I was sitting in the corner of a room with fish colored shag carpet and an atrocious scent that reeked gum disease. The air felt moist, like he was vaporizing Vaseline, maybe, thick and ill like thinned butter I could slice with my eyelashes. Jesus was standing across a fold out table with his arms crossed. His thin black hair was slicked over to one side, partially covering one of his beady eyes that were staring me down. Jesus Monroe. I don't know much about him except that he tried to get a room in the hospital I was working at, but was rejected for reasons unknown to me. I was only working there part time as a nurse's assistant, taking care of the old folk, playing Yatzi or watching T.V.
I'm slime. I hate myself. I have the most awful brown curly hair that I always try to weigh down with water, and thin stick-like arms that couldn't intimidate a mouse. My name is Jeremy, I am seventeen years old.
I lived in Putnam, New York in a pretty nice neighborhood. My house was the small, light pink one on the corner. There, I stayed with my parent, Betty and Jim. I'm saying this in the past tense because I don't know for sure if I'll be returning. All I know is that I need to get prepared for an interrogation, because Jesus is creeping up before me.
"What's your pleasure?" he asked.
I noticed he talked with a bit of a lisp.
"I'm not feeling much pleasure at all, Mister," I said nervously.
I was scrunched up in a little ball in the corner. The room had no windows or doors, just a ladder that went up through a small hole in the ceiling. This was the kind of room you could go crazy with claustrophobia in. It was cramped and the walls were off-white with sleazy orange carpet that outlined the room like a stencil. The black fold out table took up about sixty percent of the space, leaving me and Jesus right across from each other, face to face.
"Do you have a story?" he asked.
"No, sir," I replied.
"Tell me who you think you are," he said, assertively.
"I'm Jeremy,"
"Nice to meet you, Jeremy, what's your name?"
I looked at him confused, and then tried to smile as if he were making a joke or something.
"You're no Jeremy. You're Calendar Friend. Yeah, that sounds nice doesn't it?"
I nodded.
"Mhm… and I am Jesus."
"Hi…" I said quietly.
"Hello to you too. We're cute together, dontcha think?" he said, "Yeah, I like you. Kinda skinny, though. Want some gumbo?"
"No, thank you," I said, sheepishly.
"Okay, that's alright." He said as he climbed the ladder up through the hole in the ceiling, I suppose to get some for himself. I contemplated trying to escape, but figured it'd be too dangerous so I sat still and listening to him stomping around on the upper floor.
He returned after a short few minutes with a giant pot of thick, brown gumbo.
"Sure you don't want some?" he asked, scooping the goop into his mouth.
I nodded yes.
"Just try it…" he said, trying to push some of the gumbo into my mouth with his hand.
I turned my head. Jesus acted insulted. He stood up and started pelting handfuls of scalding gumbo at me. It burnt my skin and I yelped with both shock and blistering pain.
"Do you hate yourself, Calendar?" he yelled, "Do you with you were someone else?"
"Do you ever feel you're not pretty enough, not smart enough, or not good enough?"
"Do you ever feel you're just filth?"
He yielded. He took a breath. He stepped away from me, crouched onto the ground and put his hands over his head.
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