Jesus Lies

“Those shoes look a little big for you. Do you know your size? I can help you find a better fit.”

The young boy’s face brightened with a glow of humor. “These aren’t for me,” he said with a half-smile. “They’re for my grandpa.”

       The cashier softened and smiled, pleasantly surprised by this dutiful and considerate boy. “That’s really nice of you,” he says. “I’m sure your grandpa really appreciates you taking the walk for him. It’s not easy to get around sometimes for grandmas and grandpas. I remember my grandpa had a hard time doing his shopping, too…” The cashier caught himself reminiscing and stopped before he wasted the boy’s time with his middle-aged ramblings.

         The boy smiled in full this time. “Yup. I love my grandpa. I hope he’ll be happy with these.” The boy stopped and looked down at the shoes he had picked out. Having little experience shoe shopping, he withdrew a bit, being unsure of his choice. “Do you think these are nice?” He asked meekly, not yet looking back up at the cashier.

The middle-aged man felt his own paternal instincts trigger at the boy’s noticeable shift in demeanor. “I think they look really nice. You made a really good choice. Those ones are comfortable, too. I have a pair like those, myself. I’m sure your grandpa is going to be very happy when he sees what you picked out.”

           The boy brightened up again, glowing a bit warmer than before. “Thanks,” he said, all smiles. “I hope he likes them.” Reassured, the boy paid for the shoes and walked out and across the shopping plaza. The bus stop was empty, and the familiar sounds of the streets and noises of the neighborhood filled the air. Countless cars coming and going from the plaza’s parking lot, a number of them with windows down, playing reggaeton and bachata. A fire rescue siren blaring by a few streets over. Thumping and booming from around the corner, coming closer as a car with tinted windows rolls by blasting some sound of urban anger, leaving behind that funny smell that often wafts behind. Then the bus’s loud breaks screech and stop with a hiss.

Carrying the bag of shoes, the boy boards the crowded bus and watches the neighborhood go by from his seat. Each stop is another moment of familiar territory and occasionally a familiar face. At the next stop, and old woman boards the crowded bus, shuffling through to find somewhere to rest. Without hesitation, the boy stands and offers her his seat.

“Gracias,” she says, as her eyes crinkle into a relieved smile. The ride is a little bumpy, but home is only a few stops away, he thinks to himself.

Recognizing the next street the bus turns onto, the boy reaches the full length of his arm up for the pull chord to signal the next stop. He bounces off the bus with bag in hand and walks down the street to his house. He climbs the steps up to the left door of the multi-family house and knocks.

“Carlos, good. I just got back a few minutes ago.” The boy’s dad was pleased that his son was alright and that the busy morning was going as planned. “You got the shoes. Good job, buddy. I put your clothes out for you on your bed. They’re ironed and ready.” Carlos’s dad takes the shoes. “These are nice. I know grandpa is gonna be very happy with these. Now, quick, go take a shower and get ready. I’m gonna go bring these to grandpa real quick. Try to get ready fast so we can go as soon as I get back.”

“Okay, dad.” Carlos’s dad walks off down the street while the boy readies his shower. In the hot water, Carlos remembers times when he was smaller bathing at grandma and grandpa’s house. The memory is somewhat bittersweet, a flavor Carlos is almost surprised he can identify. Drying himself off, Carlos crosses the empty main room of the apartment to his quiet bedroom. A white undershirt, an ironed black button up, creased black khakis with a fresh new faux leather belt, his own black dress shoes, and a pair of black socks. Even having worn them twice before, Carlos still wasn’t quite used to wearing black socks. They always feel so thin and slippery.

As he’s buttoning the last button on his crisp black dress shirt, Carlos hears a pair of keys jangle into the front door.

“Carlos! You ready? We gotta go.” Carlos’s dad calls out to his son.

“Ready, dad.” Carlos fastens his belt and slips into his dress shoes.

       “Alright, come here.” Grabbing his favorite cologne bottle, Carlos’s dad sprays a bit on the backs of his son’s hands and shows him to dab it on his neck. Carlos already knew the drill, having gone through the fragrant ritual twice before.

“Okay, buddy, let’s go. It’ll be about a 30-minute walk and we don’t wanna be late.” The father and son leave their apartment empty and quiet as they make their way down the cracked pavement of the unkempt neighborhood.

