I walk around the familiar neighborhood, a big coat over my club tracksuit because this area is mostly dominated by Union.Another reason why my gaffer wanted me here was to show that no matter what team we support or play for, we are still all human.
Faces from my past jump out at me.Guys who I used to kick a football around with are now strolling around with strollers and a wife on their arm.I nod to them, but they either don’t see me or don’t want to see me.Sometimes you’re resented for “getting out of the hard times.”
The wind picks up behind me, and I look up at the dark gray Mancunian sky.Looks like rain, as always.I walk past the shops where Kyle and I used to grab some pick’n’mix and a pop before school.My feet take me inside and, to my relief, it’s all still the same: shelves stacked to the brim with essentials, huge screens showing the security camera feed, and Mrs.Braithweight on her stool.Without the stool, she’d be around four feet.But she commands respect with her steely blue eyes.Legend has it someone tried to rob her once, and she took them out by throwing her stool at them and knocking them out.
While waiting for the police to show up, she sat on them and sewed a pair of handcuffs.I have no idea if that’s true or if the kids from my school made it up.Either way, we were too scared to fuck around and find out.She’s a pillar of the community and no one would dare mess with her anyway.
“Aaron, is that really you?”she says as I approach the counter with a resigned look.
“Yes, Mrs.Braithweight.It’s great to see you.”
She looks over her thick glasses at me, her once-black hair now entwined with silver, and slaps me on the arm.
“OW!”I say, recoiling from her.
“What do you think you are doing?”she says, eyes filled with anger for reasons I have no idea about.She points a gnarled finger at me, the tip yellowed from years of smoking tobacco.
“I, I was,” I look around the shop for anything, then I spot the flowers in the corner, “buying flowers!”
“Not what are you doing in my shop, I mean what are you doing playing for City,” she says, and then spits into what I hope is a bin on the other side of the counter.“You are a Union boy, from a Union estate,” she wags her finger again.I don’t correct her that I’m notactuallyfrom the estate.You can’t argue semantics with football fans.
It’s easy to forget sometimes how ingrained football is to communities.A result for the team can positively or negatively impact the whole palace until the next game.Win, and everyone was out on the square: playing football, shooting the shit, etc.Lose, and you wouldn’t see anyone walk past your window, save for going to the shop to get some milk for a cuppa tea.
“You have betrayed the estate young man,” she continues, and I have no idea what to say.I walk over and grab the flowers, a huge bunch of carnations in every color.I know I can’t win Mrs.Braithweight around, but I’m hoping there’s someone else I can.
I pay for the flowers and head out of the shop, a slew of insults aimed at my club trail behind me.
Standing outside the familiar home, with the same door I stood at every morning waiting for Kyle to come out, I get a rush of emotions.I’m hoping he’s in as this will be a whole lot easier if he is.He said he would be, and I know his dad has an obsession with timing, so he must be here by now.I take another breath and knock.I hear voices on the other side of the door, footsteps getting closer, and then a bolt sliding out of the lock.
“We don’t want what yer sellin’,” his dad says, and goes to shut the door in my face.I put a hand out.
“Mr.Thurston, it’s me, Aaron,” I say, offering him a bright smile.
He stares at me, and then recognition fills his features.And then he slams the door in my face.
As if some sort of cosmic force is playing a practical joke on me, the heavens open and rain begins to come down.I start to walk back up the path when the door opens again.“AJ?”I turn around, and there he is, the axis of my world.My face lights up, “Hi,” is all I can say.The rain is pelting me, and I’m thankful to be wearing a coat as it’s taking the brunt.
“Come inside, quick, you’ll catch a cold.”
“You sound like our mums,” I say, dashing inside.
The hallway is small and intimate.I’m standing over him, dripping wet on his welcome mat, and he’s looking up at me with those emerald green eyes.Warmth is radiating off him, and I want to hold him, want to be near him.
“Nice flowers,” he says, breaking the tension.
I look down at them, having forgotten their existence, “Oh, they’re a peace offering for your mum.”
“Peace offering?”Kyle says, looking confused.
“It’s part of my community outreach that my gaffer has got me to do, but really, I came to see you.”I close the gap a little more; his fingers lace into mine, sending an electric touch up and down my body.
“Put that wood in t’ hole!”his dad shouts from the living room, and we both burst out laughing.If there’s one thing I love about the north, it’s our way of speaking.Kyle was telling me, when he lived down south, they hadn’t a clue what he was talking about half the time.
“Itisyou.I thought your father was going bloomin’ demented.Ello, Aaron, dear, come in and warm yourself up.Give me yer coat, I’ll ’ang it over t’ radiator.”
My whole body stiffens.This is a strict Union house.Not only am I a City player, but I have the full training kit on.
“Um, sure,” I say, sounding the most unsure I’ve ever been in my life.I shuck off my coat in a way that doesn’t reveal the crest to her.
