- Chapter 19 -
The rain hadn't ceased since they arrived back at 45 Willow Road. It was molesting the bay window in Jesus' bedroom and distorted the view of the woods that surrounded the yard. Jesus was looking out but wasn't focused on anything in particular.
He was still trying to make sense of it all; His future, his past, his present. What waited for him before the death that was predicted? Did he cause every event that happened before him, simply so he could be born into this world as destiny wanted? And most importantly, as he lingered in his humid bedroom with all lights shut off, Jesus pondered what would happen now, in the moment?
Thoughts of Joan Archer were running by when a gentle knock came at the door and when Jesus spun around, Martin was slouched in the door frame.
"Want pizza for supper, cowboy?" Martin queried.
Jesus just shrugged and kept his eyes on the blurry image that was created by the downpour outside.
"What's up? You've been gloomy for the past week. Anxious to start school?"
"I guess. I've been thinking alot about what Madonna said to me." Jesus started. He turned around and let his legs dangle off the edge of the windowseat, "I mean, maybe I am angry about what happened to mom, to dad. He wasn't the best father but...he was all I had."
Martin kind of half smiled and went to sit by his nephew. He wrapped his arm around his shoulder and looked into his eyes.
"Joseph was a marvelous man. Your mother loved him. Sometimes when bad things happen, it can really destroy someone. I think he would be proud to see you overcome your anger, Jesus. Give yourself some time."
Jesus shifted in his seat then got up and walked aimlessly around his room.
"Where do my abilities come from?" Jesus asked, finally gaining enough confidence to ask the question that had lingered for too long inside his mind. He needed - no, deserved - answers.
"That, I don't know Jesus. All I can say is that you were blessed. You are going to change the world, cowboy." Martin answered, staying seated by the bay window.
"You guys keep telling me that. All I know is that I am going to die so that people can live, how is that even fair?"
Martin could hear the start of a tremble in his nephew's voice. He didn't like it when Jesus would doubt the mission, the prophecy. It just made it harder for everyone.
"I made the mistake of letting you in on that tidbit of information. I promised I would tell you everything and I will. But you have to get rid of that anger inside you. It's growing, Jesus, and anger eventually leads to hatred. We can't...lose you to that, Jesus."
Jesus rolled his eyes and sighed. He dropped himself on his bed and turned away from the man he now called father. He often wished that his parents hadn't died and in moments like these, he wished even harder. He was glad that his back was turned. He hid the tears that pearled down in his cheeks and didn't bother to wipe them away.
"I wish we could communicate better, Jesus" Martin finally said, after a few minutes of silence. Dissapointment and sadness took over his voice.
"How can we communicate when I feel like i'm talking to myself?" Jesus turned around and sat up on his bed. That emotion that polluted his soul, anger as Madonna had put it, was painted all over his face. "You never answer my questions! You don't tell me anything of what we are about to do and why! I don't know if you trust or don't trust Madonna! You don't communicate with me, dad. You don't. How am I suppose to open up to you when I...I..."
Jesus looked away.
Martin didn't quite understand what he was feeling inside but it tore away at his heart. He hadn't notice how secretive he had been with Jesus. What was it that he wanted to say?
"What is it, Jesus? Say it, don't be afraid."
"I don't trust you."
Both men stood in the silent bedroom, looking away from each other. Martin walked closer and wrapped his arms around Jesus.
"I'm so sorry."