Getting Clean with Jesus' Son
Jack, the Son of the Son of God, was not always the best influence on me.
Jayjay, the Son of the Betrayer of the Son of God, had been staying with Jack for a few weeks. Jack normally lived like an ascetic at his place on the second floor of an abandoned factory in Chicago, but Jayjay insisted on at least buying Jack a couch, an actual table and chairs, and even a gaming rig and large screen tv. It was just a coincidence that this also gave Jayjay a place to sleep, eat and keep himself entertained when he wasn't out chasing women.
This didn't work out quite the way Jayjay expected. It turned out Jack had never played video games before, but he took to them like a duck to water. Jayjay lost his game system and his wingman, though he did end up crashing in Jack's bed so Jack could stay glued to the couch playing late into the night.
This worked out great for me, though. After a really shitty night out clubbing with them both, I didn't want to do that ever again. At first I was worried they'd be out clubbing every night, and I'd have no one to sit around and get high with. Instead, I stayed glued to that couch next to Jack, helping him learn to play, showing him the best games and even getting in some two-player on occasion. He was particularly fond of civilization builders, and I watched him build many.
Then one day, Jayjay was gone.
"He said Chicago is a sausage fest," Jack said from his spot on the couch as he flipped through a list of world wonders, "and he's going to check out an almost-heaven a few hours west of the globe where a guy can get seventy-two virgins—y'know, the sex kind—and he knows neither of us would be into that but that's ok, he forgives us."
Laughing, I plopped down on the couch next to Jack and pulled out my weed vape.
"About not being into that," I said. "I know it's really personal, and you don't need to give me any details you don't want to, but if you don't mind my asking..."
"It's not for ethical or religious reasons," Jack said matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes on the game. "And it's not because I'm neuter or anything—I've got all my man parts, I promise you. I've just never been turned on. Plenty of folks have tried through the centuries, but nothing ever happens, and we both just end up feeling kind of silly."
It was clear this was far from the first time he'd given this speech.
"Have you ever tried seeing a doctor?" I asked.
"It's not a biology thing, either," Jack said. "It's been the same every incarnation for the past two millennia, regardless of the body, regardless of whether I'm a dude or a chick."
I hadn't ever thought about it, but I was immediately grateful I'd caught him in this particular body.
Jack continued, "And it's not a family thing. Obviously, Dad got into it at least once. I think it's just a me thing. I'm not interested. And why would I be? I've seen how stupid sex makes absolutely every other human being, no offense."
I thought back to my drunken encounter with Jayjay.
"I can't argue with that," I said. "It's cool. I was just curious. I can completely respect that."
Not that I wanted to, but I could, and I would.
"I have to admit, I'm not going to miss Jayjay," I said. "He's kind of a douchebag."
"Kind of?" Jack scoffed.
"Ok, so it's not just me," I said. "Why do you hang out with him then?"
"He's like family," Jack shrugged, eyes still on the game. "I never had any brothers or sisters, but I always had Jayjay. Besides, he's not that bad. He's a fun time, in small doses. Don't worry, it'll probably be a few decades before we see him again."
I definitely wasn't going to tell Jack I hooked up with the closest he had to a brother.
I was at Jack's place every day, and I started crashing there on weekends. He gave me a key so that I wouldn't accidentally get locked in the vestibule again. You'd think that would have felt momentous to me, but it was so obviously practical that I didn't make anything of it. It was still Jack's place. I always texted him before coming over, and I didn't go over when he wasn't there. He was pretty much always there, anyway.
It turned out Jack's mattress was literally stuffed with cash (surprisingly comfortable!) Not from anything illicit, but just because if you live a simple life for long enough, you're bound to build up a reserve, and Jack had lived a simple life for a very long time. He started tapping into that stash more than usual to get food delivered daily, but he said it was worth it.
"Gotta party while the groom is at the wedding!"
The delivery boxes started piling up. Jack's place was really big, especially for how little he owned, and so neither of us paid attention when the far corner became the de facto trash heap. Thanks to the drafts in the place, we couldn't smell it from the couch. I did eventually notice the flies, but it seemed like it would violate one of those unspoken rules among men if I said anything, so I kept my mouth shut.
I still had my own rent to pay, so I dragged myself to work every weekday. I had one of those office jobs where a couple hours of effort on Friday is enough to put something on your progress report for the week, so I watched a lot of videos online. I started to get into this one motivational speaker in particular, a psychologist with a penchant for goofy custom-tailored suits. He had a long series on what he called "Life Rules" that sort of resonated with me.
