Memories of a Life That Never Happened

Chapter 19 - The Prize

Simple and modest, the Ortiz family's home was closer to the woods than to the town center. It stood in an undesirable dirt road, which they shared with two other houses but only one hermit of a neighbor.  

Understandably, the town hall was frugal with its expenses when this road was concerned and could not spare more than three light poles to lighten the street. That night, as usual, Mica's home was shrouded by darkness. 

The old television tinged the living room of an eerie blue. Escobar was collapsed on the couch, his wife cuddled in his chest, sleeping.  

Mica moved closer to them, out of the shadows. 

"What are you watching?" She sat on the couch's armrest beside him. 

Escobar let out a soft sigh, careful not to wake Jacira.  

"The news," he whispered.  

As a rule, the evening newscast relayed nothing but misery and disasters.  

"Anything good?"  

"You know that murder all over the news? The politician and his girlfriend, found dead in bed? At first, the police thought it was a crime of passion. They figured she had killed him and shot herself later. Now, it seems someone else was in the room. The blood stains do not match the position of the bodies." 

"So they were both murdered?"  

"Looks that way."  

Mica turned to face Escobar. His eyes were vacant, his mind clearly elsewhere.  

"He was about to expose a lot of people. Powerful people. He was going to testify in court within a few days. He was supposed to name names, denounce people who embezzled funds from the presidential campaign."  

Mica studied her mother. The television light washed her face in changeful colors, like a chameleon. Jacira looked so peaceful, fast asleep in the arms of the man she loved.  

Seeing them together like that, no one could tell they had had a heated argument shortly after Escobar got home. Nevertheless, their discussions were worlds apart from those that Jacira and Angelo used to have. Mica's parents would always end up hurting each other. With Escobar, things were very different. Underneath the loud words, Mica still sensed the tenderness between them. These quarrels were caring sparks that rose from the clash of two strong minds. 

"How long since she fell asleep?"  

Escobar brushed the tips of his finger in Jacira's arm, watching over her.  

"Not long enough. She needs her rest." 

"What were you fighting about?" 

Escobar tilted his chin toward the rattan dresser under the television. Mica walked to it. Her parents had built it themselves, she remembered.  

Next to the TV, there was an envelope, which Mica took. She turned to Escobar. "What's this?" 

"Open it," he said wearily.  

With a flick and a pull, there it was. In her hands, Mica held the Christmas gift of her dreams, one she always figured unattainable. Shocked, she gaped at it for a while and then her eyes met Escobar's again. The tremor of her hands would measure eight on the Richter scale.  

"Are these-?"  

Escobar nodded. Even a blind man would have recognized how much she longed for one of these.  

"You bought them?" Her green eyes were big and alive.  

Even though she could not gauge their exact price, she knew those tickets cost a small fortune. At least for her family. No, for anyone in Buriti. If Escobar had paid for them, she could make sense of Jacira's anger. It was a wonderful, lovely gesture, but one they could never afford.