Felipe, please...

Rio De Janeiro, June 1994.

As much as I love Felipe, I sometimes wish he were fucking dead. \

Countless times. I mean, counteless times. I had to go to the police department and beg for his release. Petty theft. That should have been his bloody middle name. I have seen him ride so many different bicycles, one would assume he own a fucking bicycle factory.

But Felipe is just too charismatic for jail. Angel's green eyes, tall and tanned and young and lovely. Youth is wasted on the young for all I know. He grew up stealing hearts and so he went on to steal groceries to bicycles and everything in between. Force of nature, he is.

Spitted image of my brother. Only when it came to looks. Renato was a man of the bible. His smile and his work ethic-they were strong. Unlike his lungs-deficient since birth. It has been sixteen years and I haven't spoken about it much, apart from trying to comfort my sister-in-law. She has been working herself to death since then.

I never got to have children of my own and despite being just nine years older than Felipe, I got to have a son of my own in a sense. Except, I would spank his sorry ass cause his mum wouldn't. Christ gave me this cross to carry. A cross with emerald eyes but it was nothing compared to the cross that he had given Renato and his widow. I cook, clean after him and praise the Lord for being merciful to me. It's like the misfortunes of Job.

I woke up, did laundry, made an orange juice , and once more I received a phone call from the officers at the police department. I'm guessing he spent the night there. Every year with this boy, I grow up four years, dear Lord. Forgive me, Father for I will go Porrada on this boy all the way to Iguacu.

Minutes later, I was fuming. I never believed that I would say that but I wish he had been stealing this time. Marcus, a family friend and local officer told me off with a really polite tone. It hurt a lot whatsoever.

Lais, you know that we have never charged the boy with anything. Were it not for Renato and you, he would have been doing time. This time, it's different. Dealing dope? Is he out of his mind? Everyone knows him. The people he is working for are devils, Lais. On top of that when BOPE squads storm the favela, they hold no quarter. Only you can do something.

This is a different burden now. Do I tell his mum? Will she even do anything? How do I go about it? I felt the blood pumping on my temples. Honest to God, I will kill him today.

After two long hours of me shouting at this poor excuse of a nephew until my throat got this feeling of blood and chalk. Coarse, bitter and impossible even to swallow, Felipe left my house with tears in his eyes saying that he was going to his mother's place for a while. It didn't cross my mind that he would lie. He seemed really humbled by the experience. Little did I know.

I didn't hear from him for the next couple of months. I would meet his mum on the regular at church and she would tell me that he is fine and works for a little newasgent's in Leblon. She said that he is happy with the cash but he is always exhausted. I felt happy and proud. Maybe he's done with the streets now. He is setting his priorities straight and he felt the Lord's hand guiding him.

As I held onto that thought my hopes started to die. The boy was marked by the devil. I was to find out soon. Our neighbour's daughter, Carine was getting engaged. They invited me, Felipe and his mum to the engagement dinner. We ate, drank, wished her all the best and danced till the morning. Felipe and I barely spoke to each other. I noticed he was wearing a fancy white shirt and had styled his hair neatly to the side. He seemed to have lost a lot of weight and his mother kept filling his plate but he wouldn't eat. He seemed to be itchy too and went on cursing the damn mosquitoes.

Shook my head over and over again. It's just my idea. I am being paranoid. The boy is just tired. I am not a hound dog sniffing him for punishable acts. He is almost eighteen years old. We need to give him some space. I'll have another Caipirinha. Cheers to you , Carine!

Six Months Later

The Minister of Justice is offering 6000 BRL to the person that will find his beloved Macaw Parrot, Rico. The Minister appears to be furious after strangers barged into his mansion in Leblon, stole his collection of watches and Rico who has been with the family for more than twenty years. His wife saw a couple of young men running to the exit. Luckily no one was harmed.

It's midnight and I hear someone knocking on my door furiously.

Tia! Tia! Abra a porta por favor! Caralho!

It was Felipe. He stormed inside holding a huge cardboard. Before I even said a word. Not a single sound. A screech from the depths of hell was heard louder than a gunshot. But it was not the screech that caught my attention. Felipe was trembling and his arms ,which were now thin like sugar canes, were full of jab marks.

His eyes went from fear and begging for mercy to anger. He uttered something, I couldn't hear him over the sound of screeching and winging. He spat on the floor and ran outside.

For the following ten days his mother and I tried to contact him. Spoke to all of his friends in the favela, his old football coach, people from the church and eventually the police. Our friend Marcus, he said he would even ask his informers but nothing surfaced.

In the meantime, the god-forbidden bird was eating my fruit, my seeds and my furniture. I had no idea what to do with it. I might be even blamed for stealing it or worse it might point everyone's attention at Felipe.

After ten days, when we started calling hospitals we found that Felipe was being hospitalised at Samaritano Hospital. We went there as soon as we could. He had bandages wrapped around his ribs. Some dealer stabbed him twice on his lowerback and missed his kidney by an inch.

Dr Pereira came in and it was obvious that he was worried.

The boy's wounds are fine. He is stabilized and there is no internal bleeding from what we can deduce. I have some really bad news ,though. I assume that your nephew had been injecting heroine. He is HIV positive and there is a significant viral load. We can only hope that we can extend his lifespan as much as possible. There is a lot of ongoing research, there can be hope.

I do not even recall the bus ride home. I remember getting a ticket and collapsing on my bed and time punishing me by going by slower.

God why? Why did you put us in your aquarium and blew free will inside us? Why did you give us choice if we can choose to destroy ourselves? We would be happier with less of your Logos, less of your spirit and soul. Happy like Rico. Rico who eats and screeches and poops. Rico who doesn't dodge blades or bullets. Rico who barely remembers the family he lost. Rico whose pain was only physical and his regrets momentary. Pain is universal but pain is human first and foremost.

Forgive me, father for this blasphemy. Forgive me for taking my anger on the kid. It's all my fault. I should have kept him here. I only have myself to blame. How did we not see this?

Two Months Later at the Police Department

Marcus who would greet me with a guilty smile, with his thin moustache, always sharp in his dark blue uniform. He was now gasping for air. I felt an iron clutch grasping my sternum from inside trying to shatter my bones as if they were hollow. Hollow like a parrot's bones.

Lais, can you identify the body? I am sure is him. The coroner said that it was overdose. We found him in an alley by Ipanema.

Since the shroud was lifted, I remember my voice. I remember my voice echoing in the dark, narrow corridors of death. Corridors built in the palace of life. It was not the voice of a human. It was a screech. A screech of someone who had been stolen from a life with their loved ones and the trembling of my arms. It was a winging. My youth, his youth. Youth wasted on the young.

I never returned the bird. Maybe, it was the only thing that I got to remember Felipe. Maybe, because parrots are trouble, I still wanted that troubled creature around me. Maybe I needed something to care for. It was an inadequate compensation but it was life. Life had return to my small Cantagalo shant. Life had proud colours and noise and struggle.

As much as I wish Rico were dead, I fucking love him.