Like We Used To || Manuel Neuer

1

            Days turn into months, months into years, and in the blink of an eye, more than just a several years pass to yield Manuel's ninth year away from home. Emails become less eager before stopping altogether, phone calls are no longer made, and before I can fully grasp onto what is becoming of Manu and I, our relationship discreetly disentangles from my fingertips, relentless as it slides out of my grasp.

Nine years later I am sitting on my front porch, swarming with vivid thoughts of Manuel walking in through my front door and enveloping me into his arms. But of course that is the last thing I should be expecting.

"Azelie, honey, are you okay?"

I am broken from my reverie by the soothing and comforting voice of my mother, the only trace of history I have left left around here.

"I'm fine, Mama," I answer with a forced smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Mom slowly occupies the empty space next to me. "You tell me, liebling."

I bite my lip, plastering my gaze on the horizon, on the trees that sway back on forth in the distance, on anything but on my mother. What feels like only inches away, the sun gracefully sets, casting soft beams of light above our silent city.

"Azelie?" Mama persists. She trails off with more words only to stop when she realizes I have zoned off again. "Honey, are you listening to me?"

"Huh?"

"I said I want you to go to Brazil for the World Cup," she repeats in perhaps a murmur, effortlessly breaking me out of my trance once again.

I dart my head in her direction, wondering if I had heard her right. "I'm sorry?"

A coy smile fashions on Mama's face. "You miss Manuel, don't you?"

I continue to stare at her, wondering what has predisposed her to mention him. The front that I fashion makes it clear that I have gotten over him. I have long gotten over him. It is only on nostalgic days, such as today, that he invades my daydreams.

"Mama, please," I say. "Do you even know what you're saying?"

"Yeah, I know, hon. But the Neuers, Marija, insists and they haven't broken contact with us—"

"Well, their son has," I interject derisively. The mere mention of him rekindles unwanted memories. "I'll feel embarrassed if I have to go and see him again," I trail off. "Manuel doesn't even remember me anymore and he has made that utterly clear. You know that."

Mama bites her lip. "Azelie—"

"And he has a girlfriend now. How can you forget her? He'll want to settle down with her."

"Liebe—"

He's an attractive twenty eight year old man who has his entire life set out for him. Why would he ever want—"

"Azelie!"

"—to see someone like me again?"

Mama smiles secretively. "I don't think I've ever heard you so passionate," she admits, placing a warm hand on my own. "You clearly miss him, Lee. I understand that it has been long but some things hold a place in your destiny. Don't argue with me when I say Manuel is one of them."

I stare down at my lap at my hands that once caressed his own and heave out a weary sigh. Although Mama is usually sensible, she has lost her senses today.

And anyway, even if I ever did go to Brazil and confronted Manuel, what would I say? Oh, remember me? We used to be best friends when we were kids. The thing is, I am so painfully in love with you but find myself despising you passionately for the promises you couldn't keep. There is no way that anything I say will end in any way but catastrophic.

I solemnly fixate my gaze on Mama, questioning the inevitable. "Why now, Mama?" Mama has had the past nine years to confront me about this. Why is she springing this on me now?

She falters. "Because you've finished your studies and built a career and as has he and Marija and I are growing old and crave grandchildren. And also because I hear he is struggling."

I ignore the first half of her statement and lean in. "Struggling?"

"Yes, Azelie," Mama replies sadly. "I have been talking to Marija frequently in the past month and she says that Manuel could be happier—that you could make him happier."

I tentatively rub my temples. "This is insane."

"Honey..."

"Mama," I retaliate swiftly. "This is insane. This idea is bizarre and you know it. How am I going to survive in Rio anyway? I don't even speak Portuguese."

"You know Spanish!" she argues.

I shake my head. "It's not the same."

"You can always learn," Mama persists, casting me a hopeful glance. Unfortunately, I have already made up my mind. As a matter of fact, I had made it up a several years ago. There is no longer a need for me to approach Manuel. The lack of communication from his end is evidence that the feeling is mutual, that even he does not care about me anymore. Sometimes I question if he ever did.

"Learn Portuguese in time for the world cup? Learn it in six days?" I ask exasperatedly.

"I meant—"

"Don't set me up for heartbreak, Mama," I warn. "Not again."

She takes a deep breath, reaching deeply into the pockets of her cardigan and scavenging for something unknown, only to draw out a piece of familiar white paper. "What do you suppose I do with this ticket then?"

My lips part in shock. "You bought tickets? Without consulting me? Mama."

"It's just a harmful ticket to a beautiful country," she defends. "I thought you would happily accept it. Because you know, this would really help secure the love life portion of your future."

"But my future is here," I argue, swallowing glumly. "In Gelsenkirchen."

"And I respect that. Trust me, I do. But I really pair you and Manuel, alright? Always have. What is it those English kids say? Something about boats and shipping and love affairs?"

I chuckle silently. "Ship, Mama," I tell her. "It's called a ship."

"Well," she drawls, materializing the corners of her lips into a broad, cheeky smile. "I ship you and Manuel. Is that okay?"

"It's not okay," I say honestly. "But you know what? A lot of those stubborn English kids ship characters and people who don't want to be shipped. So I guess it's fine."

Mom nods, savoring the information as if it is a Harvard doctrine. Her coy visage transforms into one that is serious. "But all jokes aside," she presses. "Think about it, Azelie. For me and for the Neuers."

Feeling uncertain, I bite my lip. "I will, Mom."

"You should, hon. I mean, do you really want him to be the one that got away?"

I shrug.

A few minutes ago, I had been adamant in the belief that Manuel had already been the one that had gotten away. However, I am no longer as resolute. There is now an inexplicable hope prickling on the insides of my heart, reminding me of all of the things that Manuel and I used to have, the same things that I have not been able to forget. Not for nine years.

The two of us were in love—no, never in the romantic and sensual way, but whichever way it was, a passionate infatuation existed, one that had once been ingrained into our hearts but which's roots had disentangled somewhere along the way. Am I really ready to let all of it go? For the second time in my life, I am stuck. And how humiliating for me to admit that both times, it has been because of the same boy.