Your honor, the litigant does not have a lawyer to represent him. He may represent himself in court," the court registrar announced.
Just as he was about to sit down, a man in a shiny black suit with a clean-cut hairstyle walked in, holding a suitcase.
"Sorry for the delay
I missed the boat," the man said boldly. "My name is Alvarez Deloera, and I'm Cecilio Antonio Beltrán's lawyer."
"May we begin?" the judge asked. And the case followed.
Cecilio was charged with murder following the death of Leon, as well as being in possession of stolen money and an unlicensed gun. Mr. Alvarez tried everything he could to prove Cecilio's innocence, arguing that it was self-defense
that the money and the gun both belonged to Leon. In the end, though, the evidence wasn't solid enough to set Cecilio free.
After a long and exhausting war in court, the jury decided to reduce his sentence from twenty-five years to five years imprisonment without parole.
Cecilio hadn't said a word throughout his trial. Even when Alvarez asked what exactly happened that night, he stayed silent. He didn't know who Alvarez was or why he was helping him like his life depended on it. At first, Cecilio doubted Alvarez, but when he succeeded in reducing the sentence, Cecilio's thoughts began to change.
"I have no money to give you," Cecilio said quietly.
"It's okay. I'm doing what my Father in heaven sent me to do," Alvarez replied jokingly.
"Am I supposed to believe that?" Cecilio asked.
"Believe whatever you want, boy," Alvarez said.
"Rosa sent you, didn't she?" Cecilio asked seriously.
"Who? Never heard that name in my life," Alvarez replied, unbothered.
Cecilio wasn't convinced. He was sure Rosa had sent him,, no one else would have gone this far for him. "You said I could believe whatever I wanted," Cecilio said sharply. "Then I believe she sent you."
"Yeah, yeah, good for you, kid. I'm leaving," Alvarez said, getting up.
"Will she come visit, at least?" Cecilio asked.
"Haaa!" Alvarez exclaimed. "If I'm being honest, I don't know who you're talking about. You should worry about yourself, not others. You'll be alone for now, kid. No one's coming." He said it bluntly, then added more softly, "So stay put....and don't die before the five years are up. I have faith in you."
He smiled. "Now, this is the last time you'll be seeing this handsome face. Take a good look at it!!
when you leave here, you can carve it on a rock and label it my savior for the world to see."
Cecilio rolled his eyes.
Alvarez placed a hand on his shoulder, leaned closer, and whispered, "If there's such a thing as coincidence, then we'll meet again, kid."
He patted Cecilio's head and walked toward the door.
"Live on, kid! Till we meet again!" he shouted as he left.
"Till we meet again," Cecilio mumbled to himself.
*******
"Seven Years Later"
"Hey, what's up, buddy!" Reggie greeted cheerfully over the phone.
"I'm good. How's San Francisco treating you?" Cecilio asked.
"It's pretty cold out here, but all good," Reggie replied.
"That's good to know," Cecilio said calmly.
"How's it going? Still looking for your mystery person?" Reggie asked mockingly.
"Yep. Still looking," Cecilio replied, unbothered.
"Are you kidding me? When are you going to give up? You'll never find your person! It's been seven years they might've moved out of the country. You were in prison for five years and you've been looking for two years straight. When will you get the vision to give up already?" Reggie said, frustrated.
"No matter how long it takes, I'll wait. I'm sure I'll meet my person soon. The thought of it has kept me strong till now," Cecilio said.
"Yes, your selfish motivations ,, that's why you'll never see that 'vision,'" Reggie said, defeated.
"Thanks for your concern, Reggie. You'll always be a great friend," Cecilio replied calmly.
"A great friend you never listen to," Reggie snapped. "Whatever. I wish you luck, my friend. Talk later gotta go," he said before hanging up.
Cecilio lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly round and round. He'd been having trouble sleeping for a while. His mind wouldn't rest, no matter how tired he felt. He lay there wide awake until dawn.
"I didn't sleep a wink again," he muttered. He got up, showered, and prepared for work as usual.
Cecilio worked at a diner near the supermarket. Things hadn't been easy since he left prison. He'd lost his Taekwondo teaching job after complaints from parents who refused to let a "murderer" teach their children. Despite his humility, no one wanted to hire an ex-convict especially one convicted of murder.
He'd returned to where he and Rosa once lived, but the place had been sold, and no one knew her name. The only person he still had was his high school friend, Reggie, who always believed in his innocence. Reggie helped him find the diner job through a friend of the owner, who allowed Cecilio to work as a server.
For a year, Cecilio and Reggie shared a small, shabby apartment until Reggie decided to move to San Francisco for a better job. He'd asked Cecilio to come with him, said a change of environment might help, but Cecilio refused. He had someone important to find, and if there was any place he could find them, it was Juárez.
After Reggie left, Cecilio was alone again, trapped in the silence of his old apartment and his sleepless nights.
A year passed, and little had changed. He managed to sleep better thanks to sleeping pills from a pharmacist. One day, he got a call from Toribio or so he thought. He'd been caring for the old man for a while, paying for his treatment with what little he earned. But it wasn't Toribio. It was the nurse. Toribio had passed away.
Cecilio grieved deeply. Toribio had been like a father, teaching him, encouraging him, filling his days with stories and jokes. He'd always said, "Don't waste your money on me, boy. I'll be gone soon." But Cecilio never listened.
At the funeral, there were many attendees, old coworkers, friends, and distant relatives. Cecilio learned that Toribio had two brothers and a sister. He wondered why they had never visited or helped him while he was alive. But now that he was gone, they showed up in fine clothes to pay respects.
Cecilio remembered when Toribio once told him, "It's better not to call them. I don't want them to celebrate my death to my face. When I'm gone, they can do whatever they want."
Back then, Cecilio hadn't understood. But now, he did.
He knelt beside the grave, tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you," he whispered. "I wish you'd stayed longer. There's still so much I wanted to learn from you. Rest well, old man."
Someone from the crowd whispered, "Do you know that man?"
"I think he was the one who took care of Toribio while he was sick," another replied.
"Hmm, interesting," the first man said.
Toribio had always wanted a traditional Mexican funeral in Juárez, simple, just family and friends. Cecilio made sure it happened. He did everything himself,the cleaning, the serving, the organizing, making sure everyone was comfortable.
As he served the last table, exhausted, one of the guests whispered to another, "Isn't that the young lady rumored to be a drug dealer? What was her name again?"
Cecilio turned instinctively.
At the door stood a young woman with short dark hair, wearing sunglasses and a black suit. She greeted Toribio's siblings and handed them a small gift.
"Mis condolencias," she said softly.
Her voice echoed through Cecilio's mind
familiar, haunting, unforgettable.
His eyes widened in disbelief. His heart skipped a beat.
He muttered under his breath
almost afraid to believe it.
"Rosa."