World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

12.0

THE MATCH

“Welcome to Manaus, sir,” the taxi driver greets me as I jump into the back seat.

“Hello there,” I answer with a genuine smile, “How’s your day going so far?” I ask, surprised at my sudden niceness. This is new for me.

We share a random conversation for a few minutes but I can tell the driver is not as fanatic of conversations as every other Brazilian is. Well, at least I tried.

There’s something about my mood today. I’m surprisingly happy and excited. I look outside of the window and the city doesn’t seem to be as awesome as Rio but I don’t care. I’m still so pumped to see the tou- Wait. I’m excited to see the tournament. No need to freak out, tournament was the exact word I was about to use. Not any other word starting with tou. I can’t even think of another word starting with tou.

I walk to the hotel desk and I look around to find many other people wearing the England jersey. I’m glad I decided to get one for myself so I don’t feel like an outsider. I give my name to the hotel lady and I wait while she types really fast on her computer.

“Found you,” she tells me, “Only one guest checking in?”

“Um,” I take a moment to think about the answer, “There might be someone joining me later,” I don’t even know what I’m saying but you know, some people don’t even book a hotel and I don’t want them to sleep on the streets so I just leave that out there. Just in case, you know.

“Would you like to switch to a double?”

“Yes, that’d be good,” I don’t want to share my bed with the tou, “No, wait,” I stop her.

“Excuse me, Mr. Styles?”

“The single is okay. I mean, the bed is big enough, right?”

“A king sized bed,” she smiles, “So we keep the reservation as it was before?”

“Yes,” I nod, “I’m sorry about the inconvenience.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she handles me the key, “Here you have two keys. Just wait over there and Paulo will walk you to your room. Have a nice stay, Mr. Styles.”

“Thank you,” my good mood is starting to freak me out a little, “Hello, Paulo.”

While we are inside of the elevator, I can’t help but check my reflection on the mirror. Looking good, bubu. This country suits me so well. I might start to consider it as an option for next summer. I stare at myself for a little longer and I recognize what the look on my face means. Judgment. Stop, I didn’t do anything wrong. I picked a single bed because I’m not going to pay extra for some random stranger’s bed. If the tourist wants to crash my room, he can take the couch.

“This is your room,” he shows me around, “The air conditioner remote is over there,” he keeps pointing the obvious out. This Paulo dude is really bad at his job.

“Where’s the sofa?” I freak out when I don’t see one. Freak out, you know.

“There’s no sofa,” he frowns at me, “Is that a problem for you, sir?”

“No,” a smirk creeps on my face, “It’s even better.”

“Well then, I’ll leave you now. Just call the reception if you need anything,” he walks to the exit door.

“Wait, Paulo,” I take a few bills from my wallet, “Here you go.”

“Thank you so much,” he seems genuinely happy.