Part 2: Baja Leai & the Road to New York
A week in Chicago with Winston; trip to the Baha'i temple where Jesus declares he wants to be a writer; Winston accepts; they board a bus for New York.
That night, Jesus had a fitful, restless half-sleep that lasted until morning time. He felt more exhausted leaving the bedroom than entering it. Every time he was on the verge of falling asleep, his mind would torment him with visions of Rodrigo mocking him, cursing him.
“You’re no better than your father. You’re a criminal, a joke. You were the one that deserved to be killed,” Rodrigo said. Christian and Miriam laughed along with him. In his dazed, dream-like state, fantasy had mixed with reality, torturing him until the morning sun crested the skyline and allowed Jesus the luxury of waking himself up out of his quasi-sleep.
I must have gotten enough rest in the car. My body isn’t tired enough to sleep.
Jesus took his time showering, brushing his teeth, and shaving. The morning rituals were a source of comfort in his life that now felt insane and foreign. They allowed him some sense of familiarity, something that had become a rarity in his life since the fire. After he washed his face, he looked at himself in the mirror. His light skin had darkened with the sun. The skin was pulled taut along his jawline, the same as Winston’s. His eyes were an icy grey-blue, just like Winston’s. His hair, however, was still jet black. He looked tired and worn. Maybe just from the lack of sleep, but maybe from stress. The last six months had aged him what felt like years.
Winston was right. I left Nueva Casa a boy and arrived in Chicago a man.
He took his shirt off and examined his muscles in the mirror. His shoulders had some roundness to them, and little body fat stuck to his torso, exposing the shape of his abdominal muscles. He flexed and mentally convinced himself that he had a body builder physique, as all young men do. He did the classic double bicep pose. His arms were too skinny to make that work, so he switched to another pose.
“Jesus, I have to use the bathroom,” It was Andrea from outside the door. Jesus quickly stopped what he was doing, embarrassed, as if someone had caught him in the act. He hurried himself out of the bathroom and let Andrea in. Winston wasn’t in the living room, but the couch was made up.
He must have left for something.
Jesus helped himself to a banana and a glass of water and tried to figure out how to turn on the TV. When Winston returned, he was watching Saturday morning cartoons.
“Morning, champ,” Winston said. He had in his hands a few bags of groceries.
“Good morning,” Jesus said. He was too tired to say anything else. Winston made breakfast, and Andrea came out to join Jesus on the couch watching TV. She sat close to him.
“So, let me get this right, this guy is your dad?” She said quietly, thinking that Winston couldn’t hear her.
“Yeah.”
She looked over at the American, who was at least three inches shorter than Jesus with long blonde hair and veiny arms.
“I can’t see it,” She said.
“Look at the eyes.”
She glanced back a second time. “That’s true,” She admitted, “So what did you guys talk about last night? Do you know what’s going to happen to us?”
“No,” Jesus said, “Not yet. But we’re going to figure it out.”
“Whatever that means. You know this guy has to be a drug dealer.”
“You’re one to talk.”
Andrea exhaled, exasperated, “This is different than him. And please don’t bring that up.”
“Sorry.”
“But, seriously, is he dangerous?”
You are not safe.
“No, I trust him.” Jesus said.
“Are you sure?” Andrea said. The look on her face was beyond concern; it was fear. Jesus had been so wrapped up in his own emotions and thoughts that he’d failed to consider that the unfolding events had probably affected Andrea just as, if not even more severely. He reached out and hugged her, comforting himself as much as he comforted her. Winston watched without comment from the kitchen.
“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s gonna be ok,” He said, “It’s all gonna be okay.”
Later that day, Winston drove Andrea and Jesus around and showed them different parts of Chicago. Greektown, Chinatown, the Italian neighborhood, Pilsen, the Miracle Mile, and the loop, giving them a full tour of the downtown area from his vehicle. He drove aggressively, stealing spaces from other drivers and occasionally talking to them in less-than-friendly tones.
“Chicago can be a dangerous city,” He told them, “There are a lot of gangs here. Never go out by yourself, especially at night,” He said. Turning to Andrea, “Especially, especially you, young miss.
Don’t want to turn into a face on a milk carton. Hell, they don’t even put them on milk cartons here.
There’s not enough milk.”
“There are certain neighborhoods you should avoid,” He said, “for the most part, the south side is pretty rough. You’ll be safe anywhere as long as you’re with me, but for future reference, take care in the big city. It might eat you alive. It’s been known to.”
They had lunch in Chinatown. The food was salty, but filling. Later, Winston took Andrea shopping. By the time they went back to the house, his car was weighed down with clothes, makeup, shoes, and bags of all kinds. He had been generous, acting like money was no object. Andrea couldn’t object, and all the fear and anxiety that had shown on her face earlier that day had melted away.
That night, Winston brought Jesus to the local gym. It was little more than a glorified garage, filled with massive men, and a few strange, orange women. Jesus felt completely out of place, but Winston took him under his wing and showed him how to perform the exercises. Jesus felt puny compared to the powerful musculature of Winston. He quickly jumped to higher weights, trying to catch up with his father.