The walk was fairly quiet. Carlos’s father was tired from the few times he’d already made this trip today. “Dad, car,” Carlos said as he looked both ways before crossing the street.

“I see it, don’t worry,” Carlos’s dad tried to assure him. He hadn’t noticed it before his son and was proud of his boy for doing the right thing but didn’t want to worry him with his own weariness. After a surprisingly short walk a half-hour had passed. Father and son came to a familiar building and were met there by other family members on the way in. Just as it had been twice before.

       “Hey, Carlos! It’s good to see you. You’re growing up fast.” Carlos leans up to give his aunt a hug and a kiss before she turns her head to Carlos’s dad. “Jose, how are you doing?” she asks.

        “You know, I’m doing alright,” Jose says, shrugging his shoulders in familiar uncertainty. “Johnny couldn’t make it?”

        “No, Johnny had to work today. He’s been pretty busy lately,” she responds. “But it’s alright, let’s go inside. Let’s go see Pa.”

         “Alright. C’mon, papa. Let’s go inside and see grandpa.” Jose reaches for Carlos and they all together make their way through the front door.

       “Here before us, Jesus lies…” A pastor no older than Carlos’s father spoke before a filled room, blackened by the crowd’s attire and darkened by the circumstances.

“Jesus Pacheco was a beloved father, grandfather, and friend to many…” As the pastor carried on with his ceremony, young Carlos looked around the room. Tia Mary, older than Jesus by a few years, sobbed terribly for her brother while family beside her held her hand in mutual comfort. Tio Jesus, first born son and named after Carlos’s grandpa, fidgeted with his crossed arms, his brow furrowed by the strain of trying to remain as stoic as possible. And Jose, Carlos’s dad, looked at the floor, sniffing and slightly rocking back and forth. It hurt to see the people he loved crying and hurting so much, but Carlos took bittersweet comfort in knowing that at least he knew he was strong enough to have gotten through it twice before.

           As the pastor finished his speech, everyone sat for a while in silence – not out of obligation, but speechlessness. Then, one by one, the grieving formed a line to the wide-open casket to say their final goodbyes. Among the first in line were Carlos and his dad. They knelt down together by Jesus’s side. Jose tensed and hardened for a moment.

           “Carlos, look,” he finally said. “Abuelo is wearing those shoes you got him.” Jesus was dressed as well as he had ever been – probably better than he’d ever been in life – an outfit completed by a pair of very nice, comfortable shoes. Carlos was happy to see the favor he’d done for his grandpa but couldn’t smile. His memory quickly rushed through recollections of his grandpa: the billows of smoke that would fill his living room, the old man’s bellowing laugh as he watched Looney Tunes in his rocking chair, his voice calling from the other room to offer Carlos food. The light scratch of his stubbled cheek as Carlos would kiss his grandpa goodbye.

           “I love you. Bye, nene,” he would say, smiling through his broken English. Then, Carlos felt his dad shake as he coughed, choked, and whimpered all at once. As he’d only ever done twice before.

           Jose covered his mouth, wiped his nose, and sniffed hard.

“You look good, Pop.” The words barely came out. At the sound of his own broken voice, Jose started to come undone. He couldn’t quite hold himself back. His shoulders shook as he fought himself to hold his tears and control his breathing. To Carlos, it was like watching Atlas sob. He couldn’t bear to see his world so shaken.

           “It’s okay dad.” Carlos reach out and grabbed his dad’s hand. Jose flinched and looked at his son.

           “It’s okay, dad. Now grandma doesn’t have to be lonely anymore.” Carlos could barely see past his own tears, but managed a strained smile, looking his father in the face. A mix of shame and great pride swelled in Jose. He caught his breath and found his voice again.

           “You’re right, buddy. Grandpa can rest now, and him and grandma can be happy together again.” His voice almost broke again, but, borrowing strength from his son, he kept it together.

“You’re really growing up. I just wish your mom could be here to see how grown up and strong you’ve gotten.” Carlos started to break now, sobbing at the thought of his mom. It had been two years since he’d seen his mother’s face.

           “I love you, dad.” The boy buried his face in his father’s arm.

           “I love you, too, papa.”

           The rest of the room fell away for a moment in time, as father and son held each other together, doing their best to be ready for the rest of the long day ahead of them.