The Life He Left Behind
Short Story
      He moved into the tunnel a day after his twin sister’s birthday. The family smiled feigned smiles all through the empanadas, and ensaladas, and continued laughing forced laughs through the asado and eventually the flan. Cejar sipped some vino that fizzed in the ornate glasses nearby, but it did nothing to soothe his nerves. He bit into the stale pionono, then tried a bit of his vanilla pastel, but tasted nothing in either. The men were waiting for him, and he had planned to leave earlier that day before the celebration could begin. He had been stalled by his girlfriend, Lu, who knew where he was going and why he asked for three cans of azul and two of amarillo. 
		“Querido, what’s the matter? Did you eat something bad?” Mama saw but chose not to see the look in his eyes of a not-so-hidden secret. 
	“Yeah, I think I need some rest. Buenas noches, Mama.” Cejar scooted slowly away, ducking under her propped-up arm in the hallway. Valentina took one look back at him and saw a boy taller than herself, a dirty Boca jersey hanging from his lanky back, quietly slinking away for what may be the last time. She knew their time was almost up together; Cejar had just not been himself lately.
	The blue and yellow on his bag were the colors of his life. He protected those colors, prayed for them, cried for them, bled for them. His parents knew he went to La Bombonera to see the glorious matches between La Boca and rival teams. What they didn’t know, Cejar thought to himself, was how that was about to become his life; his only life. 
	“We’ll pick you up at 3 am. Right outside the bus stop. Then we’ll take the bus to La Bombonera to give you…a little tour.”
	“But I’ve been there before.” A new pit of fear was developing in Cejar’s stomach. 
	The phone hung up. Cejar silently threw some neutral-colored clothes, money, and food into a tattered sack, and set out from his back window. He walked and walked on the cobblestone streets, trying not to draw attention to himself. The yellow glow of the lamplights against the pitch-black Buenos Aires night gave Cejar little comfort as a group of burly men began to appear out of the dark. 
	“Cejar Ferucci!” The tallest one shouted. “Hear you wanna work for us.” He moved closer, and his voice lowered. “You start out in the lots. Charge the tourists more, and River fans even more. 15 pesos regular price, but hey…do what you gotta do.” A roaring sound began to arise in the distance, and the nose of the bus rolled into the empty dirt track behind them. The doors slid open and a few people quickly rushed off, in a hurry to get out of the threatening night. Among the faces, Cejar thought he saw his girlfriend, Lu. She was carrying what looked like five aerosol cans. His insides churned as her smoky brown eyes darted at him in wild jolts of warning. 
	“What are you doing here?” Cejar choked in the smallest voice possible.
	“What did you say?” Armado, the tall one, spat at him, then followed his gaze, his eyes flickering for a split second when he saw Lu. 
	“Oh, your girlfriend wants to come, does she?” Armado’s eyes flickered. “Well, nińo…you tell her you gotta go away for a little while. Go along now...” Lu, ignoring the daunting figure, got onto the waiting bus but didn’t break eye contact with Cejar. 
	“10 more seconds ‘til departure. 10-9-8-“ An automated announcement rang throughout the bus stop. 
	“This isn’t our stop. Wait here with us.” Armado’s voice became increasingly forceful. Before he even knew himself what he was doing, Cejar ran onto the bus, just as the glass door was sliding shut. Something somewhere had told him to get away from those men. The bus sped off, and he could hear the furious shouts of the barra bravas behind him. He turned to look at Lu. 
	“Why did you do it?” He panted.   
	“I brought the aerosol you wanted,” she responded, not answering his question.
	“A lot of good that will do me now. I’ve run away, and have nowhere to go.”
	“Let’s get out of here, then,” Lu said, as the bus pulled to a stop. They slowly stepped off into the night. Snow lay along the mountainside that bordered this rural bus stop, and the only place they spotted for shelter lay in a pitch-black opening on the snowy cliffs. By the time they had hiked there, Cejar’s initial adrenaline rush had worn off and he tired. 
	“We could sleep in the corner here. It’s muddy, but not rocky.” Cejar took off his abrigo and set it out as a blanket, and Lu did the same. They slept, shivering, until morning arrived in a white light through a slit in the rocky walls. The sun began to illuminate an amazing expanse of murals on the walls. Pink octopus, bright orange and red suns, blue faces of political figures, huge signatures of historical and local taggers. Lu had lef him somewhere tragically thrilling. Trying not to wake her, sleeping curled up in a feable attempt at avoiding the inevitable chills of night, Cejar unzipped his bag and removed the paint cans Lu had given him the night before. As he began to spray “Kore,” his well-known nickname, in blue and yellow, all his fear from last night faded. He worked the giant emblem to perfection, and eventually a big mural of his own lay across the rocks shining with the glow of fresh, bold paint. 
	As Lu and Cejar were discussing what would happen next, the feeling of anxiety crept back into Cejar’s bones. The barra bravas, he realized, would be coming after them soon. Or worse, his family. And Flor, his sister, would already not be forgiving him anytime soon. 
	“Mi padre,” he prayed, “keep them safe while I am gone, por favor.” 
	“Cejar.” Lu whispered, in the midst of his closed-eyed stupor. 
	“Cejar, there is something you should know.” He opened his eyes to see Lu’s beautiful, afraid ones in front of him.  A twinge of deeply-buried lust shook his heart for a fraction of a second before she said something that truly shook him to the bones. 
	“My father is Armado’s boss. You wondered why you never met him, why he is never home. Now you know.” Lu looked down at the slow drip of snow melt into a small icy pond between them and the jagged rocks they sat upon. 
	“So-so they knew you?” Cejar’s hands rattled.
	“They know me, yes. But they can’t touch me. Boss’s daughter? No way. I told my father I needed some aerosol, and you know, he has cans of it in his truck. Says the boys aren’t using it nearly as often as they should.” 
	Cejar just sat there in a silence colder than the morning air. “So they can find out through your papá who my family is, since they saw us together last night. That’s just great, Lu. And eventually, they’ll have to find you, too, to keep boss in good spirits. Lu…we’ll be here forever.” They shared a look indescribable to anyone not there, and Cejar slowly reached into the bag of paint, handing her a can of azul. 
	“You’ll learn in no time. Just watch how I do it.” And he began covering a blank space of wall in light blue. First one line, then another right across it, then another across that. Skipping a space, he repeated the action below, then picked up a yellow pinta can, and sprayed a yellow sun between the two shining blue rectangles. Then he looked up.
	“Thank you, Lu. We might be stuck here. But you saved my life last night. I don’t need to be apart of them to be proud of this country, you know? Or of La Boca, for that matter. I’ve been thinking…when it comes down to it, we’ll all be next to each other in the stadiums supporting our country together in a couple months anyway.” With that, Cejar painted a “por siempre” by the flag. Lu took his hand as they sat back down, against the cold wall of stone, feet resting just to the side of the puddles that glowed a vibrant orange in the light of the sun.













Keys 1