Blessed Virgin of the Circus- 13.



Jorge led the way as his cousin Tito wheeled over towards the statue. Most of them didn’t get days off during the run, but he had requested it and LaShawn hadn’t minded obliging for a one-off. Jorge didn’t remember how he’d found out about the statue, but he was pretty sure that one other time when he found Mara briefly passed out (and didn’t tell anyone, by her request) it had been in the same place.

They arrived at the bumpy, grassy, slightly-raised mound that was the overgrown alcove behind the horticulture greenhouse. Strangely protected from the rain, though it didn’t rain much on those particular fairgrounds. Jorge helped Tito brake his wheels slightly inclined onto the grassy area.

“This looks like those gardens that the Filipinos in the hood used to have. But more overgrown.”

“Yeah. It kind of does.”

“It looks like it’s a secret.”

Jorge silently walked up close to the statue. He dipped his finger into the small rivulet of blood oozing from the Virgin’s praying hands.

“Tilt your palms up, Tito.” He did so.

Jorge anointed Tito’s forehead with his thumb, though he had never seen the gesture before, and the insides of his palms. He knew deeply that the Christianity they had been raised with would have virulently preached against such idol worship. But of course he had barely remembered anything about church anyway. Only that story about the disciples having flames above their heads, and some parts of the story of Jesus being crucified.

Tito started to look worried. “You think the Devil is gonna take us, Jorge?”

“I don’t know, Tito, but I knew a lot of those anarcho kid devil worshippers in the hood. They were just normal kids, and nobody’s car ever blew up and nothing really got better or worse for them. So maybe this won’t be better or worse, either. But I wanted to try to help you.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He waited a minute or two, both of them quiet. “I mean, I don’t feel sick or nothing.” Tito chuckled.

Jorge slapped just above his shoulders. “You wanna get some battered potatoes and beers?”


“Fuck yeah.”

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Gender rant: I'm not here to give you a boner and neither is anyone else.

I'm going to work this kind of like a list of extended bullet points. Hey, kids. So let's talk about a little something called gender expression. Gender expression comes in many different varieties, and has taken on different sub-labels in popular or regional culture. Some of these labels that you might know are concepts like "dyke" "femme" "twink" "tranny" and other terms. Though there doesn't seem to be an overarching consensus on whether or not certain terms are considered offensive, partially due to the culture of term reappropriation in recent years (for instance, affectionately or cattily using the term "fag" within the gay male community), mainstream culture has adopted some terms and concepts as shorthand for certain gendered lifestyles. I argue this- No one should be unfairly reduced to their gender expression by anyone else. I believe that it is unfair to assume that someone considered to adopt a more convent...
Read more

Pop Culture Nation-A Recovered Memory of Cherished Treasures

Sometime between 2004 and Spring of 2006, I forcefully slammed a very large shoebox full of cassette tapes into the garbage can at my mother's house. You don't understand. Not just original cassette tapes. Mix tapes. During the peak hipster era of High Fidelity and Say Anything (much older, because yes we were already rehashing nostalgia), I committed a high crime against art and Xennial self-determination. I remember neither the context of the conflict, nor why I desired so strongly to sabotage myself. Was it later than then? Had I moved out again? Was it closer to 2008? I couldn't tell you. But I knew I was on one of my decluttering kicks. Inasmuch as I am messy and allow things to pile up (hopefully not to a hoarderly level) I have also gotten on occasionally forceful kicks of throwing my possessions away. Mostly because they reminded me of a part of myself that was over. Around this same time I think I dumped all the handwritten letters between me and beloved friends be...
Read more

Dream Brother

Twin seeds, planted in one long planter. Soon, a large landmass would stand between us. I wish I hadn't absorbed, from somewhere, that only the coasts mattered. And here we are. So much between us, including life & water under the bridge. I miss New York but I'm not built to root there. Just to visit. I think there was a time in my life when going there could've propelled me. They would've "gotten" what I was doing. But that was a small window of time. Now it's over. So much similar between us but so many parts of us different. And yet so much in common too. It feels like long ago but hey, obvious why we were pretty much "The Crayons" together. The queers in the 'burbs claw in the dark to find each other. Our absurd reads, endless summers and maybe the mystery trousers left in my trunk. Beach days, then you moved out right after we graduated. Things got tangible quickly. We did grownup things at 18 in a state where you didn't have to...
Read more