let it ring. She would hopefully stop I don't pick up the phone. When the ringing finally stops after a long minute I pick up my phone and refresh my email. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Did I scare him away?

        Before I know, I'm taking a seat at Starbucks and order a regular coffee. Yes, how inspiring. Ordering a regular coffee at Starbucks and nothing too fancy or with too many words that I don't even understand. I sit here for some time, usually my friends and I hang out here together, but this time I hadn't heard from them. I had not talked to them in forever and I didn't know why they wouldn't speak to me. I saw some at college a few days ago, but after that, they hadn't text me or hadn't let me know where to hang out this Saturday. So I just wait, maybe they'd pop in. I'm tucked in a corner with a good view on the entrance, yet the people coming in wouldn't be the first to see me. They'd obviously be pulled to the menus hanging on the wall. I sip my coffee and the door clicks open and I gaze over to see who comes in now. This is a part of Paris where the tourists don't go to, so it's not that filled with people and most of them live near me, so I know some of them. They might be in the same apartment building.

        “That wasn't too difficult,” I hear the person coming in say to someone else, “I mean, just don't let Eloise know and she won't even question where we are.” Some other people started laughing and I felt my heart drop to my stomach. I look at them, they are my friends, well scrap that. They were my friends.

        “I'm so glad that annoying bitch isn't there, now we can finally have some real fun,” I hear a girls voice say and that hurts even more. I really thought we were too old for bullying now. And that we'd grown out of it and learned to handle things like mature people. But apparently not. Of course, they don't know that I'm here, but still. I feel tears coming up, but I want to stay strong and not cry. And when I hear their voices going away, I get up, try to avoid eye contract and slowly walk home. This wasn't my idea of an ideal Saturday afternoon. Especially not if he doesn't email me back.

        At my arrival at home, I hop under the hot shower and let my tears stream down my face. Muffled sobs escape my mouth. I still feel sad, but I have to stay strong. I don't need friends like them. I need friends like I had in High School, but they all moved away. They didn't move to Paris, some even went abroad. My best friend, who I barely have contact with anymore, moved to Australia. Why the hell would you want to move to Australia? Bugs and spiders and crocodiles and all. But that didn't bother her. It was her dream to go there and she made her dream reality. Now it's my turn. I have to make my dream reality, but what is my dream?

         I step out of the shower, using a towel to dry my body. I stare at myself in the mirror and I look tired, and I look sad. When I walk to the bedroom, I click on my phone to find an email him. I smile. Just a little.