Tchau

Posted on Fri Sep 5th, 2025 @ 8:09pm by Lieutenant JG Tarek Sousa

932 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Long Night
Location: Sao Paulo, Brazil, Bom Retiro District, Petiscos Líbanot, P
Timeline: Mission Day 1 at 0000

[Sao Paulo, Brazil]
[Bom Retiro District, Petiscos Líbano]
[December 31, 2155; 1915 Hours]

The gold paper of the gift bag fluttered–the close heat of Sao Paulo streets at the height of summer stirred by a fast moving motorbike as it sped past the diners clustered together outside Petiscos Líbano. The dining space was cramped, at best, and to accommodate the size of the group several round tables had been pushed together making a sort of four leaf clover where normally they would accommodate four separate parties.

“"Não precisava! You shouldn’t have!” a sonorous male voice exclaimed from the midst of half finished platters of kibbeh, yogurt, and hummus punctuated by small glasses of mint tea or chilled wine. Tarek Sousa wore all of his emotions on his face, a mixture of familiar aw shucks style humility and jovial camaraderie.

“I wanted to, mano,” another one of the men in the group spoke up. He bore an uncanny likeness to Tarek despite being unable to claim a drop of familial blood. “Besides, my mother would kill me if I let you leave without some kind of parting gift.”

Tarek shook his head in amused and put-upon defeat. The insistence that the gift giving was unnecessary was nearly as traditional as the gift giving itself. He couldn’t think of a single time he’d shown up to someone’s house for the first or last time without some token of appreciation.

This, though, was a little different. He wasn’t just leaving home for Uni. And he wasn’t just leaving Bom Retiro for some other Sao Paulo suburb.

He was leaving the planet.

“Go on!” a feminine voice exclaimed from across the group of tables. Long dark hair cascaded down her back, somehow looking perfectly coiffed despite the heat. “Sami’s mother will never forgive him if you don’t open it here.”

Tarek’s grin broadened into something cheeky. “Sami’s mother would forgive me for accidentally running over her favorite cat. Surely she’d forgive me waiting.”

Another woman spoke… or rather… snorted. “She’s not saying she wouldn’t forgive you, gatinho!” The woman added. “Sami’s the one in danger of being turned out for your lack of manners.”

Tarek raised two coffee toned hands in defeat. “Alright, alright,” he said and pulled the dark red bag toward him. The colors of the wrapping alone were over the top–a rich red accented by browns and golds, but then… had he really thought it would be anything less?

Gently he reached into the mass of fluffed paper and withdrew a golden box, Arabic characters scrawled across it in a flowing script with a stylized photograph of a golden pastry layered with green ground pistachios and soaked to dripping with honey. The logo in the upper corner spoke of one of the most well known Lebanese bakeries in Bom Retiro.

Baklava. Of course it was baklava. Tarek grinned.

“A taste of home,” Sami said, tone and visage just a touch more serious than it had been. “So you don’t forget what good food tastes like with whatever flash frozen stuff they’re going to feed you on that ship.”

Tarek chuckled, shaking his head and setting the box down before pressing his hands together in a gesture of appreciation. Then, to drive the point home, he pulled Sami into a close one armed hug. He released his friend after a protracted moment of back slapping and muscled squeezing, but kept an arm slung over his shoulder. With no small degree of emotion in his eyes he scanned the faces of everyone who had shown up to see him off even though it was New Years Eve and they could all have found other things to do; meeting the eyes of each person around the table in turn.

“I really don’t know how I’m going to manage without each of you.” He said with affectionate seriousness.

With his free hand he snagged his glass with its last few sips of wine and raised it. “To the family we choose and the home that never leaves our hearts.” he said, raising his glass and tipping it toward each of them in a toast.

Exclamations of “Saúde!” echoed around the table followed by silence when, as one, they raised their glasses to their lips and drank.

When his glass had been returned to the table Tarek grinned and looked around again, this time with unbridled mischief. “Now who wants to dance?” he asked before finding his way through the maze of tables to the square of open space that passed for a dance floor grabbing the hand of one of the women who had been clustered across the table. “Come on Farah!”

He spun her in a practiced motion, catching her about the waist so they could both move in step with each other as the music from the tinny overhead speakers set the tempo.

He only had a few hours left to soak this all in and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to take in every last bit. He’d stumble onto the tarmac half drunk and dog tired if that’s what was needed.

Later he could be Lieutenant Sousa, Xeno-Linguistics Specialist and Communications Officer. Being early for his ride wouldn’t make any more difference than a good night’s sleep. For now Lieutenant Sousa of the Challenger could wait. Right now… he was just Tarek and he’d be damned if he would miss a moment.

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