3 Days Ago

A seven-year-old Jorge walked through Lil Brazil wearing a soccer jersey, some shorts, with a square-shaped cheese pastel(fried dough with cheese inside) in one hand, and cleats slung over his shoulder, being carried by the other. He bit into the brown crust and pulled the pastel away from his mouth, leaving a trail of gooey cheese.

“Yo Jorge!” An excited youthful voice called behind him. Jorge turned around and saw his good old pal Ben, wearing his cleats and carrying a soccer ball.

“Oy,” Jorge responded with a smile. “How’s it-” Jorge frowned when he noticed Ben wearing his brand new, shiny red cleats. “Why are you wearing your cleats now? We’re still on the sidewalk.” Ben just waved his hand at him.

“Tranquilo rapaz,” Ben responded. “Everyone else wears their cleats like this. What’s the big deal?” Jorge just frowned and pointed at his shoes.

“Your mom just got you those Ben!” Jorge said.

“I know,” Ben said with a victorious smile. “Aren’t they awesome.”

“They won’t be awesome if you keep wearing them like this. They’ll get all worn out.”

“Well, I gotta break em in,” Ben said. Jorge rolled his eyes. “Quit being such a goodie two shoes. Ha. Two shoes.” Ben wiggled his feet.

“Ugh. Stop being embarrassing!” Jorge stuck his tongue out at Ben before taking another bite of his pastel.

They continued to walk down the vibrant little street on their way to the soccer field. Smells of meat being cooked over coals on spits emanated from a local churrascaria that Jorge and Ben were passing by. Up ahead was old man Carlos, who was playing samba on an old worn-out guitar. He looked at the two children and stopped playing for a moment.

“Oi!” greeted Carlos. “Nice shoes Ben. Are you two going to play some soccer.”

“Oi velhote,” the two said in unison. Then Ben continued…

“Sim,” Ben replied. “Meu mãe just got them for me.”

“Make sure to take care of them,” responded Old man Carlos.

“Sim, Sim,” Ben said. “Jorge already told me”.

“Listen to Jorginho, Ben,” Carlos said. “He’s right you know.”

“Ok,” Ben sighed.

The two boys waved to Carlos as he went back to the guitar and started strumming out some warm, vibrant chords. The music was heard all the way down the end of the street, until their senses shifted to the heavy scent of herbs being burnt. Ben pinched his nose and turned towards Jorge.

“Let’s hurry up,” Ben said in a nasally voice. “That Macumba shop smells.”

Between two multi-level urban buildings sat a peculiar small shop whose wooden exterior consisted of one round window and a heavy wooden door. Its uneven, slanted construction, along with its juxtaposition to the cityscape around it, made it appear as if it was lifted straight from a fairytale and plopped right in the middle of the city.

“Yeah,” Jorge said. “My mom told me macumba is scary.”

The two boys hurriedly raced to get past the shop as quickly as possible, only the be interrupted by the creaking of the shop’s large oak door lurching open. From the shop emerged an older black woman, tobacco smoke billowing around her which emanated from a wooden pipe clamped in her mouth, which was carved to resemble a bull’s head. She wore a white dress and a matching white cloth head covering along with an assortment of colorful necklaces, some made from colorful beads and others from seashells, which sat around her neck. She towered over the boys and stared down at them with an intensity that froze them in their tracks. She reached up and removed the pipe from her mouth and began to speak to the children. Smoke coming out with each word she spoke.

“You children are in great danger. Especially yooou.” As she said this, she raised a shaking finger forward up as she said this and looked straight ahead.