The Greatest of all Time

After gobbling up his lunch, Zachary walked to a park, a short distance away from the hotel—and found Marta Romano waiting. Around her, wintry ice-laden trees swayed like graceful ballet dancers in the seasonal gusts. The Italian wore a dark brown overcoat, skin-tight jeans, and boots that shielded her from the cold weather.

"Have you been waiting for long?" Zachary asked, feeling a bit guilty. He feared that he was late, letting her wait in the harsh weather.

"No worries," she replied, flashing him a smile. "I just got here, only a minute ago." She gave him a simple hug.

"That's a relief." Zachary sighed, glancing at his watch. "I didn't expect you to arrive earlier than we agreed. Should we go now?"

Marta flashed him a smile in response.

And off they went on a tour of the city.

Zachary felt surprisingly warm in the sunshine and cold, despite the presence of the chilly north wind. After the relaxing massage, a walk through the city seemed like the best way to end his Friday.

"I watched your match yesterday," Marta began. "You remained on the bench the entire time." She added, inclining her head, to get a better look at his reaction. They walked on a path by a frozen river on the far side of the park.

"The coach decided I had to rest in preparation for the quarter-final," Zachary replied, his mind drifting. He mused on what a strange day it was to take a walk around Riga.

He watched the river on his right in passing. It appeared tranquil—yet still flowed lethargically under the ice, seemingly awaiting reinvigoration by the gentle touch of a warmer sun. Though the air bore the cold and the ground was completely frozen, the ice atop it sparkled with the gift of each nascent ray.

It was as if the creator (if there was one) had ensured there would be hope even on the most frigid of winter days. Zachary chose not to see the ice blanket but the life-filled water flowing deep underneath, ever onward to the distant ocean.

"Are you still with me?" Zachary's reverie was interrupted by Marta's voice as they trekked the footpath.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head and focusing on the girl. "I was thinking about our loss against Genoa yesterday. It worries me." He lied. He couldn't tell her he was admiring a frozen river, rather than giving her his undivided attention. The loss was a credible excuse to avoid an awkward situation.

"Does it hurt when you lose a game?" She asked.

Zachary was confused by the question. He angled his head to get a better look at her, only to find her eyes filled with pure curiosity. "Of course, it's always painful to lose a game," he replied, deciding on humoring her. "Some players even cry after a loss. If I ever lost a final, I would be in the same boat—I think."

They continued making small talk as they walked, leaving the path by a river and joining a wide street. In the refreshing light of daytime, the streets had the hues of an artistic dream, soft yet bold pastels.

"Which part of Italy are you from?" Zachary inquired. He'd never really asked about her home. He wanted to keep the conversation flowing as they moved around the city, enjoying the sights and taking the occasional photograph.

"Milan," she replied, smiling.

"The home city of AC and Inter Milan!"

"Yes, the one, and only."

Zachary looked at her curiously. "Are you a fan of either of those teams?"

"When I was younger, I used to support AC Milan," Marta replied, sighing audibly.

Zachary noted the melancholia in her tone. "You still support them. Right?" He queried.

"Not anymore," she confirmed, shaking her head.

"What happened?" Zachary pressed.

"Things happened," she shook her head, closing her eyes as if remembering some unpleasant memory. She even ceased walking for a moment.

Zachary silently waited by her side.

"I also used to play football when I was younger," she said, inclining her head to glance Zachary's way. "However, things happened. I lost my love for the sport and my awe for the team."

[Which things?] Zachary could not help but wonder. However, he didn't press the topic. He could tell it was a bitter memory that would sour the conversation.

They continued walking silently along the pedestrian lane of the street. Traffic was sprinkled upon the tarmac that day as if the roads were a playset that came with only a few cars.

About an hour later, Zachary spent a few Latvian Lats to buy sandwiches and hot coffee before they continued their tour. They trekked on the cobblestone streets, past sociable squares with the oldest houses and churches, all tourist attractions in Riga.

Riga was a collection of Art Nouveau architecture, easily identifiable by its curved doorways and windows, female sculptures, whimsical gargoyles, and romantic nationalist imagery. Marta marveled at the House of the Blackheads when they reached the Town Hall Square in the old town of Riga. She took several pictures of the exuberantly adorned red-brown brick building with plenty of statues hanging on its front.

Zachary was surprised at how the day passed quicker than he'd expected. Before he knew it, the evening had arrived, prompting him to head back to his hotel for dinner.

"So, what will you do after the academy?" Marta asked as he walked her back to her hostel. The evening sun cast long shadows on the cobbled streets.

"Play professional soccer, of course," Zachary replied, his tone a matter-of-factly.

"You'll play for Rosenborg?"

"That's the plan, for the moment," Zachary replied, smiling softly. "But, enough about me. How is your music school? How did you go from playing soccer to becoming a music student? The two fields are almost unrelated!"

Marta gave him an arch look. "That is a story for another time. You'll have to take me out another time to hear that. We're here." She said, pointing to a hostel building ahead. "Do you want to take dinner together at a nearby fast-food restaurant?"

"Sorry," Zachary intoned. "The coach will not be pleased if I don't get back by six. He even takes roll calls in the evening. I can only disappoint you."

"No worries. I already had a good time." Marta flashed him a soft smile. "My sister should be waiting for me to have dinner. I'll go meet her," she said but did not move a step into her hostel building.

Zachary sighed inwardly. Marta had been a close friend for over a year. But he'd never thought more of her than that. However, seeing her limned in the scarce winter sun rays, the cold Baltic wind blowing the long braids of her black hair from her face, hugging her arms against the swell of her bosom to ward off the chill, she was suddenly a young woman. He was suddenly a young man, not a reincarnated old soul.

His pulse quickened at the way she watched him with expectation. It seemed she expected something of him. But he reined himself in and gave her a gentle hug instead. "I'll call you," he said before walking away.

He decided against encouraging her feelings for him. He wasn't sure it was the right time to pursue a relationship. His relationships had always been marred by complications. Complications brought about instability, and instability would slow the progress of his career.

**** ****

After Zachary left, Marta sighed, shaking her head before walking into her building. She found her sister, Melissa, sleeping when she entered her room.

She smiled softly on remembering her final moments with Zachary, the way he was unbalanced and undecided as he watched her before the door of her building.

She'd seen Zachary playing against BK Frem and JFC Riga, and he struck her like one of those firm men that never doubted themselves. But she'd just realized that he was a reserved person off the pitch. Marta smiled despite herself. She was in a good mood.

However, she felt her phone vibrating in one of her pockets. Her face paled when she read the caller-ID off the screen of her smartphone. She stepped out of her room, out of earshot of her sister, to pick up the call. She then took a deep breath, calming her nerves before speaking into the phone.

"Hello, Grant," she said, her tone formal but also polite. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" She had lost her signature Italian accent.

"How far with your assignment?" The voice from the other end of the phone inquired, without bothering with any greetings.

"I'm trying," Marta intoned, attempting to keep her voice polite. "I need more time."

"Do I need to teach you how to get close to a young boy?" Marta winced as the voice at the other end scowled. "I'm running out of time, and I need your task completed as soon as possible. Have you made no progress? Nothing to offer me that I can use?"

"I need more time," Marta replied, simply.

"I'm running out of patience," the voice intoned, taking on a harsh but quiet tone. Don't forget who pays for your music school and living expenses. I'll be disappointed if you fail." The person at the other end of the line hung up right after.

Marta's eyes moistened as memories of how she'd ended up in her present circumstances flooded her mind. But a girl had to do what she had to do to survive. She would try her best to complete Grant's assignment.

**** ****

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