Memories of a Life That Never Happened

Chapter 65 - Search Party

If there were such a thing as a bread heaven, it would smell exactly like the bakery that Theo had just passed on the street. He dashed past the shops with obstinacy stamped on his face, so much so that couples and groups coming from the opposite direction parted, allowing him to go on like a hot blade through soft butter.  

For the length of the block, the air smelled of the fresh baked goodies. Soon, as people left work and headed home, the small shop would be crammed with every inhabitant of Buriti and then some. In an ordinary day, Theo would go in and buy two slices of cake. One for him, one for Alan. Today, things were different. His friend was not by his side and his stomach was tied into a knot that food would only aggravate. 

Finally arriving at the bookshop, Theo pushed the door open a smidgen too hard and saw it coming to slam back at him with. Out of instinct, Theo pulled up his arm to soften the blow. It should have helped, except that his arm went straight through the door window, crashing the glass that fell over him.  

It took Theo a minute to realize what had just happened. He blinked at the paralyzed clerk. Two brown eyes stared at him in shock. The bald, skinny man hurried from behind the counter. As he did, Theo noticed his chopstick-like legs.  

"Sweet Jesus!" the bookseller cried. Instead of scolding him for the broken window as Theo expected, the man grabbed his arm. "Are you ok?"  

It was only then that Theo felt a sting in his arm and noticed the blood dripping down his elbow, staining his shorts. Then he focused on the piece of glass protruding from his upper arm.  

Lucky for him, Mica was not around to witness him swooning. Even luckier, the pharmacist was right next door. He was also a very good friend of the bookshop owner. In less than half an hour, Theo had regained conscience and his arm, though as injured as his pride, was clean and bandaged.  

After knocking, waiting, knocking again, and waiting some more, Abel stepped out of the portico. For the last time, he peered inside Mica's house through the cleft in the curtains. It looked as empty as it sounded. Hip-slacked, he fiddled with a dry twig, pondering.  

It did not take long for him to drop the dead sprig on the ground and start making his way back to the village. If anyone had news from Mica, it would be Sandra. 

"Hey, Abel!" someone called from across the street. The red-haired boy was Abel's cousin. His father was a fishmonger and he was the shop's cashier-slash-delivery boy.  

"Giorgio!" Abel held out a hand and his cousin clasped it before they bumped knuckles. "What you up to?" 

Giorgio lifted an empty bag. "Delivery for Mrs. Agostino. Twisted ankle," he told Abel. 

"Right."  

"What about you?" 

Abel jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "Just passing by. Made a quick stop at Mica's."  

"So, what's the deal between you two?" Giorgio asked as they resumed walking. "I mean, I always thought you liked her, but I've been seeing you with this new chick..." 

"Bianca," Abel offered. 

"Big city chick?" 

"That's right." 

"You stud!" Giorgio gave Abel's shoulder a playful punch. "So are you two a thing?" 

Abel snorted. "Hardly. Bianca's freaking hot. I mean, man, she has this tight butt." His fingers curled up into claws and he squeezed the air. "Nah, but she's too spoiled." He waved a hand in dismissal. "She digs all the rubbing and kissing, sure, but that floozy wants whatever she wants whenever she wants it." 

"I get it. You're like those high-speed trains." Giorgio told his cousin, who looked a bit puzzled. 

"You're moving fast, but as long as you run in parallel, it's fine," he explained. "What about Mica?" 

A sly smirk etched in Abel's lips.  

"What can I say? I just don't take no for an answer." 

In an alley near La Bodeguita, a very desolate Jean-Pierre sat on a wooden bench. Two middle-aged women with greasy hair and missing teeth were shamelessly scrutinizing him. They giggled and dug each other's elbows, seeming both amused and attracted by the foreigner's fashion style.  

His sported tailored khaki shorts, with a tucked-in green polo shirt and a lustrous brown leather belt to assure the whole ensemble rested in due place. To protect his surely baby-soft feet, he wore white soled suede Dockers. His only mishaps were the two dark circles developing under his armpits as result of his rampant sweating. After all, for the past three hours he had been rambling incessantly in search of Mica. 

He would manage to convince even the locals that he had indeed been visiting the city, for during his quest Jean-Pierre explored every nook of every place he could enter-which were not that many anyway. 

Each empty corner made his shoulders drop a bit and his feet shuffle slower. Now, the sun was too strong and he was too tired to continue with his fruitless pursuit. Besides, he was as clueless as he looked in terms of his whereabouts.  

So when a rust and dust covered bus stopped in front of him and opened its door, he entered. In Jean-Pierre's opinion, any direction was a good direction if you did not know where to go. He found a seat among the chatty fellow passengers, whose unpleasant bodily odors filled the vehicle. Opening the window above him, Jean-Pierre looked outside and studied his surroundings.  

Seven stops and half an hour later, he got off at what he recognized to be the main square. To his right side, he recognized Abel, sheltered from the sun under the shade of a tree just like everyone else. He was licking a chocolate ice cream and staring at the building opposite him. A painted sign hanging over the door indicated that it was a pharmacy. Not a minute had passed when Theo came out of the building with his arm on a sling.  

How curious was it that those three boys had each spent most of that lazy, sun-filled afternoon searching eagerly for the same girl. And yet, none of them could neither imagine nor stop what was about to happen to Mica.