Part 2: Baja Leai & the Road to New York
Winston reveals he is Jesus' biological father; Lupe died of an overdose; Jesus erupts in rage, Winston slaps him; Andrea comforts Jesus; a drunken evening at Americano's bar.
Blood, grey matter, and bone shards painted the back seat of the solid grey Ford. Chunks of flesh and hair the size of dollar bills were splattered on the seats and windows. A life was taken here: murder. It was not an innocent life. Its sins reflected outwardly in the grisly fluids that haphazardly sprayed the interior. Jesus watched as the car rolled to a halt at the top of a tall, precarious cliff, driven by a faceless, nameless devil. There were no noble men here. This is a devil’s game. and the floorboards were soaked in a pool half an inch deep of good intentions.
The man placed the car in neutral and exited the vehicle. He circled behind and placed his hands on the rear bumper. His powerful legs dug into the ground, and the car began to roll forward towards the edge, at first at a snail’s crawl. but then gradually picking up speed to a steady roll.
The car toppled over the cliff and spun bumper-over-bumper in midair, smashing and careening into rock formations with incredible crashes before coming to rest in a watery grave. The man began the long walk back.
“Good morning, son,” Winston said, sitting at the edge of Jesus’ bed. Jesus slowly became aware of his surroundings. Daylight was streaming inside. Justin and Alfred were gone. The stony haze from the night before still hung in his mind as he processed what was happening, Son?
“Why do you keep waking me up like this?” Jesus said, half joking and half annoyed, “And what do you mean, ‘Son’?”
Winston didn’t answer the first question. “It’s time I tell you something,” He said.
Jesus sat up in bed. “You’re not gay, are you?”
“Far from it. I’m your dad.”
“Great, now my dad’s gay.”
“I’m glad you still have a sense of humor after all that’s happened to you,” Winston said.
Jesus yawned and stretched his arms sleepily. “A sense of humor is about all I have left,” He said, halfway through his yawn.
“It’s important to have one. It helps you deal with the world.”
“Does that make Layla my mom?” Jesus asked.
“No.”
“Good, that could be awkward.”
“Why?”
Jesus remembered the dance lesson in the foyer, “I don’t know, it just would be.”
“I see,” Winston said, “Well, I’m sorry that—”
“Before you get into apologizing for not being in my life and shirking our fatherly responsibilities. I want you to tell me about my mother. No bullshit this time. Everyone wants to tell me some bullshit, and I’m fed up with it. Tell me the truth.”
Winston sat up straight, surprised by Jesus’ sudden outburst.
He’s definitely my son.
“There’s a reason no one has told you until now. It’s not a nice story,” Winston said.
“I don’t care; I’m ready to hear it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Ok, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Winston took a deep breath. “Listen son, I love you, and I always.”
Jesus cut him off a second time. “Winston, Scott, whatever your name is, I don’t care. I’m not stupid. Why the hell else would you be following me around like this and bankrolling me? Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I want to know about my mother, that’s it. If you could do me the service of just answering that one question, then you can relieve your guilty conscience.”
“Your mother’s name was Lupe. We fell in love and got married the year we met.” He said, “She was lovely, unlike any woman I had ever met. I took her traveling, showed her a side of life that she had never experienced. Maybe I showed her a little bit too much, because the next year after I met her, she died of an overdose. It was terrible. I never—”
“Get out,” Jesus said.
“What?”
“Get out. Get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see you again,” Jesus got out of bed and stood up. “You caused my mom to die. You’re the reason I never knew her. I don’t care how much money you throw at me, I will never forgive you for what you did.” “Jesus, a lot of time has passed since then, things have changed. You need to understand—”
“I don’t care. You’re not my dad and I don’t give a—”
“I am your father and you will respect me!” Winston boomed. On his feet, he was still shorter than Jesus, but out-weighed him by nearly 100 pounds. He stared at his son with a righteous anger of a father, and Jesus stared back with an equally just fury.
