4 June 2009
I woke up to the smell of apple pie coming from the kitchen. Usually, Mama is downstairs in the bakery kitchen as early as 6 AM, but Uncle Ferran convinced her to close the bakery for my sixth birthday. As I walk out of my room, my mother is placing the apple pie back in the oven. Aunt Ona, who married Uncle Ferran 4 months ago, is perched on the counter, stirring something in the pot.
"Happy Birthday, Baby!" My mother spots me and rushes over to envelop me in a big hug. I hug her back and quickly distance myself before it lasts too long.
"Happy Birthday, little Jordi!" Aunt Ona also came over and rubbed my hair.
"Thank you, Aunt Ona. Where's Uncle?"
Mama and Aunt Ona exchange a tired look. Mama replied in Aunt's stead, "Your uncle is out to get your gift. He'll be back soon."
I was overcome with excitement. Every birthday, my uncle gets me the new season's shirt. He must've gone to get it last minute, because all of last week was spent celebrating the Champions League and treble win. Just mentioning it makes me giddy.
…
I spent the morning with my aunt and mother before leaving for the bookstore, as was my routine over the summer holidays. I spent my time reading the first instalment of The Lord of the Rings in Spanish. Recently, under Aunt Ona's tutelage, I have been learning English. I am looking forward to reading a lot of English books one day.
To no one's surprise, Señor Garcia refused to wish me a happy birthday, even when I shamelessly asked him to. However, as I was about to leave, he grabbed my shoulder and pushed a book into my hands. It was a signed copy of The Shadow of the Wind, an English translation of La sombra del viento. Happy with his gift, I smiled an extra happy smile at him and ran out.
Back home, Aunt Ona gifted me the new season's shirt, but with Andres Iniesta's name and #8 on the back. I was happy to add variety to my selection. Although he is no Messi, Iniesta is one of my favorite players as well. I practice his La Croqueta every time I am on the pitch. Mama gifted me a silver iPod nano, which was thrilling. Aunt Ona had already taken the initiative to add some of her songs to it, most of them in English.
Only after we had the paella, sent over by Madam Sofia for my birthday, and the apple pie, did Uncle Ferran return. He ran upstairs and barged into the living room. His chocolate hair was damp with sweat, and his nose was red from allergies. Before either my mother or my aunt could scold him or I could judge him, he put up a shirt that stole all my attention.
The shirt was the signature half-red, half-blue of the previous season, but it was adult-sized. However, at the boundary between red and blue, right in the middle of the shirt, was a silver signature of Leo Messi. My eyes widened in shock. I looked up at Uncle Ferran in disbelief, which only served to widen his smile.
I ran up and snatched the shirt from him. "Is this really…" I let my question trail off.
"Of course, he wore this against Sevilla in the league. He even scored a goal in that match." Uncle Ferran's chest was puffed up, and his head was held high.
I was left speechless. As I looked up at him, he looked straight back into my eyes, "It's time, Reietó. The summer camp is coming up. You will play where he played."