Building My Life

Chapter 45 - Making Amends

Uélton and Josias avoided each other’s gaze. Since entering the house, Josias had greeted the parents warmly, but not his best friend. Uélton had stayed holed up in his room until his mother practically dragged him out to eat.

Now, the two sat across from each other at the table, neither having the courage to exchange a single word. Josias realized that Uélton had fabricated the “gang attack” story specifically to avoid snitching on him. Deep down, he felt a wave of gratitude.

“That’s a shame, Uélton. I had no idea,” Josias said, breaking the heavy silence. He knew his friend needed an opening to save face.

“You’re new to the favela, boy, so keep your eyes peeled,” Mr. Freire advised. “Unfortunately, it’s the honest, hardworking folks who pay the price these days.”

“It seems the more time passes, the worse people get,” Mrs. Freire sighed, elegantly slicing into a chicken drumstick.

Josias resisted the urge to just grab the chicken with his hands, though it felt impossible since he was struggling with a wing. He was clearly wasting half the meat around the bone. Uélton caught him struggling, and a small, mocking smirk finally surged on his lips. The ice was starting to melt.

“Josias doesn’t even have a stove or a fridge in his room yet,” Wallace announced.

Josias stiffened; he hated drawing attention to his struggles.

“What a hardship, my son!” Mrs. Freire said, remembering the day she donated Wallace’s old clothes. “Speaking of which... where are your parents, dear?”

Josias answered quickly before Uélton could jump in. “My mother left after the divorce and moved away, and my father passed away recently. I came here to start my adult life on my own.”

“My deepest condolences,” Mr. Freire replied solemnly.

Mrs. Freire still had questions about his lack of belongings, but seeing the melancholy in Josias’s eyes, she decided to let it rest. He hid his discomfort by taking a long sip of Guaraná.

The rest of lunch passed without further drama. Josias learned more about them: Mr. Freire was a gardener at a luxury condo; Mrs. Freire took in cleaning jobs when she could; and Wallace worked as a stock clerk at a downtown supermarket.

After lunch, Wallace led the two younger boys to the bedroom and shut the door. Their parents, assuming they were just going to talk about football and girls, took the opportunity to settle in for a nap.

“Alright, let’s convene the Court of Peace,” Wallace said good-naturedly. “We have both sides here. On one hand, Uélton Freire, accused of being a ‘loudspeaker’; and on the other, the victim, Josias Rocha, who missed his chance with a beautiful girl.”

“Stop clowning around, Wallace,” Uélton grumbled, though he didn’t look as angry anymore.

“Who wants to start?” Wallace asked, ignoring him.

“I will.” Josias stood up. “But I’m not here to accuse. Uélton, you have to understand, you put me in a terrible spot with that joke. You made her father think I just wanted to sleep with her. That was never my intention, and I have no idea where Mr. Campos got that idea from in the first place.”

“Look... I know I messed up,” Uélton admitted reluctantly, still refusing to meet Josias’s eyes.

“Even so, I let my anger get the best of me and I took it out on you. That wasn’t right.” Josias’s expression softened. “Forgive me, man. You’re my only friend my age. We’re partners at Seu Romualdo’s. We shouldn’t be fighting.”

Uélton finally looked up. “No, man... you forgive me. I need to learn to put a filter on my mouth.”

Josias smiled and extended his hand. Uélton shook it firmly, but Josias suddenly pulled him into a brief, brotherly embrace.

“There it is!” Wallace clapped his hands.

“Alright, alright, before this gets weird,” Uélton joked, breaking free. Everyone laughed, the tension finally evaporating.

Josias stayed a while longer, getting to know Wallace better. He realized Wallace was a solid role model for Uélton. Eventually, he headed back to the boarding house.

***

He found Teodoro in his office, hunched over a tiny twelve-inch portable television, watching a football match. The screen was so small that Teodoro was squinting just to follow the ball. Josias found the sight comical and knocked on the doorframe.

“Excuse me?”

“Come in, young man,” Teodoro said, eyes glued to the tiny screen.

“I just wanted to let you know I fixed Jeremiah’s door. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Just stay out of his way next time, son. If he pulls anything else, you come straight to me. Now you know where I sleep.”

Josias felt a familiar lump in his throat. He couldn’t stop thinking about that girl — the terror in her eyes, the desperate way she had clawed to get away from Jeremiah. The image haunted him, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Seu Teodoro,” his voice cracked slightly. “Did Jeremiah really not admit that he was trying to force himself on that girl?”

On the TV, the referee blew a whistle for a penalty. At the same exact moment, Teodoro startled, looked up, and stared at Josias, completely stunned by the question.