The Foreigner

13

  The usual trip to the café sounds pretty good when on the second day of your campaign, your voice becomes raspy, your feet hurt and need the shot of caffeine in your body. Walking with the same group, one with the perfect amount of individuals, a dull moment was not a thing in our vocabullary.

  The tables sponsored by a beer brand, along with seats, could be the most prevalent thing in every one of my favourite moments and laughs here.

  Grabbing the espresso cup with his right hand and a lit cigarette with the other, Lucas sighs, eyes targeted to the kids park just around the corner. Fixed on the two small kids, more than a decade younger than us.

  Jota sparks up a new conversation, seeming that all of us let the last one die due to appreciating the coffees.

  "Ana, which one is better? Mango, lemon or peach ice tea?"

  "Lemon, it's sweet but not that much."

  Jota scoffs and turns his head to the side, crossing his arms. "Mango is superior!"

  I laugh at his stance and get back to drinking my coffee. The sound of chairs moving and steps doesn't take my attention from the little cup.

  "Sometimes I wish I didn't hate this city so much, that something would come along and make me want to stay. Perhaps someone who could show me the beauty of this town." Lucas's eyes, strictly staring into my own, they didn't roam away from its target - me.

  I decide to be the one to break the staring contest, shaking the sugar packet place in the saucer, mostly occupied by the tiny cup. I notice, then, that Jota and Beatrice - or Sofia -, disappeared into the café. It must be why he spoke about this matter. Talking internally to my self and think of an answer good enough for what he said, I reconnect our eyes.
  His expression softens.

  "I'll help you find something beautiful in this place. You're just looking at it with tired eyes, ones that need a fresh vision. A new point of view. I can help."

  Underneath my words there was a promise: reivent his perspective on the small town he grew up on. Show him the idea of being known for who he already knows is not as tiring as he's portraying.

  Strickly, in the moment Lucas places the cigarette butt on the ashtray, our two friends in common, come back to the table. Arguing, as always. This time about flavours of macarons. As soon as I tune in the conversation, my attention goes back to the boy in front of me. Gray eyes - with flecks of blue, a shade that reminds the deep end of an ocean - battled with my blues, a lighter version of his flecks. And we both stood there in silence, not breaking the contact, listening to our friends bicker.

•••

  Sofia joins the seat besides mine, the ones in the back of the swings occupied by our male friends.

  "I've noticed there is something between you and Machado, am I right? Or am I just delusional?"

  "In the most brutally honest way I can be, yes. You are delusional. Sofia, I can't make this up! Remember when we were walking by the street and this guy, who you were interested in for a couple of days, he was just trying to push the button so the light could turn green and cross the street. He brushed your arm a bit, didn't even look in our way, nothing! The moment we started to make our way across, you say, loudly, he's the love your life. That he brushed your arm because of an excuse to make you notice him. Be fucking for real, love." I shake my head, looking her dead in the eyes.

  "At least, I'm relatable!"

  "That you are!"

  "Hm, I noticed what you did there! Trying to make me forget the question I asked you about Machado. Nuh-uh! Answer, now!" Sofia crosses her arms, eyebrows raised and a serious look in her face.