Home is Where the Heart is - Pablo Gavi

Chapter 1: Hello Barcelona

With difficulty, I make it onto the plane and across the Atlantic ocean. Now, I'm trying to find my uncle in the very busy Barcelona airport. After I gave him the news that I was coming Xavi offered many times to send over a private plane for me to take. I told him that was ridiculous and a waste of fuel.

"We already burn up this planet enough," I added over the phone.

That was before I realized my Spanish actually sucks.

I've tried reading the signs, then google translating the signs; and when neither of those seemed to work I tried asking people for help. Everyone was either also a tourist who didn't know where they were going or too impatient for someone who thought they could speak Spanish. To be fair, I tried replacing every word I didn't know in Spanish with a French word---a language I'm actually fluent in.

Somehow I managed to collect my bag and have now resorted to sitting on a bench near the baggage claims hoping my uncle will find and rescue me. He has yet to be successful.

I've been texting him for half an hour with details of my surroundings. He's been texting me back informing me all airports have things like escalators, restaurants and trash bins. I should know this, I have visited him many times. However I've never travelled here alone before. I had asked my parents to drop me off, but they both claimed they needed to work, handing over my ticket. I kept insisting I was by the baggage claims until he told me there were multiple places to claim your luggage in the airport. That threw my whole plan off.

A couple minutes without a response I start to get hungry and decide I'm going to leave my post and buy a snack. I stand up and grab the handle of my suitcase before realizing I don't have any euros. My uncle told me he would make sure I was taken care of when I got here, but seeing as we have yet to find each other I'm on my own for the foreseeable future. I start to wonder if I have any hidden talents I could start a show out of.

This is the reason I don't travel by myself, even in my own country. Even to the city right over from mine. I get lost way to easily, it's honestly a bit concerning. 

"Isla!" I hear my name being called and spin around to see my uncle jogging up to me. He's wearing his typical coach track suit; I swear I've never seen him in anything else. This track suit---unlike most of the others I've seen him in---doesn't appear to have any Barca symbols on it. No need to give the public more hints to help recognize him.

I stand to run towards him. "Tío!" I yell back, pulling my suitcase behind me. In contrast, I do not look put together. I'm wearing sweats and a hoodie paired with my 'I slept on the plane hair'. I didn't actually sleep on the plane because I have a hard time sleeping in vehicles, but I watched a few movies. None of them were worth my time, I wish I could've teleported here.

Once we reach each other we hug and he pats my back. "So glad I finally found you," he says in his thick Spanish accent. My mom used to have one as well, but it has faded away over the years.

"I'm so glad you're much more competent with directions than I am," I say, pulling back from our hug.

We laugh together as he directs me to an exit.

"How are you?" he asks once we've gotten out of the crowd. He gestures to let him take my suitcase but I shake my head lightly.

"Hungry," I say, choosing not to say how relieved and yet nervous I still am. I am afraid of being alone in a foreign country and I feel like that's reasonable. Not to mention how nervous I am to try out this new lifestyle for two months. At this point I'm not visiting, I'm living here. Don't let that fool you, I still have no idea what I'm doing. "And you?"

"Doing pretty well," he responds. "I'm so glad you are here." He looks over and smiles at me fondly and I know he's more excited then he's letting on. It sends a twinge of discomfort through me as I was so pessimistic about coming in the first place. I'll give Barcelona a shot, I tell myself. No prejudice, no resentment from missing home, a genuine shot.

I smile at my uncle as we exit the building. The air is chilly and it's dark out, the lights from the airport illuminating the vehicles that have pulled up. "I'm glad I'm here too." And despite my hesitation to come, it's the truth.

Xavi motions to the vehicle that is ours. It's a fancy, shiny black car that looks very expensive. It's a reminder I didn't know I needed that he's no mundane person here in Spain. He's a legend, and for good reason. Don't tell him, but he's most definitely my soccer idol. He takes my suitcase from me and sets it in the trunk, gesturing for me to get in the passenger seat.

He hops in the driver's seat and starts the car. "Do you have your license?" he asks as he starts to drive away.

I nod, then realize he's driving and probably not looking at me. "I do. At least in Canada, does it transfer over?" I hope it does somehow, being able to drive is one of the most convenient things ever.

He considers my question for a moment. "I don't see why not, we'll have to get you a car."

"That's not necessary–" I start. I'm only here for two months, he doesn't need to buy me a whole car.

"Don't be ridiculous," he interjects, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "You'll need a way to get around when I'm not home."

"Okay," I give in, knowing this is not a battle I want to fight. I've never had my own car before so secretly I'm really excited. I don't want to express that excitement until the car is mine, incase it doesn't work out.

"You'll be staying at my house with me if that's okay with you," he continues laying out the plan.

"Yeah," I say, expecting that to be the case. My whole family crashed at his place every time we came to visit, it's plenty big and I already have a room we consider mine.

"I live alone, but often my players stop by or hang around when we're not at training so you'll get to meet them."

"How often are you at training?" I ask. I'm trying to map out how this whole situation is going to work. Am I going to see him frequently or only for a few minutes each day?

"About half the day, usually in the morning. Then I often have meetings or interviews throughout the day." He notices I don't respond to that. "You are welcome at the facility any time, I'll make sure you get a key card."

"Thanks," I say, "that would be great." I hope when he says I'm welcome anytime he means welcome to use the field anytime, at least when the players aren't using it. I'll ask him about that later though, the tiredness from the day has suddenly started to hit me.

"I don't know if you're interested," Xavi starts cautiously, "but Barca is always looking for new PR managers. No pressure, you know you're taken care of." He knows how my mom is about being given things and probably assumes I'm the same way. I'm glad he's giving me an opportunity to work.

"I'll think about it," I say through a yawn.

He looks over at me and registers my slouched body and head leaning against the window. "When we get home you can head straight to bed. I'll be gone when you wake up in the morning, but I'll be back in the afternoon. Help yourself to anything in the fridge and call me if you need anything."

I nod and mumble a thank you, hoping I'll remember all of that in the morning. I feel us come to a stop in his driveway and I stumble out and follow him into the house. It's big and beautiful and very familiar but that's all I register as I stumble up the stairs and into the spare room I always stay in while visiting. I don't bother changing out of my airport sweats before falling into bed and drifting asleep.