face behind her long hair. I grabbed her arm and walked her out.
“You two behave yourselves, huh! Or I’ll have to tell your parents what you’re up to!” Xico again.
“Get out, Xico. We’ll talk later.” Threatened Pablo.
“Maybe we should go, too,” said Rita.
…
Pablo and I had heard on the radio that there was supposed to be a meteor shower visible in the south of Brasil. Neither of us knew what to expect, but Pablo somehow convinced our mother to let us invite our friends for a sleepover to watch it all together. It was a school night and it meant skipping the next day, as the shower wasn’t supposed to hit until 3am. But saying ‘no’ to Pablo was never an easy quest, so he and I invited Rita, Clara, Xico, and Xico’s older brother Marcos, and we all camped downstairs.
Pablo and Rita set the fire and spent most of the time talking to each other, laughing and watching the flames dance for them. Pablo played with Rita’s toes while she talked; their cheeks red with heat. Clara, Xico, Marcos and I took turns playing Damas and Cinco Marias. Marcos’s age was sort of in between Pablo’s and mine, and it seemed to leave him conflicted as to where he stood in our little social circle. Every now and then Rita and Pablo would go out to the yard, and Marcos would just watch them like a house cat does when its owners take the dog for a walk, trying to understand why he was never included in their daily outings while also maintaining the hope that he was better off in the warm cozy house, with its toys and soft pillows.
“You should go,” said Xico to his brother.
“What do you know?!” said Marcos.
“Sim, go ahead and bark at me. I know you’re lame as hell is what I know.”
“Shut up, piá.” Marcos got up and headed for the door.
Xico shook his head from side to side.
“Just let him be, Xico,” said Clara after Marcos had shut the door behind him.
“What a loser,” he whispered.
“Like you’re any different,” she said, carefully piling up the little cloth bags. Xico went toward the fireplace.
We ate sandwiches we made ourselves downstairs. Mãe had bought a liter of Cola at the store, and made chimarrão to help us stay awake. While we ate, we gathered as close to the fire as we could. Pablo and Rita had told us they had a plan, and we were waiting to hear it. Pablo had found a piece of tarp large enough for us to lay in, and at 2:50 sharp, we’d go out to our backyard, taking all the blankets, pillows, jackets, scarves, gloves and whatever else we could to keep us warm while we waited.
“How about we make another fire?” asked Xico.
“How about you make another fire?! Right now! And keep feeding it until it’s time for us to go out!” Marcos glared at his brother.
“I don’t think a fire is a good idea,” said Pablo, looking at Xico. “The darkest our surroundings, the better the view is what I heard. Apparently big cities can’t see it that well.”
We got through everything we had in front of us down to the very last slice of salami and bread crust, while we wondered what these meteors would look like.
“Just like shooting stars, I think,” said Clara. “Isn’t that what they are anyway?”
“I don’t know. Is it? I thought it was different,” I said.
“Does that mean we get to make a wish for every one we see?” Rita asked Pablo.
“Claro!” he said, with a smile. “Doesn’t mean they’ll come true, though.” Rita laughed and slapped his shoulder.
Rita and Clara shared the large mattress, and us boys laid blankets folded in half as close to the fire as we could. Pablo laid his by Rita’s side, and the two of them whispered stories to each other, while we played Clara’s favorite game, where somebody would give us one word, and the first to sing any song with it would win.
When Pablo’s alarm went off, we were all in such deep sleep that for a few seconds it felt as though we were in a sort fire-colored-collective-nightmare. Rita mumbled something and turned her back to the fire. Xico and his brother looked even more alike than usual; their mouths wide open, belly up, knees bent and arms behind their heads. Pablo looked at me as if daring to go out when everybody else wouldn’t, but I already had my gloves and cap on, and the two blankets in hand.
Both Pablo and I got sick after that night. The meteor shower would have been underwhelming to most experienced watchers, more like two or three shooting stars. But for us, it felt magical. Shooting stars on a time clock! Pablo, who had teased Rita earlier, was encouraging me to wish that we could stay in Minas forever. He’d shut his eyes for a moment then look at me to make sure I had done the same.
…
With three more months until the end of the school year, Pablo saw it as his duty to convince our parents to stay in Minas do Leão, but at dinnertime, all our father talked about was soccer matches, movie theaters, about the things he had heard college kids did for fun. The parties they would go to, the concerts they had on campus, the opportunities he would get. Nothing seemed to affect Pablo. He wanted to stay, he wanted our father’s job. Once in an act of desperation Pai told Pablo something along the lines of, “Not to mention the girls, son. They just take better care of themselves in the city.”
To which our mother responded, “Thank you, Antonio. That is very worldly of you. You should fit right in in this big city. A gentleman really.” She walked out to tend to the garden.
Mãe didn’t look at our father for a few days after that. She would feed him and clean after him. She would offer to trim his hair or pluck lint out of his clothes. She would do everything she always did, except look at him. For those days, Pai’s hunched back was even more hunched over in the hopes of meeting her gaze. But Mãe seemed determined. Pablo confided in me one night how much he was enjoying their argument. Hoping that our mother’s resentment could steer all of our lives in the right direction.
“When do you leave?”
Clara stood on top of a high branch, holding on to another above her head. That was her favorite avocado tree, and she knew it like her own home. I had sat on a little nook and was watching two gaivotas glide eastward.
“Once school is over,” I said.
“Do you know where you’ll live?”
I shrugged. “Pai has been looking. I don’t know. I don’t care.”
She had hooked her legs around the branch and was hanging upside down.
“Do you want to go?” Her blond hair hung and swayed with the breeze.
I shrugged again.
“I think I’m going for the guava,” I said.
“Tá bom. I’ll be right there.”
Clara’s family was preparing to move, too. But they were going to Caxias do Sul, where the rest of her family was. She said she already had a few friends there. Most people were moving, as there