For instance, one of the rules was "Make Your Bed!" The idea was that a simple ritual like making your bed every morning can teach you the discipline you'll need to handle much more difficult tasks in life, and that you won't succeed at the big stuff if you can't handle the small stuff. Before seeing that, I don't think I'd ever made my bed. It seemed so pointless when literally the first thing you do at night is unmake your bed. But I gave it a try for a few days. I mean, it didn't last long, but it was enough for me to see what the video was getting at.
Another rule was "Be Honest!" This one was a bit tougher. I had never been much of a liar, not because I was such a saint, rather mostly because I assumed I wouldn't be very good at it. But I was still hung up on how I hadn't told Jack about what I did with Jayjay. I told myself that a lie of omission wasn't as bad as really lying, and that so long as I never actually denied anything, it would technically round up to honesty.
Then there was "Make Friends With People Who Make You A Better Person!" This one I just tried not to think too hard about.
But I did pay attention to "Be Useful!"
Jack got invited on a road trip to Arizona with Salvador Dalí and asked if I wanted to go along, but they were leaving on a Tuesday, and I'd already blown through more of my time off than I intended when we'd gone to Atlantis, so I had to decline. But I did get an idea.
At first my plan was just to clean up the trash pile while Jack was gone. This would mean letting myself in when he wasn't around, but he'd already left me there alone a few different times, so I didn't think he'd mind. Then I thought it might be nice to spruce the place up a bit, maybe a string of colored lights and a psychedelic poster or two. The next thing I knew, I was loading a suitcase and two duffel bags worth of hardware and decorations into a taxi.
By the time I was done, the place looked fantastic. I'd thrown out the trash pile, plus a busted up plastic chair that had gone unused since Jayjay got new ones. I bought some cheap lamp fixtures and some expensive color-changing bulbs you could control with your phone. You could now see after dark without turning on the industrial overhead lighting. I put up tinsel curtains behind the television that fluttered in the drafts, reflecting bits of rainbow around like a chaotic disco ball. I even found a vintage larger-than-life poster of Trent Reznor from the Pretty Hate Machine era, since I knew we were both big fans.
The place was certified ready to party. I was giddy when I heard the downstairs door open and the sound of Jack coming up the stairs.
"Surprise!" I shouted when he walked through the door.
"WHAT THE FUCK!"
Uh-oh.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY LOFT?"
He started slowly walking around, a look of shock on his face.
"I...I just cleaned up and decorated," I said meekly.
"Dude, you came in here when I was gone and messed with all my stuff! Do you know what a huge violation of privacy that is? Who does that!?"
I'm not going to cry, I thought. Don't fucking cry.
"I was just trying to be useful..."
"WHERE'S MY CHAIR!"
"I...um..."
"FRANKIE WRIGHT GAVE ME THAT CHAIR! FUCK!!!"
I had never seen Jack angry before—like, really, really angry.
"It was the videos!" I shouted.
It was the only defense I could think to muster. Jack stared holes into me as I pulled out my phone, loaded up a video and held the screen up to him, trembling.
"Nobody wants a friend who isn't useful," the video lectured. "It's not a nice thing to say, but it's the truth. We evolved to be social creatures..."
"Holy shit," Jack said, his demeanor changing completely. He walked over, took the phone from my hand, and began scrolling through the other videos on the channel. "What the hell is he doing in the globe..."
I just stood there, confused and silent.
"That's fucking Peter!" Jack said, holding up the screen and pointing at it.
"No, uh, I think Peter is his last..."
"I know that face from anywhere, and it's Peter, the Pope! Peter of Galilee! I.E. Peter of Jordan!!!"
"Oh," I said, completely emotionally out of balance. "So that's, like, Peter's son..."
"Oh, old Pete would never sully himself enough to procreate," Jack scoffed. "His poor wife died more virginal than Grandma. No, that is Peter, the first Bishop of Rome and the fucking Pope of the Actually Catholic Church! What is that asshole doing here?"
"He's got all sorts of videos online," I said quietly. "He's really famous..."
Jack started another video. Peter lectured from the screen. He was wearing a black suit with curling blue embroidery.
"Relativism is the great mistake of modernity! Mankind has a deep, inherent need to reconcile our knowledge into a single consistent theory. It's the pursuit of truth, the pursuit of God..."
"FUCK!" Jack yelled.
He handed me back the phone, then began pacing back and forth with his hands on his forehead.
