end up here ≫ marco reus

001

From: MaR1989@hotmails.de

Sent: Saturday, February 22, 2014, 10:45PM

To: ELO135@yahooh.com

Subject: no subject

I am assuming our meeting is still on next Friday?

Now that I am here anyways, how are you doing?

---

From: ELO135@yahooh.com

Sent: Saturday, February 22, 2014, 10:51PM

To: MaR1989@hotmails.de

Subject: RE: no subject

I think you have the wrong email address.

I can't remember having a meeting next Friday.

But I'm doing great, thanks for asking. How are you?

---

MARCO

I guess we have all sent emails to the wrong person once or received them. We misspell one of the words or write confuse the numbers and put them in a different order. We never got a reply back. When I get a wrong email, I usually mark it as spam or I delete it and don't reply. But I have never before gotten a reply to one of them, until this one particular Saturday in February, 2014. It was how it all started.

I was supposed to meet up one of my team mates in a restaurant the following Friday and I wanted to know if he was still up for it. I did recently dropped my phone, had to send it to repairs and lost pretty much all my contacts, so my option was to send him an email. So I did, as I was typing the email I should've realized that the numbers were incorrect, but of course, I didn't. And I had sent it already. I send an email to the right email address and ignored it.

But then, I got an email from her. She just replied that it was the wrong email and answered to my "how are you?" meant for my team mate. It sent a smile straight to my face and I replied back to her. And we kept talking. And talking. And now we are at a point where we email every morning and every evening. And I still don't know her name and she doesn't know mine.

Being Marco Reus, a member of the national team of Germany, it's hard to date someone that doesn't know your identity from just seeing you or hearing your name. But using your email address, it gives you some kind of anonymity. Some strange form of satisfaction.

And yes, the messages started to get a little romantic, at least from my side. I was flirting with her and I am still flirting with her. I want to get to know her. She is my favorite person of all time. I don't know her, I don't know her name, I don't know where she lives. I know that she doesn't speak German, that is clear. She could be American, Chinese, Belgian, Italian, Indonesian, French... She is one little dot on the globe and I don't know which one she is. I know she wants to know who I am as well. But can I trust her the information? I don't know if I can. I have only known her for a month or three. I'm torn.

"Marco, keep your head in the game," the coach shouts and I try. I really try. But my mind is with my phone where I can check my email. I yell something back, yet not really meaning it. I run around, shoot the ball in the goal a couple of times and run back. It's exhausting, but it's the nicest feeling ever. Football has always been something I wanted to do professionally and I somehow got my chance. I play in the national team of Germany and I play at Dortmund. And it's great. I have met great guys who are now really good friends, but the only person that I currently just want to meet is her. But she is somewhere and she's probably not where I am.

After training, the first thing I do is to walk to my phone and to check if she emailed me. She hasn't emailed me in hours and I kind of missed her attention. I sigh and ignore the others when I walk into the showers and feel the hot streams of water fall down on me. After a few minutes, the steam starts to crawl up my legs and I don't even hear the chanting and the chatter of the others anymore.

I remove the sweat and the hair gel from my hair and when I'm done, I turn off the shower and wrap a towel around me and walk through the shower compartment back to my clothing. Obviously, I am the first to come back from the showers and the first one to get back fully clothed, so that I can claim one of the mirrors so I can do my hair again. I am quick this time, quicker than I usually am. I pack my sweaty clothes and dump them in the box so it will get washed for next time. I throw the bag on my shoulder and I sigh. It's been a training. Next time we'd be training with the national team again. You know, to get to know each other's moves and all. We have a few friendly games coming up before the World Cup in June. At least I have my dear friend, Mario in the same team as me. We get along great, but it hasn't been the same since he left for Bayern München last season.

I walk through the doors and make my way to my car. You would assume that I'd drive a Ferrari looking like I do. But I don't I drive an Audi, which is way more fashionable than a Ferrari. I place the sunglasses on my face and step into the car and drive home. Hoping that when I would turn the computer on, the first thing that would pop on my screen was an email from her.

You might wonder why I know she is a female and not a male. We once were talking and she mentioned something only a woman would have mentioned: periods. Unless it's a creepy guy that gets off by the idea of portraying a girl, that would also be an option. But I doubt it. I really doubt that she would be catfishing me. Because she has told me so many things, and I have told her so many things. Yet I did leave out the fact that I am Marco Reus. And she left out the fact that she is who she is.

We did once talk about what we looked liked and she knows I'm a guy. I told her I am of the male gender. I told her what hair color and eye color I have. And all the information I wanted to know. And she told me she had a pixie cut and I must admit that I had no idea what that was. I had to google to find out that she had short hair. Why couldn't she just have said that? She has green eyes and a round face that she definitely doesn't like. Every day I try to picture her in my head, but I can't do it. I want to see her. Like really see her.

The roads are empty and it's getting dark. I haven't been a big fan of the winter and spring months myself. I prefer summer. Except that summer always reminds me of someone. Summer. Summer reminds me of Summer. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever known. Her hair as blonde as it already was, turning even fairer in the summer. Her eyes, always happy, and sparkling when I kissed her. But then suddenly, one day, she was gone.

Being the innocent 23 year old as I was 2 years ago, I proposed to her, asked her to marry me after we'd been together for about 4 years. I thought it was time, and honestly she thought it was too. We had thought about having a family back then already but it never happened. I have never thought about again after that one night.