(GAVIN)

It’s been six months since I arrived in Rio.

And somewhere in my consciousness, I know that warning shots and increasingly insistent complaints are making a lot of noise. But here, driving my blue 4x4 at full speed along the avenues that border the (polluted) beach of Botafogo, with the beloved company of my best friend, I manage to quiet those bravados. We are happy, healthy, thriving more and more each day, and increasingly determined not to return to the United States.

Donovan is three years older than me, has dark skin and short curly hair. He is wearing trousers and a dress shirt; a coat rests on his shoulders. I notice him looking at the landscape outside with that unmistakable sparkle in his eyes, the same one since he landed at Galeão and saw he was indeed in Brazilian lands. I arrived a week later and was greeted by an unusually excited Donovan.

We came for business and nothing could be better: my English course for natives was going great, the investments I made in the company were more than successful, and my best friend and the second man in charge at Urus was fully happy. And it was very good to see someone I had once seen sunk in depression smiling like that.

"Shall we stop for a bit?" Donovan asks. He started speaking in Portuguese even when we are alone, and I’ve gotten used to it. So I answer in Portuguese too:

"Here? You know this beach is not suitable for swimming, right? And it’s already eleven at night, we need to go home. We’ve been out all day and I really need to eat something."

"We'll stop at a kiosk and grab a bite," he replies, looking once more at the dirty sea that, in his mind, seems beautiful and inviting. And yes, he used the word "beliscar" instead of "degustar". He has definitely "got the hang of" Brazilian slang and even speaks like a native now.

"I don't know..."

"Stop being annoying, I won't even swim. I just want to see the sea."

"The sea filled with trash and excrement?"

"The word you want to use is 'poop'," he laughs. "We also have 'caca', 'crap', 'poo', 'sh...'."

"I know all that," I cut in, exasperated. "I have to know, I run a course for Brazilians to speak like native Americans."

"But you could try to speak like a native Brazilian too, you know."

Yes, he said "you know". And I love that... word. It means nothing and everything at the same time, two letters that perfectly express the speaker's sentiment. I definitely love this language! Not more than Donovan, of course.

"I speak like a native Brazilian..." I murmur.

"A little bit, only," he teases. Then he goes back to pleading: "Ten minutes is all I ask."

Defeated, I sigh and murmur:

"Okay, it’s just ten minutes... And I’ll time it," I make a brief fuss, but he knows it’s pure childish irritation and doesn’t credit it. Point for him.

I slow down and look for a place to park. Some buses and cars still pass on the road, but far less than the busy and turbulent daily traffic of rush hour. It's a relatively warm Thursday, but here near the beach, it’s much cooler. In fact, as soon as I turn off the car and step onto the boardwalk, I feel a cold wind chilling my spine. I frown and button up the last buttons of my salmon shirt. Donovan closes the car door and waits for me to set the alarm, which emits a subtle warning sound before we head towards a large block of rocks. I notice he left his coat in the car but say nothing.

Some American beaches are made only of rocks, especially in the colder states. Others, like those in California, are very similar to those in Copacabana and Ipanema, warm and sandy. Botafogo beach had sand, but also a section made just of dark rocks. You could see that some were dangerously slippery and uneven, and anyone who risked standing or even sitting on them could suffer a nasty accident.

Donovan sat on the safest rock, as close as possible to the small wall separating the boardwalk from the beach itself. He didn't seem bothered by the temperature.

I sat next to him and looked at the landscape. Waves came and went, and it was almost impossible to tell where the sea ended, as the blackness of its waters blended with the equally dark sky. I would have conceded and praised the view but remembered the tons of "poop" and made a disgusted face.

We were silent for a few moments. Knowing the guy since he was a teenager, I knew well what was going through my best friend’s mind. Probably memories of his past, which, no matter how distant, still made up part of his being. At least the crises, outbursts, and most of the crying had gone away thanks to therapy. And things like seeing the sea were enough for him to relax and come back to the present.

My own past had also been turbulent, though not as much as his. And supporting him when he desperately needed something to lean on so as not to fall into the void was the least I could do.

Almost two full minutes passed when he said the first thing:

“Gavin.”

I looked at him, but he remained focused ahead. Then he pointed silently with his chin.

I don’t know how I didn’t notice before, maybe I was as lost in my thoughts as Donovan. But subtly I noticed there was a silhouette in front of us. If it stayed completely still, it could be a statue. But now the slender figure had moved. It was sitting with its legs pulled up to its chest, arms wrapped around its legs. You could see that it was rocking back and forth.