“No, use the lighter weights. Now do the movement slowly. Use the full range of motion, and squeeze the muscle,” Winston said, coaching him through the entire session. By the end, Jesus felt like his arms were about to fall off. On the way home, they got burgers.
The next day, Winston brought them to some of the places he had pointed out on their tour the preceding day. They parked at Navy pier and went on some of the rides and attractions there, including the tremendous Ferris wheel. Winston bought them ice cream, and they walked down to The Bean and Millennium Park. It took them all day, and they walked along the waterfront, listening to Winston tell stories about his time growing up in Chicago. Winston was a great storyteller, and a treasure trove of knowledge about the great city. When they returned home, Jesus and Andrea had almost forgotten that they were on the run. Or, maybe there was nothing to run from. It occurred to Jesus that Winston wasn’t doing all this for them, he was doing it for himself. After all, every motivation eventually circles back to self-interest. He was doing it to erase the guilt of not being part of his son’s life for years. Jesus wanted to believe that his father was a fundamentally good person, but he had a difficult time convincing himself of the notion.
It was on the third day that Winston announced they would be going to New York.
“I have some friends there. They’ve promised me that they’ll look out for you guys, make sure you’re fed and have a place to stay. They even promised to hook both of you up with jobs. Now, I know what you’re thinking. ‘Why can’t we just stay here?’ And I’ll tell you this, it’s because this isn’t my city anymore. I grew up here, but New York is going to treat you guys better than I ever could. I’m putting you two on a bus in a few days. You’re going to meet with my friend O’Neil. He’s gonna take care of you guys. Jesus, you already talked to him on the phone. He’s a good man. I know he will take care of you,” Winston said.
Jesus was somewhat disappointed that they would be leaving Chicago and Winston both. He had begun to grow attached to the man, but he knew that it was necessary. Andrea quietly accepted it. She had also began to change. Her snarky, cynical witticisms were few and far in between now. She was more observant, not passive, just pensive and sharp. Jesus had the notion that she thought far more than she said.
That same day, Winston took them to Loyola beach, which was packed full of people despite the fact that the water was still cool.
“Most of the year,” Winston told them, “The lake is freezing cold. You wouldn’t want to swim anytime but the summer. But, believe it or not, people do.”
Their time at the beach was relaxing, a much needed reprieve from the rapid fire events that had befell them all since Christmas. It reminded Jesus of their visit to Baja Leai the previous year. Despite living there for half a year, he never went out to the beach, except to smoke at night.
The following day, Jesus and Andrea relaxed and stayed in the house. Winston was out, “Doing business,” whatever that meant. Andrea had caught on to the idea of not asking questions faster than Jesus had. Somehow, she managed to bring a small amount of marijuana with them. They smoked together on the covered back patio area, then vegged out watching TV. For the first time in days, Andrea seemed to drop her guard and fully relax. That night, they made tacos.
On their last day in Chicago, Winston took Jesus to the Baha’i temple in Wilmette, just north of Chicago. It was a massive monolithic structure, a testament to an Eastern faith, open to the public. The temple was the only one of its kind in North America, surrounded by an octagon of beautiful gardens.
Fountains filled with beautiful tile mosaics surrounded the temple, and birds and butterflies abounded due to the well maintained flower gardens. The inside of the temple was dominated by a singular, high-domed room filled with rows of pews and bordered by titanic stained glass windows. It was truly a sight to behold, a place of magic and wonder.
When they entered, there were only a few scattered individuals. Some wandered around, taking in the sights of the temple. Some sat in the pews in meditation or prayer. Jesus followed Winston to a pew, isolated from the few other people in the room. They sat in silence. Neither closed their eyes or adopted a position indicative of meditation, they just sat there, taking in the energy of the place.
If magic exists, it’s in a place like this.
Eventually, Winston broke the silence. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “This is a place I come to when I have something to contemplate. Some sort of decision to make.”
Jesus nodded. Winston continued, “You have some decisions in front of you to make.”
Jesus nodded again. Winston was silent for some time. Outside, the birds chirped and the faintest sounds of traffic penetrated the beautifully adorned walls. Hushed voices murmured, indistinguishable from one another.
“I don’t want to be a part of all this,” Jesus said, finally.
“I know.”
“That’s not what I mean. The drugs, the money, all that. I want to live a normal life. I want to be a writer,” Jesus said. Winston nodded and waited.
“Not to say I won’t be loyal to you and whoever else helps me. I’ll never go to the police or anything. I’m not like that. I just don’t want to be any more involved than I have to be,” Jesus continued.
“If you don’t want to be involved, neither I nor anyone else will force you to be. You’re a man now. You make your own decisions,” Said Winston. They waited in silence for one or the other to talk.
Neither did. Eventually they got up and went home.
The next day, Winston took Andrea and Jesus to the Greyhound station downtown. They boarded a bus that took them on Interstate 90 through Indiana and Ohio. After they stopped in Cleveland, the bus took Interstate 80 through Pennsylvania and New Jersey into New York.