December 18 （visa expires in 27 days）
I’m not into soccer. I’ve never watched or played the game.
Truth be told, a tutorial about how to cut a pineapple correctly would interest me more than the World Cup final.
But it was the day of the final and Daniel roped me into taking photos of him playing soccer and, later, watching the game.
Even worse – Keren decided to hang out with us, behaving like it was a life-changing event.
She knew zilch about soccer, and I was definitely not the right person to explain to her what ‘offside’ means.
“How did you find people to play with? Do you know them?” I’d been in Phuket much longer than Daniel had and I’d never met a single soccer player.
“Ever heard of Facebook?”
I rolled my eyes.
“You’ve got to get over being so judgmental of social media. It can really be helpful!”
“I didn’t say it can’t, just that it does more harm than good.”
“I’m on social media all the time and I’ve never, ever, been depressed!”
“Oh never mind him, Daniel. Just ignore him. He’s old and crabby.”
“Do you want me to tell Daniel how depressed you were when…”
“Amit! We came here to support Daniel, not to talk about me.”
Truth was, I had no idea how I would have finished that sentence.
Keren had been depressed about so many things I couldn’t care about – the guy who broke up with the girl and vice versa, and the band (Dragon something?) who cancelled their concert in Thailand.
At least Daniel had shown up and made her happy.
I guess that made up for it all and I was really happy for her, even if it was going to be short-lived.
I expected the other players to be Thai, but they turned out to be – and I put this delicately – Vikings.
I wasn’t short, but when you’re facing nine young guys all over six-foot-two who look like they spend half their lives in the gym, you feel like the shortest person in the world.
I heard Daniel swallow and guessed he was feeling the same.
That’s the problem with social media – you never know exactly who a person is from their profile.
Keren and I sat on the grass next to the field.
I tried to shoot a video clip of Daniel with the ball, but he kept getting bowled over by a Viking before I could capture it.
In their world, this might have been normal tackling – everything’s relative.
There was a lot of cursing in Russian. I felt a bit sorry for him, but he pushed through.
Keren cheered in every language she knew, and was rewarded with an occasional smile, making her glow.
Then it started to drizzle, and I put the phones into my waterproof backpack.
Fifteen minutes later, the rain washed out the game; the field was a giant puddle.
I was relieved because Daniel looked beat.
“Pity it was cut short. That was fun.” Daniel grinned when we were in the taxi.
“Are you serious? Take a look at yourself!” His hands and knees were bloody.
“I don’t care how I look. I feel good.”
“You played well, too!” Keren turned out to be blind as well as starstruck.
“Thanks, Keren! Hey babe, did you give the driver my address?”
“No, you’re coming to our place.”
“Why? I was going to watch the final at the bar near my place. It’ll photograph well.”
“You’re limping and bleeding. You need to be tended to! You can’t go out like that or look like that in photos.”
“Nonsense. The Instagram filters will clean it all up.”
“Daniel, you know I’m always on your side, but this time Amit is right. You should take it easy.”
Daniel continued to object but was overruled. I heard him stifle an “ouch” with every step from the car to the front door. Inside, I shoved him into my shower and went to fetch a towel and some of my clothes. I heard him groan as he undressed and wondered if I should offer to help.
He came out of the bathroom wearing only boxers. His legs and arms were covered in cuts; even his back was scratched up. He limped over to the sofa, grimacing, and lay down. The endorphins were clearly subsiding, leaving him with the painful consequences of the game.
I got the bandages and ointments out of my cabinet.
Naama had taught me all the tricks after she’d had to patch Liam up regularly last summer.
Mister tough guy with no fear of pain had signed up for a Thai boxing group to get in shape before going to the army.
Naama found out too late that it was a much rougher sport than expected.
I started dressing Daniel’s wounds and the ingrate just complained.
“That stinks! What is it?”
“It’s called Bengay. Just right for gay boys.”
“Cut it out with the word games. I’m better at it than you.”
“You cut out complaining. I’m nearly done, and the smell won’t last forever.”
“But our love will.”
“Don’t lie,” I said in English. I didn’t find that funny. Our love had less than a month to go. There was no forever.
“Okay,” Daniel tried to get up and I pushed him back down.
“What are you doing?!”
“You told me to stop lying.” Daniel said gleefully as if he’d won the lottery.
“You’re so dumb!”
“Told you I’d out-pun you.”
He rested his head on my lap as we watched the World Cup final. The game seemed to make him forget his woes. Keren called and I reassured her that Daniel was feeling much better.
“Babe, why don’t you have a nickname for me?”
“Why should I? I like Daniel.”
“Aha, you like my name! I’m starting to get under that armor.”
“You wish. I can call you Danny if you like.”
“No. That’s what everyone in New York calls me.”
“But you’re not in New York.”
“No, but the name makes me think of New York.”
“And that’s bad because?”
“C’mon babe, just think of a nickname. You can even call me babe!”
“Nope. Too American. You’re not my baby.”
“Hey. We invented Starbucks. That makes us genius material.”
“How come you’re so dumb, then?”
“You know, you’ve been giving me a hard time ever since we met. You must love something about me, or you’d have ditched me long ago.”
“The only reason I haven’t is because you’re so annoyingly stubborn.”
“And…?” Daniel waited for me to say something nice.
“Well, umm, I’m not the only one who thinks this, so don’t get too excited… you’re pretty.”
Daniel burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You mean handsome? Women are pretty. Don’t you remember the film Pretty Woman ?”
“Oh, um… of course I do. I said pretty on purpose. That’s your nickname from now on – Pretty.”
“That’s fine with me. At least I have a nickname! We should celebrate, babe!”
“Right now the only type of celebration you could handle would be in a home for seniors.”
“I can dance! Look…”
He tried to get up, but his legs buckled in pain.