Not Interested // R. Lewandowski

More German than Schweini Sausages

One more camera and there will be one less camera, if you know what I mean.

Yes, I'm looking at you paparazzi.

You'd think they'd rather photograph David Beckham's kids or something. Go follow them around England or wherever they are.

I kind of miss the ignorance of women's football. Back in the beginning when I started playing and nobody cared what I was up to. No one cared what teams had women teams. No one wanted to follow a woman footballer around the airport. We weren't on the front page if we lost a game for our team.

Those were the days.

"Bella! Where are you going?"

I look directly at the camera. "To Antarctica. I could use an ice bath after my training yesterday." I say, without any emotion. Whenever I do interviews, I try to stay as passive as I can. If I'm too excited I come off as arrogant, but if I come off as depressed suddenly our team is going to lose because I'm sad. Because I'm sad.

The camera guys laugh at my explanation of where I'm going. In reality I'm actually flying for less than an hour back to my hometown. Munich.

Yes, it's my hometown, but if you ask who my favorite football team is I'll happily name every single American football team before saying Bayern. Just that word is enough to set me on edge.

Waving goodbye to the paparazzi, I get onto a commercial flight. I sit down in my seat and stare out the window. The Berlin airport is hectic as planes roll around the pavement.

Just as quickly as I got here, I go through the security presentation. For some reason those never bothered me. In fact, flying in airplanes is one of my favorite things.

The adrenalin you get from taking off is awesome. The feeling of lift off always makes me feel victorious. It's like I'm the one flying the plane. Scary thought to the poor passengers. I don't even have my drivers license.

Landing is another story.

I have one fear. Sorry, let me re-phrase that. I have one extremely weird fear. My fear is coming down. Coming down from heights, riding anything down a hill, even coming down in an elevator. I'm not scared of heights, but coming down from them.

I'm not even sure if it's a thing.

The flights over before I know it, and next thing I know, I'm being ushered off the plane.

"Can I get a photo?" A little boy asks from behind me. I turn around and stop the line of people getting off the plane.

I smile warmly. "Of course! Here hold my hand until we get off the plane." I say. I look at his mom for confirmation. She smiles brightly, allowing me to hold the little guy's hand.

He and his mother follow me into the airport. Once we have better lighting I knee down by the child so we're at the same height. I smile brightly as she takes the picture.

"Thank you so much Bella Freud!" The mother says. She looks so overjoyed that she's even in my presence.

"Not a problem, miss. Would you like to get a picture with me as well?" I ask.

The mother nods. We take a quick selfie. I smile at them one last time before heading for my driver.

I call him Garb because that's his last name. He only drives me in Munich, but we're pretty close.

"Hallo." Garb greets. He opens my door and allows me to get settled. "Nice disguise."

I laugh. "Not that good. I took pictures with one sweet family. I think they saw me on the plane though. I guess it is good though if no one else noticed. Look! There's the paparazzi." I say. I take off my sunglasses and hood once we're in the clear.

For the rest of the drive we listen to music in a comfortable silence. Garb has been driving me since before I was famous.

"We're home, Bella." He announces, pulling up to my parents home.

I smile. "Danke shön, Garb."

Garb let's me get out then pulls out of the driveway.

I knock on the front door. "Bella!" Papa says answering the door. "Viktoria! Bella's home."

I smile. I enter the familiar little home. My parents live right on the edge of the city. It was quaint enough to know the neighbors, and even grow up with them. One of the neighbors taught me how to play football as we grew up.

But I don't want to talk about him.

"Bella!" Mama says. She welcomes me with open arms. I hug her and sniff her hair. She smells the same as she did last Christmas, like Dove soap. It's refreshing.

I laugh as I look around. My parents keep any merchandise that's designed for me, as well as any news source. Their coffee table's scattered with magazines and newspapers featuring stories about me. On their wall is a life size wall decal of me playing football.

"I see you got some new stuff." I comment.

Mama and Papa laugh. "It's the closest we can get to you without security guards escorting us away. Our little baby is famous." Mama says.

I smile. "We Skype very often."

"We know that, but it's not the same. Yesterday I was talking to Astrid and she said-"

"Can we not talk about them!" I say. "What's for dinner?" I ask instead, avoiding any topic on that family.

Mama and Papa send each other a communicating look, but instead say nothing.

"Schnitzel and pommes." Mama finally answers. It's a German Classic. Pounded fried pork and French fries.

I nod. "Do you have anything a little healthier?" I ask.

"What!" Papa asks. "Are you even German?" He asks.

"I'm as German as Schweini sausages!" I protest. I use those terms of words to annoy my father. I poke fun at his favorite footballer, after me of course.

Mama laughs as Papa frowns. "Just eat your meal, Bella. Your only 24 once. Now eat your greasy food and enjoy Mama's cooking." Papa says.

I laugh and dig in. "Only because you're making me." I say. I'm sticking to that story.

"What brings you here anyway Bella? You only told us that you needed a break." Mama asks.

I finish my last bite before looking at them. "I got transferred."

Papa spits out his food. "You got transferred! You loved your team!"

"Where?" Mama asks.

I sigh. "I'm not quite sure. The press conference is in Munich tomorrow though." I say. I don't even know if it's legal to not tell me where I'm going.

"Well let's just hope it's not Bayern, for my sake." Mama groans. "I don't need you upset and angry."

I ignore her as I finish my meal. It's not Bayern. My coach isn't that cruel.