“You aren’t shit to me! Osito is twice the father you’ll ever be!” Jesus pushed Winston, suddenly emboldened by his anger. Winston brushed off the feeble attempt and slapped Jesus to the ground with a powerful open hand. Jesus crushed into the side of his bed, and stayed there.
“I don’t care what you think about it; you need to know that you’re my son. You’re the only family I have, and you need me just as much as I need you. I’ll be back here in a few weeks. Until then, if you need anything,” Winston placed a business card on Jesus’ bedside desk, “And I mean anything, call this number.”
“Fuck you Winston,” Jesus blurted out, crying. Winston walked out of the room. Andrea who had apparently been watching the encounter, stepped out of the way to let him pass. When he left, Andrea approached Jesus. He was crying in his underwear on the floor. She didn’t say anything, she just sat down beside him and waited. Jesus sat there crying for a few moments before he sputtered out, “He killed her. I can’t believe he killed her.”
Andrea wanted to say, “He didn’t kill her. She overdosed. It’s not his fault,” But she thought better of it. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Jesus and turned his head towards her. She kissed him lightly on the forehead and held him close to her breast. Jesus held her and cried openly.
“Okay kid, get it together,” She said at last. “Put on some clothes,” She got up and helped him to his feet. For all her coldness, she was still Jesus’ only friend, and she knew it.
“You need to have some fun. Tonight, we’re going out to Americano’s. You’re coming with us,” Andrea stated plainly. “I’m seeing to it that you have a good time.”
“Thanks Andrea,” Jesus said, “Now can you get out so I can get dressed?”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
That day, Jesus worked in the garden under the watchful eye of Rufus. The dog stood loyally by, watching him work and waiting to be fed. The sun was intense and hot, but Jesus had become accustomed to it. His shoulders and neck were bronzed with sun. His muscles and hands had become hard with labor. He picked the vegetables — cucumbers, peppers, cilantro, tomatoes, and cabbage, and packaged them for his trip downtown. He wrapped them in a towel and carried them in a duffel bag on to a bus that led to the local farmer’s market. At the market, a great open air plaza, larger than the one in Nueva Casa, he hunted carefully through the stalls before he finally encountered his usual client, a young farmhand named Juan. Unlike the Juan in Nueva Casa, he was skinny, short, and sharp. A few days out of the week, Juan would buy Jesus’ goods at a discounted price. The deal was mutually beneficial — Jesus got paid for his product without having to go through the hard work of selling the merchandise himself.
“Good morning, Juan,” Jesus said.
“Morning, Jesus. It’s a hot one today, isn’t it?”
“That it is. I got something for you.”
“Alright, show me what you have.”
Jesus showed him the freshly picked fruits and vegetables, and Juan paid him for the lot.
“You always have great produce, Jesus. Can I ask you a question?” Juan said.
“Sure.”
“What do you do about rabbits?”
Jesus grinned, “I have a dog.”
“I’ve gotta try that. They’re terrible here. We never used to have them down south.”
“I’ll see you later, Juan.”
“Until then, my friend.”
After he returned home, he paid Layla from what Juan had paid him — keeping a little for himself — and made himself an early lunch of eggs and salsa over bread. After lunch, he began work on a new creative writing assignment. The assignment was to write an original poem of at least 16 lines. Jesus isolated himself in his room and began tinkering away with different linguistic devices and ideas. As much as he tried, he couldn’t find the words to write. Vague imagery and uninspired rhymes were all he could muster. Creative blocks like this were common for Jesus. He knew that all he had to do was clear in his mind and try again. He went for a short walk, but when he returned, still his pen failed to produce anything satisfactory. Eventually, he called his classmate, Carlos, and asked him to work with him on the assignment.
“Sure, I already finished mine, and I don’t have anything else going on today,” Carlos told him.
“We’re going to a bar tonight, if you want to come. We could go after we finish the assignment.”
“Sounds good to me. What’s your address?”
Jesus told him, and Carlos assured him that he would be on his way shortly. When he did arrive, the two set to work brainstorming ideas for the poem.