How many times had I seen Donovan in the same position, restless and apprehensive in some corner?

Then the figure stopped rocking and remained still again. And slowly began to rise. It had its back to us, but you could tell it was a girl, either a teenager or a young adult. And her feet were getting closer and closer to the slippery edges of the rocks.

Pure panic seized me. She... She was going to jump.

In a strong impulse, I stood up abruptly. I felt Donovan get up too. As I got a little closer to the girl, I shouted:

"NO!!!!"

She was startled, but the movement she made upon hearing my voice seemed lethargic. This was not good, not good at all.

Then she looked at me, still planted in the same spot. The sound of the waves seemed louder than seconds before.

You couldn't see much in the dark, but I managed to make out a thin, brown, very worn face. Her dark eyes were terrified, her hands inert at her sides trembling. She wore a white shirt that seemed too big for her body, and loose black pants. She was barefoot.

My God, she was really going to kill herself.

Donovan said, beside me, already taking off his shoes:

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

The girl didn’t respond, remaining petrified. I noticed that although she was very thin, her face was swollen, as if she had been crying a lot.

"My name is Gavin and this is Donovan," I speak loudly so she can hear me. I begin to take off my sandals. "What’s your name?"

Nothing. I insist:

"Come talk to us. Don’t... Don’t jump!"

Upon hearing the last part, her eyes seemed to widen more. She looked back, as if she were about to jump right away.

"You don't have to do this!" I shout again. "We can find a solution!"

"Stay calm! I know it seems like the end, but it’s not," Donovan shouted. He raised both hands in a calming gesture and took a step closer. "Let’s talk, okay?"

"Exactly," I took two steps, one more than Donovan. I also make the calming gesture. "Don’t be afraid. Let us help you out of there."

She keeps looking at us. She seems confused, distressed. She’s paralyzed. My fear is that she will panic and jump immediately, so we try to approach slowly.

I feel the cold rocks under my feet. How long had she been there? Was she mulling over what to do and decided it was better to end it all?

I was trying to appear calm, but I wasn’t. A person was about to take their life, and by incredible coincidence, I was there to witness and even prevent that tragedy. We always think we are incredible, invincible, and untouchable until we see we are nothing. There, begging for merciful forces that the poor girl would listen to me, I realized that I was the weakest of the weak, that I didn’t have enough power to prevent someone from voluntarily ending their own life.

Donovan had already tried once a long time ago, and I wasn’t there to stop it. It was the quick medical care that saved him, not me. Now I was really in a situation where absolutely everything depended on me. Sweat was beading on my forehead, breathing was difficult. And the cold was increasing more and more.

I move closer a little more, praying that my words would calm her at least a bit.

"Let me get you out of there. I’ll help you, we’ll help you." I take three more steps, getting halfway there. "Come here. It’s okay. It’ll be okay."

She doesn’t move but doesn’t look back either. Donovan stays in the same place, silently letting the rescue be exclusively mine.

"Come here," I repeat. Closer, I notice her small, cracked, blue lips from the cold.

I take two more steps. "Don’t do this. I’m here now. It will be okay."

My voice came out firm, but inside I was about to faint from nervousness. Donovan must have noticed because he moved a bit closer and said:

"We’ll take care of you, little one. Don’t be scared. Come here."

I extend my hand to her. I hope she doesn’t notice the tremor in my fingers.

A few seconds pass as she stares at us. Then she looks at the extended hand and seems to be thinking. More moments of silence and...

I see she’s not going to grab it. She made the decision, the bitter and horrible decision. I felt my heart racing as I noticed her subtle but obvious resignation.

As soon as I saw the grain of hope fade from her eyes, as well as the small impulse to turn back, I took action.

Dangerously fast, I ran to her. I thought she would struggle and perhaps take me with her down into the sea, but no resistance was offered. I carried her in my arms and returned aided by Donovan, who was paler than I had ever seen. The girl remained mute and quiet, as if even fighting for her own death was too exhausting.

Still aided by Donovan, we got off the rocks. I wanted to set the girl down, but I instinctively knew she probably wouldn’t be able to stand. I cuddled her to my chest. She didn’t look at me. It seemed like her mind was very, very far away.

Donovan and I exchanged glances. Just with a look, we decided.

I went to the car, turned off the alarm, and opened the front door. Then I carefully passed the girl’s cold body to Donovan. I unlocked the back door, which he opened and sat in the back seat. I noticed when he took the coat and covered most of the girl’s legs and arms.

I closed the back door, started the car, and we drove off. We didn’t say a single word the entire ride.