Beyond the end

Against the wind

Brandon and Dylan landed in Ecuador around noon, local time. Dylan hadn't said a word for the whole trip. His brain was a compendium of bad ideas and bad decisions that he disassembled and reassembled at will. Brandon would not have been surprised at all if, as soon as he landed, had bought a gun to shoot that man. Sometimes it was hard to feel Dylan, other times it was the best thing for him. They are so different yet united by a thin red thread that had never broken. Loose maybe. But never broken. When one pulled, the other could clearly feel it. It was exactly for this reason that Brandon had strongly wanted to go with him. By instinct. For the fear that something more serious would happen. Because he knew the outs of Dylan's silhouette. Because he didn't want to leave him alone.
He had no idea what would happen and the little information he had was the one he had obtained himself. And they weren't good.
Sammy had been missing for less than 24 hours. They couldn't call home. He couldn't know how Kelly, Brenda and everyone else were. They couldn't do anything. Too risky.
Xavier arrived aboard a Jeep. He greeted Dylan with a hug and quick presentations were made. The heat was venting Brandon. She put in a pair of sunglasses for the blinding light and the fact that the Jeep was without a hood was kind of scorching relief.
They arrived at the family home and Brandon fell into Dylan's world. Stretchy hands greeting him with joy and asking who the foreigner Brandon was, asking if he had chewing gum and pencils. Brandon was not new to misery and these places forgotten by God. It was reminded of Afghanistan, Iraq, India and a flair of thoughts, faces and names that he had met and that he had always tried to guard.
Some little girls asked about Brenda. When would she come back? And they got very strange when Dylan didn't answer the questions.
Although he tried to maintain a spirit of appearance, Dylan's tension was palpable and the children cannot be lied to. No one could. Not even Dylan.
Isabel prepared fresh fruit on a tray and they settled in the garden.
In those few days none of Perreira's men had come to ask about the boys. It seemed that bad story was over and instead it wasn't over at all.
Dylan was forced to tell everything and reveal why he came back so early.
Xavier listened in silence and understood why Don Perreira's henchmen had given him an appointment for the afternoon. He tried to ask to be exempted. That man gave him fear.
The two were born in the same neighborhood, the same street and the same hunger. They knew each other as a child and Perreira had always been a cap. A corporal of evil. Born in complete poverty as Xavier. They had chosen different paths. Perreira had walked the path of easy and evil-sbursed wealth.
"I couldn't" he turned to Brandon alone "when you are born in these places is almost always the easiest choice. Growing up on the street can make you evil. It can make you rot inside."
Dylan led Brandon inside the building, showed what he was involved in, wich kids Perreira wanted, 13/14 year old girls to start prostitution, 13 year old boys to be intoxicated with chemicals to prepare cocaine. He almost wanted to convince himself that he didn't go wrong. He wanted Brandon to feel him. Touch him with his hand. He told him.
"It's always like that," Brandon thought, "things always seem so far away, we are in our safe homes, with our beautiful car; the biggest problem is whether to eat Japanese or Italian"; he swelled in a bitter taste that he knew well and that Dylan showed him. He understood why Dylan escaped from Los Angeles to return to those places. It was as if that pain with which the walls were impregnated covered his, he felt overwhelmed by it. He calmed him down. He was quieting him down.
Brandon listened to Xavier, his story, the story of the day he found Dylan in the middle of a street. He did not run away from himself or others but went to himself. Against the wind.
How could Dylan explain it to someone? Let it be feel?.
He looked at his friend with calm eyes. Dylan was also just a man. Like him. They had met halfway. Without knowing it.
He thought a nice article might be of interest to some American association. Especially the Latin ones, maybe some kids could still be saved. One more. Even just one.
Suddenly he returned the desire to leave, to go there where no one wanted to go. Maybe that was the reason he was gone for so many years. Not to feel that sense of emptiness. He had clung to that to save himself. Against the wind. He too.
After lunch they settled in the car. It was as if the city was guarding them and following their path. The only way was to pay and wait for Sammy to return home. There was nothing else to do. No heroic act. The city was shrouded in a blinding sun as they climbed up the hill. Towards the fief of Perreira. Behind, a briefcase with money. More than agreed. Because now the stake to be redeemed had increased dramatically .. American dollars. In cash. Not marked. The automatic gate opened and Brandon and Dylan looked at each other looking for a hook in each other's eyes. They clung to the red thread. Against the wind.