"Just give me a minute, I need to think..."
I said nothing.
Jack stopped pacing and looked up at me.
"Dude, I think you need to leave for now."
"I...ok," I said. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew this wasn't the time to pry.
"And I think you need to give me back that key."
Don't cry. Don't cry.
"Ok."
I didn't cry. I took the key off my keychain and handed it back. Neither of us said anything else. As Jack let me out the downstairs door, I turned to face him.
"The chair should still be out by the dumpster. I can bring it up if you..."
He let the door swing shut.
I walked home. And I didn't cry.
The more I thought about it, the more I didn't want to cry. I was hurt. I was angry. I'd done a really nice thing for Jack, I put a lot of work into it, and he'd treated me like shit. I didn't know if this was going to be another one of those times where he disappeared on me for awhile, or if I'd ever even see him again, but I wasn't going to call and beg forgiveness. Not this time.
I was at home the following evening when I heard my apartment buzzer.
"Hey, it's Jack," he said over the intercom. "I'm sorry."
I buzzed him in and heard him running up the stairs. When I opened my apartment door, he was standing sheepishly in the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, and he said it again.
"I'm really sorry. My place looks awesome. I was a dick."
"Dude...it's cool," I said with full sincerity. "Come on in..."
We sat on my couch. I grabbed my weed vape and took a really big hit. I handed it to him, and he did the same.
"So, tell me what's up with this Peter guy," I said.
Jack took a deep breath.
"Peter is one of Dad's original twelve apostles," he explained. "Not just any apostle. Dad calls him 'The Rock On Which I Built My Church.' And I'm not talking about the Roman church here in the globe. I mean, yeah, Peter was the first pope of that. But then he died and came back, and Dad put him in charge of the actual Church, the universal one, the one that stretches out over the entire inhabited world.
"And he's an asshole. Like, he completely denied even knowing Dad when it mattered most. Dad of course forgave him. Then later, after Dad came back, when Peter got busted by Nero, he insisted that they crucify him upside down! He was like, 'Oh I'm not worthy to die like my Lord,' but it was obvious he was just trying to one-up Dad.
"And now Peter and his shock troops are all over the known world. Dad busts open a hell, then they sweep in to do the cleanup. But they don't just say, 'Hey, this is a heaven now, nobody be assholes.' No, Pete's King of the Monotheorists. He's got this whole industrial indoctrination complex set up. Whatever the prevailing worldview is in a territory, Pete's guys will make a bunch of changes so that it fits their precious True Story. And if you don't like their changes?" Jack made a slashing motion across his neck. "Well, maybe you'll do better the next time around."
"Jesus..." I gasped.
Jack chuckled quietly.
"I don't know why Dad trusts him. Forgives him? Sure, Dad forgives everyone, to a fault. But why he put that asshole in charge of the Church, I will never understand. All I can say is, beware of men in weird suits."
"Dude, have another hit," I said.
He did, and we both chilled quietly for a bit.
"Look, dude," Jack eventually said, "I really am sorry..."
"It's cool, dude, I mean it," I said. "Don't worry about it, we're good now."
"Cool," Jack said, "Because...well, first, I wanted to give you this back..."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the key to his place and handed it to me.
"Thanks, dude," I said. "It means a lot to me that you trust me with it."
"I do," Jack said, "And, um, I was thinking, if you're interested, we could make it official..."
He looked up at me, and we looked into each other's eyes.
"Wanna be roommates?"
YES! I wanted to shout. But I knew there was something I needed to do.
"Before you ask me that," I said, taking a deep breath, "I've got to say sorry, too."
"Dude, you didn't do anything wrong," Jack insisted. "That was the nicest thing—"
"No, it's not that," I said. "Look, I should have told you about this as soon as it happened, but I didn't know how you'd take it. But that wasn't a good reason to keep it a secret, and I'd hate for you to find out any other way. That night we all went to Club Nirvana, after you were passed out drunk in bed, I kinda ended up...sucking Jayjay's dick."
Jack's eyes got really wide, and I held my breath.
Jack burst out laughing.
Like, grabbing his gut, shedding tears guffawing.
This was not the reaction I had been expecting, but I'd practiced this speech, so I just kept going.
"I'm really sorry and I regretted it right away and—"
Jack cut me off with a wave of his hand until he could catch his breath enough to speak. He had a crazy wide grin on his face.
"I knew that douchebag was bi!"
Next: Eggnog with Jesus' Son
Doing Drugs with Jesus’ Son is always free.