I made my way to my first training. My first training with my second club. I had high hopes. I had high hopes that this endeavour would be a good one. It would be worth it. It would all be worth it.
When I arrived, I was taken to my locker, and I saw my name and number printed so clearly, and so beautifully. It was as if it was always meant to be. And it has always meant to be. It has always been Valtersen and 22.
"Hey," I heard a voice say behind me. I turned around to see a curly haired, short but slim girl behind me. When I looked at her face, I knew who it was. "I'm Hayley," she said. It was Hayley Raso. She too only just signed with the club over the break, and we would be one of few newbies to City this season. I remember her face. I remember her face from the Norway against Australia game in the world cup in 2019. I remember playing against her, and us winning in a penalty shootout. I remember the whole thing, and I knew she would too.
"Eva," I replied back, smiling. She put her hand out, wanting to shake it, but I couldn't. I don't like doing that. It doesn't feel right. I feel bad not taking it, so instead, I loosely place the top of my fingers onto hers, shake it slightly, and let go. She smiled softly, realising my quirk. Realising that shaking someone's hand was not my most favourite of activities. Realising I didn't like it.
"So," Hayley continued to say, "your first day too right?"
"Yes," I replied, nervously."
"It'll be good, I reckon," she said, her Australian accent sounding very strong against my Norwegian one. I speak English, majority of the time, and that is very normal if you grow up in Scandinavia. English is drilled into us, and so although I do have a Norwegian accent, it isn't particularly strong and my English is quite good.
"I hope so," I said, staring at the training shirt I was about to put on.
"I know so," Hayley replied, confidently.
I soon got changed, wearing my new City gear, and went into the meeting room. There, for the first time, I saw everyone. I saw all the girls. All my teammates. I didn't know where to go, or who to go to. I was standing there, awkwardly, in the door frame, until Hayley put her arm up.
"Eva," she called out. She waved me over, towards the back, where she was sitting next to another face I recognised from the World Cup but couldn't quite place the name onto.
"This is Alanna," Hayley said. "She's new too."
"Eva," I said, smiling at the other Australian, introducing myself.
"Oh, I remember," Alanna joked.
"Sorry," I laughed, knowing what she was alluding too.
"It's all been forgotten," Hayley said, reassuringly.
"Or has it..." Alanna added, smiling at me, before turning to face the front once again as our manager just walked in.
As our manager, Gareth, spoke, I sat there, picking at my fingers, and trying to crack my knuckles. It was an unconscious habit. Both of those were. Sometimes my brain worked so fast that I had to fulfil its needs somehow. I could never just sit still. It was impossible.
We soon got out onto the pitch, and we all embarked on our first training session of the season.
In the locker room afterwards, all the girls came up to me, introducing themselves. I was standing beside Hayley through most of it, and Alanna too.
Steph Houghton, the captain of our team, at one point, came into the locker room, after one of her recovery sessions. She was currently in rehab from an injury she sustained at the Olympics, and so she wouldn't be with us for the first few months. She put her hand out in front of me, and Hayley, after introducing herself.
"Sorry," Hayley said, "but I don't like shaking people's hands. You know, Covid and everything."
"Oh my god, yes of course. Sorry. Just a habit, you know." Steph laughed, and Hayley smiled at her, and inside my head, all I could think of was how grateful I was to have made a friend in Hayley so quickly.
The next day we trained again, and I was in a group with Lauren, Alanna, Georgia, Alex, and Ellie. It was a five against five, with an extra player, as the keepers didn't count.
Working alongside Georgia in the midfield worked. We were both central midfielders, but I was more defensively present, and she pulled more in the offensive. We complimented each other, and I knew that this could be a good partnership. It could be powerful. It would be powerful.
"Great job," Georgia said to me, as we walked back underground together.
"You were incredible," I said.
"Where were you before?" she asked me.
"Norway," I replied.
"Any reason you haven't left before this?" she asked.
"Not really," I replied, lying. "Sometimes it's hard to leave home."
"Yeah, I understand that," Georgia replied. "I can understand that." I could feel that there was a story behind that response, but I didn't budge. It wasn't my place. I knew that. I was the new girl here, not the best friend.
We went inside the locker room, and because there was no player with the number of 23, my locker was beside Keira Walsh, who wore number 24. As I sat down, she smiled at me.
"You're Eva, right?" she asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"I'm Keira," she then said. "How are you liking City so far?"
"It's good," I answered.
"You think?" she asked, questionably.
"Why do you say it like that?" I laughed.
"Not sure," she laughed back. "Where'd you come from?"
"Trondheim, Norway."
"I'm guessing that's a lot more beautiful than Manchester ever could be."
"A little," I laughed.
"Yeah, well... Manchester is good, if you find the right spots I think."
"Well, hopefully I do," I replied.
"I hope you do too," she said, smiling softly, before grabbing her clothes to change.
I returned to untying my laces, when another person came over to me.
"Don't mind her," a voice said. When I looked up, I saw Ellie Roebuck standing in front of me.
"Sorry?" I asked, not quite understanding what she was saying.
"Keira's a bit of a pessimist. Doesn't see the happiness in Manchester anymore."
"Oh yeah?" I asked.
"If you ask me, she'll be gone next year. Probably somewhere bigger."
"What's bigger than Manchester?" I asked, naively.
"London. Barcelona. Paris," Ellie said plainly.
