Here the Whole Time(12)

“That’s great” is all I can say.

Caio gives up on trying to sustain a conversation and starts exchanging texts on his phone with someone more interesting than me. Basically anybody.

We don’t have time to stew in our awkward silence, because a few seconds later my mom knocks on the door and hurries into the room.

“Felipe, I have to teach today and I totally forgot, so there’s no lunch for the two of you. Go to the supermarket and pick up something,” she says, shoving some money in my face.

At the beginning of the year, my mom started volunteering at a nonprofit organization that helps low-income communities in our town. Every Monday she gives art lessons to a group of kids of all ages. It’s not quite a class, because there are no exams, homework, or anything like that. My mom brings her own supplies and helps the kids create whatever they want. Paintings, sculptures, photos, collages. They learn a little bit of everything, and my mom always says that teaching makes her feel good.

I consider my options quickly. My mom spends the entire day at the organization and usually comes home late. Caio is still texting on his phone, and honestly, I don’t know if I can stand an entire day like this.

“Can I come with you?” I ask, before she rushes out of the bedroom.

“What about Caio?” she asks.

“Hi!” he responds, peeling his eyes away from the phone. “Good morning, Rita! What about me?”

“Good morning, honey. I’m off to the community center. I teach art classes every Monday to a group of lovely kids—”

“I’m in!” he says, even before my mom finishes the sentence, and he seems pretty excited by the idea of not having to spend the entire day alone with me.

“Go on, get ready, then, the two of you. I’m already late!” my mom says, clapping her hands.

Two seconds later, Caio is already up. Taking off his shirt. In front of me. The scene doesn’t happen in slow motion with a sax solo in the background. It’s all very quick and natural, as if he were already used to taking off his shirt like this, in front of someone.

Caio puts on a clean shirt, and when he takes off his pajama shorts to get into his jeans, I forget how breathing works. Because for one second my eyes meet Caio’s underwear (black boxers), and my mom is still standing in the doorway. And this is, without a doubt, the weirdest moment of my entire life.

“I’m ready,” says Caio, a smile on his face, as if he expects an award for getting dressed in record time.

The two of them stare at me, waiting for me to do the same. And, of course, I won’t. I’d rather leave the house in my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt with a hole in the armpit than change in front of Caio.

So that’s exactly what I do. I put on a fleece jacket over the old T-shirt, and pants over the shorts I’m wearing, as if it were the most normal thing in the whole world, and a few seconds later, I’m ready, too.

“All right! Now, let’s go!” my mom says, slapping my butt.

As if this morning needed to get any weirder.

“Can I keep the cash?” I ask, holding up the twenty she handed me earlier.

“Keep dreaming, Felipe.” With that, she snaps it out of my hands and kisses my cheek.



We get on a crowded bus but find two empty seats in the back. My mom and Caio take them while I’m left standing, because bus seats were not made for anyone who’s a little larger than the norm. In fact, there are lots of things in the world that were not made for fat people. Bathroom stalls, school desks, and cool clothes are just a few good examples.

“The people I meet at the community center lead such different lives from one another that every week I feel like I’m learning more than I’m teaching, you know?” my mom says to Caio about the kids. “There are toddlers who lost their parents to drugs, and big kids who can barely spell their own names. There’s a fourteen-year-old girl who arrived last week, and when I asked what she wanted to learn, she said she was just dropping off her kid. The girl has a one-year-old son! The cutest baby in the world, but still. It’s a hard life. Having a child so early forces you to learn things that you shouldn’t be old enough to learn.”

I can hear the emotion in her voice, and Caio is listening so intently he barely blinks. That’s my mom’s superpower. When she gets serious, everyone stops to listen.

“I know I’m not teaching these kids a trade. They spend the afternoon playing with glitter glue and Play-Doh. And let’s be honest, art isn’t paying anyone’s bills, you know? If it did, you would be sleeping in a decent guest room, am I right, Caio?” she jokes, and the three of us laugh. “But I like to think that when they spend the day with me, they’re safe. These kids live surrounded by violence, drugs, and abuse. That’s their normal, and I know I can’t protect all of them, but sometimes art can,” she says, and I can see a tear running down her left cheek.

Caio looks at me as if he doesn’t know how to react, so I grab my mom’s hand and squeeze it tight, because I think it’s the right thing to do, and Caio holds her other hand. She brings both our hands to her lips and gives each one a kiss.

It is a beautiful moment, but it would be better if we weren’t in a crowded bus. And if I weren’t wearing briefs and an old pair of shorts under my jeans. Seriously, why did I think this was a good idea?