“No, that just isn’t right. None of this fits,” Jesus said, finally.
“It seems like something is on your mind, distracting you,” Offered Carlos.
“This morning, something happened.”
“What was it?”
Jesus considered the question, and elected to answer it vaguely, “I had an argument with a family member. It got out of control.”
“You mean Andrea?” Carlos asked, confused.
“No, not her. Someone else.”
“I thought you were an orphan.”
Shit. he’s got me there.
“I guess they’re really like family. Except I hate them,” Jesus said.
“Well, write a poem about that anger. It’s a powerful emotion.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll try that,” Jesus said.
Jesus began anew on his poem. This time, they flowed quickly from the tip of his pen, as it struggled to keep up with his racing mind: Hate, blossom inside of me.
Yield unto me your poison fruit.
I care not what becomes of fate.
Fashion me a tool so crude.
Father, dare I cut you down.
Like you did my progenitor.
Now that the truth has been found,
My hate knows no limits, or
Rules to follow. Reason is for naught.
Blind rage hereby consumes my thoughts.
Come to me this blessed curse;
Lend me your strength to do my worst.
I know not why the world spins,
Or why the way of man Is to live in sin,
But as long as my father walks,
Malice on the door of my heart will knock.
“That’s really … dark,” Commented Carlos. There was concern in his voice.
“It’s just creative writing. I don’t really feel like that.”
“Right. Well, I’m glad I could help you finish your assignment. I’ll see you in class Tuesday, all right?”
“I thought you were going to go out with us tonight?”
Carlos answered nervously, obviously lying “I just remembered I have to help my mom with something. I’ll see you later Jesus,” Carlos said, nearly tripping over himself as he ran out the room.
“Looks like that one rubbed him the wrong way,” Commented Justin. Jesus had been so entranced in his work that he hadn’t noticed when Justin must have come in. “Can I see?”
Jesus showed him the poem, and he regarded it with a careful deliberation.
“Well, it’s certainly strongly worded,” He finally commented. “They’ll finally throw you in the loony bin for this one,” He said with a laugh. Then he changed subjects. “Andrea said you were coming out to the bar tonight.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Good. You need a night out if you’ve been writing stuff like this.”
“How do I look?” Andrea asked from the dorm doorway. Jesus had been dozing off. When he looked over, he saw that Andrea had on a short black dress he hadn’t seen before. She had on matching black pumps, and her hair was braided into two long pigtails. It looked like she had been able to commandeer some of Layla’s makeup, too.
“You look fantastic,” He said genuinely.
“Really? You like the dress?” She did a twirl and posed with her leg up on the door frame.
“Yeah, of course. You look amazing. Where did you get that dress?”
“I bought it,” She said simply. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
“Okay,” She said happily, “Come downstairs when you’re ready. Wear something nice.”
Jesus tried his best to select a suitable outfit from the clothes superintendent Lopez had bought him. He ended up settling on a navy blue polo and a pair of tan khakis. It was simple, and not nearly as interesting as what Andrea was wearing. He stole some of Justin’s hair gel and slicked back his hair and put on a puff of cologne before he went downstairs. When he did, Andrea was happily chattering away with Layla, who immediately complimented him on his appearance. The praise made Jesus smile bashfully.
“Ready?” She said.
“As much as I’ll ever be.”
“Let’s go then.”
They walked a few blocks to the bus stop before Andrea began explaining what she had in store for the night. “I invited my friend Francesca. She’s an English major. Maybe you two can talk about book worm things.”
“Is she cute?” Jesus asked hopefully. Andrea just shrugged.
Americano’s was a mid-sized American-themed dive bar on the university side of Baja Leai. It was a favorite of the students and alumni, mostly because the bartenders had a habit of not carding Baja Leai University students. Jesus saw a long bar with fifteen or twenty seats, a couple rows of tables, mostly occupied by young, smiling faces, and a small stage. Justin Jack was playing a Beatles song, and a number of the students were singing along with him.