"Very true," I answered. "Just for me, Manchester is huge."
"Coming from...?"
"Trondheim," I finished her sentence.
"Right, well, when we go down to London you'll understand."
"I'm excited for that," I said, smiling.
"Well, don't get too excited. 50% of those matches are against our biggest competitors. Always too stressful."
"Oh."
"But let's not worry about that just yet," Ellie said, smiling. "Some of the girls are going out for drinks now. Want to join?" I thought about this proposition for a moment. I knew it would be good for me. I knew it would be worth it. Going out, and meeting more of the girls. But the other side of my brain knew that today had been long. It had been tiring. My body and brain was tired. Before I could make up my mind, Hayley walked up beside me.
"You coming out, Eva?" Hayley asked.
"Was just asking her," Ellie said.
"Come on, it'll be fun!" Hayley said. I knew my brain was telling me not to, but my brain shouldn't be the only dictator in my life. It shouldn't be the only thing pushing me towards things and away from them.
"Okay," I said, stuttering it out of my mouth.
"Perfect," Hayley said. "Let's get going then."
Most of the girls were in the pub when I arrived. I drove home, and then took a taxi to the pub, not wanting to drink and drive, although I was fairly convinced that I wouldn't be drinking. It's not that I have anything against drinking, it just isn't something I particularly enjoy. I don't like not feeling in control of my body.
"So, Eva," Lucy Bronze said, standing beside me. "How've your first few days in Manchester been?"
"Good," I replied.
"Feel big?" she asked.
"Very," I laughed.
"You get used to it."
"I hope so." I took a sip of my non-alcoholic mojito, so it felt as if I was drinking even if I wasn't. I looked around to see all the girls, talking, playing darts, and using the foosball table. I had one of those as a kid. Nora and I were obsessed with it, and when she was in hospital, Pappa brought the table into her room, so we could play it whenever we wanted. After she died, I never touched it again. I couldn't. It was something I did with my sister.
"Want to play?" Lucy asked, as she saw me looking at the table in the corner.
"No, thanks," I replied.
"Okay," she replied, walking over to the table and calling Keira, Georgia and Alex over with her. I watched them all play from afar, but not going too close. I couldn't. That would be wrong. Even thinking about it is wrong.
Sometimes my brain tells me things I should do. As I was sitting on the bar stool, suddenly I stood up. I'm not allowed to sit here anymore. If I sit here any longer, I could hurt myself. The bar stool is bad. The bench is bad.
I know its stupid, but my brain doesn't. It doesn't understand. But am I not my brain? Sometimes I feel as if they are two separate entities. My brain and my consciousness are not the same. They are not one being, but rather two separate worlds. That is the only logical reason that I can use to explain my thoughts. Otherwise, it doesn't make sense. Otherwise, nothing makes sense. Not even myself.
Thirty minutes later, the foosball table started to get crowded. While I was talking with Alanna and Ellie, a crowd started to appear. I heard many cheers, and boos, and as I peered over, I saw that Keira and Lucy were winning against Georgia and Alex, but it was coming down to the final point.
"Let's watch," Alanna said, walking over to the table, and leaning with her beer against the wall.
"You coming?" Ellie asked.
"Just need to go to the bathroom," I replied. She nodded, and walked over to where Alanna was standing.
One. Two. Three. Breathe.
One. Two. Three. Breathe.
Count the floorboards. Why was there an odd number? I must've counted wrong. So, I walked back. I walked back to the bar, and counted the floorboards again.
34. That's nicer. Nicer than the incorrect 33 I had counted previously.
As I came back out, Hayley came over to me.
"You alright?" she asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"You were just looking at the ground, and walked to the bathroom twice in the span of one minute."
"Sorry," I replied, looking embarrassed.
"No no," Hayley said, reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'm not judging you. Just curious."
"I just forgot something," I said, looking over at my bag that was on the bar. Hayley nodded, but I could tell she wasn't convinced.
But what else is there to say? What else can I say? My brain is weird, and if people knew, I wouldn't know what would happen. I couldn't control that. The one thing I can control is how people view me. What people know about me. That's all and that is okay.
I arrived back at my apartment later that evening to see boxes outside my apartment. Some of my furniture had arrived, which relieving as living on a mattress on the floor isn't too tempting. I pushed the boxes inside my apartment, and left them on the ground beside my kitchen island.
I quickly showered, turning the tap on, then off, and on once more. I scrubbed my body twice, and grabbed two clean towels out of the dryer, before deciding which one to use. I chose the second. It felt cleaner, although I knew that wasn't true. They were both clean. But it felt better.
I grabbed my sleeping t-shirt, turned it inside out, and back to front, and put it on, so the tag was at my chin. I had done this for a few years now. When I was 16, I accidentally wore my shirt like this to bed, and the next day, it was the best day I had ever had. I don't remember why it was such a good day now, but I knew it was. It was the best day ever. So now, I have to wear it like this, otherwise, the next day will be awful. Something bad could happen. Something life altering.
Once again, I knew that this was stupid. A shirt cannot dictate my life, but my brain told me it could, so it could. There was no other way about it. There never would be any other way. It would always be this way. It always would be.
I went to sleep, my brain still running rampant but knowing I had completed all my daily tasks. I had adhered to the noise in my brain, finding at least peace so my consciousness could soundly sleep. Or at least as soundly as it could. I'm not sure my conscious body would ever rest. It felt impossible. Always impossible.