[ two ]
a proud country
-
Two days after their loss in Fortaleza, the team was all packed up and ready to travel to their home country. Though I couldn't travel on the same flight with James, I did see him at the airport. The emotion of the days prior hadn't washed off yet.
And how could they?
News of the verde amarela victory was everywhere, practically slapping him in the face each time they turned on the television in their hotel rooms. It was there when they logged onto social media, the fans were always reminding him, not in a complaint way, but as a way of cheering him up. And it was there when they passed news stands on the way to the airport by bus.
It seemed like everything was against James.
We had talked on the phone as he packed his things. He sounded defeated, but more than anything, he sounded like a person who thought he had let everyone down.
As much as I told him we were all proud of him, there was still a doubt in his mind. That was because there were few people out there who blamed him for the loss.
'you could have done more.' Some would complain.
While others mentioned him on twitter saying, 'this would have never happened if falcao had played.'
Arista didn't know how to get it all to stop. But there was nothing she could do.
Ocassionally, she knew he read the supportive comments and she knew he was probably smiling to himself as he typed out a short reply. He loved his fans and saw them as part of his family. He loved letting them know he was aware of their good wishes and love/
And it was times like there that he really appreciated them most.
.
.
.
.
At the airport, it was difficult to get close to him. So many people were there just for a glimpse of James. And he put up a brave front for all of them, though the heart break was still etched on his handsome face.
I don't know how, but he spotted me in the crowd, trying to get close to him and his eyes shone brightly. A small smile, a genuine one, played on his lips as he pushed his way towards me.
In this crowded place I could only see James and I knew it was the same for him.
When he reached me, his hands cupped my face as if in disbelief. As if he thought I were a figment of his imagination. "Mi Arista..." He whispered, pressing his soft lips to my forehead. My Arista, he said in Spanish. "I feel like its been a thousand years since I last saw you."
"I know." I sighed, nodding in agreement. "How are you feeling?" I added the unnecessary question.
James immediately shrugged in response. "I'm fine. Just nervous about returning."
"Don't be." I assured him, "Everyone is proud of you. Believe me."
And suddenly, he was pulled out of my reach by one of his team mates, Juan. "Come on, James." He said to him. "If we lose you in the crowd and have to look for you every five seconds the plane is gonna leave without us."
James said nothing and only nodded to his friend.
As he was dragged away, he turned to look at me one last time. "I love you." He mouthed.
I said it back quietly.
.
.
.
.
It was early afternoon when we all arrived in Bogota. James traveled on a private flight with the rest of his team mates and had arived a bit over an hour before us. Still, he made it a point to wait for us at the airport. Because there were so many photographers there, we were led to a private room where he was waiting.
From there, we were escorted to a parking lot where they had cars waiting for the players and their families.
As they drove through the city, I smiled to myself. With James' hand in mine and the two of us back in our home country, everything was perfect. I felt like he had been away for too long and though the joy of having him by my side everyday would only last a couple of weeks, I knew I had to enjoy him while I had him.
When he returned to Monaco, we'd go back to phone calls, texts, and video chatting.
That did nothing to make me feel better about him being so far away. It was torture being able to see his perfect face and not be able to touch it.
James was perfect.
And I couldn't imagine why he would chose a girl like me when he could have any girl he wanted, not because he was a footballer, but because he was James. James the shy, but charming boy who won me over by giving me a flower every day. James the boy who made me feel like I was the only girl in the world.
It was these things that clouded my mind and didn't allow me to notice the car didn't head towards the place we lived, but rather headed further into the middle of town.
Soon we were surrounded by skyscrapers everywhere.
"James..." I began, "Where are we going?"
"I don't know." He told me. "They only let me know we would stop somewhere before going home."
The farther we got into town, the more crowded everything became and it was a few minutes before we saw the massive crowds of people. Many of them held posters with James' or one of the other players' name. In the distance there was a large stage with a huge banner that read: Colombia is proud of its football team.
"See?" I poked James in the chest. "No one is disappointed."
His big brown eyes watched the sight before him in awe. When his eyes brimmed with tears I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
"You made us all proud." I said, this time a bit softer.
James nodded slowly. "That's all I wanted to do." He said to me.
-
don't you guys just love arista and james?
i quite like them together.
unfortunately, thanks to the prologue, we all know what happens with them. but they might be happy in the end.
anyway, here is another chapter for you guys.
thank you for reading.
it means a lot.
i love you.
-clary xx