Oh, darling. Please believe me.
I’ll never do you no harm.
The bar resounded in a drunken chorus of Beatles imitators. Never mind that they were an English band. Justin gave an exuberant nod as they crossed his line of vision. Jesus waved.
“Go grab us a couple of drinks. I’m going to find us a table,” Andrea said. Jesus obliged and squeezed in between two occupied seats of the bar and waited to flag down the bartender.
“What’ll it be?” A busty light skinned woman in her early thirties asked. She had dyed her hair yellow blonde. Her roots betrayed her with their dark auburn.
“I’ll have two pints of whatever’s cheap and on tap.”
“Two Pacificos coming on up.”
Jesus waited for her to return, then paid the woman and took the beers. He tried one. It was cold and bitter. He made a face.
“First time drinker?” Said a feminine voice to his right. It was a short girl he recognized from his mathematics class.
“No, not really, but I don’t really drink much.”
“I can tell,” She said, smiling. “I’m Carol. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“Jesus. Pleased to meet you.”
“Are you here by yourself?”
“No, I’m here with a friend. Actually, I know the guy playing guitar up there,” Jesus said, turning and pointing at Justin. He had moved onto an Emerson, Lake, and Palmer tune.
“Jesus!” Shouted Andrea. Carol and Jesus both looked.
“Hey, I’ll come back in a minute,” Jesus said.
Carol looked somewhat disappointed. “Alright, I’ll see you,” She said.
Jesus walked over to meet Andrea at the table she had picked out.
“Where’s Francesca?” He asked.
“I don’t know. She was supposed to meet us here. Maybe she couldn’t make it,” She answered, “Who’s that girl you were talking to at the bar?”
“Oh, her?” He said, “She’s just some girl from one of my classes. Carol, I think.”
“Well, you should invite her over.”
Jesus looked back to the bar, but she was gone.
Weird. She was just there.
He searched the rest of the room, but she was nowhere to be found. “She must be in the bathroom,” He said, “Let’s have a drink,” They drank the pints and talked about their classes. Jesus could feel the stares of jealous boys on him and Andrea.
If only they knew.
He assumed that before the first beer disappeared, Carol would reappear, but she failed to do so.
Better order another round, just to be sure.
And he did. After that, another, and another. Jesus watched as Andrea flirted with Justin while he took a break from playing music, all the while searching the room for Carol, but she had disappeared.
Eventually, the two of them were sufficiently drunk, and the last busses were shortly approaching.
“Andre—e-e-e-a-a-a,” Jesus slurred in a sing song voice. “It’s almost mi-i-i-dnight”
“So?” She said.
“So,” Jesus burped and raised his index finger in the air as if explaining a complex academic subject, “The last bus home is at midnight, a-a-nd that means we have to go,” He burped again, “But first, I have to pee.”
“Okay, you go do that thing, whatever you have to do, and then we’ll go,” Andrea conceded.
When they made it onto the sidewalk, Andrea wrapped her arm around Jesus’ and rested her head on his shoulder as they drunkenly stumbled to the bus stop. They waited for fifteen minutes, then thirty, then more. It wasn’t until it was almost one O’clock that Jesus said, “I believe the bus is not coming.”
“That is a fine observation Dr. Castiano,” Andrea said. “I’m inclined to agree with your hypothesis.”
“I believe,” Jesus said, “We will have to walk home,” And so they did. After two hours, which felt more like thirty minutes, they half-drunkenly stumbled giggling into Layla’s house. Despite everything going wrong, Jesus had still managed to have a great time.
“Thanks for taking me out,” Jesus said.
“No, I didn’t take you out,” She said, “You were the one that paid for all the drinks.”
“Ah, that’s a good point. Looks like you tricked me,” He said.
They were upstairs, outside of his dorm room. Andrea turned around and looked up at him with her wide brown eyes. Jesus wanted to kiss her.
“Good night Jesus.”
“Good night Andrea.”