Seeing Jesus

by Jeffrey McClain Jones

  Because his cramped mind led him wandering in circles, like a man lost in the woods, the second bus ride passed quickly. This time, he recognized his stop without help, sprouting some hope that escaping rapid transit would free him from his delusion, like escaping the crazy people he often saw on the bus.

  Philly hit the pavement hard, as if forgetting to factor gravity into his planned escape. He felt a hand steady him before he stumbled, but he didn’t dare look at whose hand that was. Instead, he strode toward his building with purpose, that purpose being to run away from the smiling stranger. But, glancing over his right shoulder, he suddenly slowed. There, walking step-for-step with him, was Jesus.

  As he approached the front door of his office building, Philly could see Brenda waiting for him. “Oh, no,” he said aloud. Then he turned to Jesus and thought, “Please don’t say anything around Brenda, . . ah, . . Sir.” Actually, the term he was searching for was “Lord,” but he had little practice talking to God, or even an optical illusion of God’s son.

  “She can’t hear me,” Jesus said, “only you can.”

  Philly broke free from the urge to clarify himself and get Jesus to not talk to him while Brenda was near, but he realized it was too late.

  “Hello, Mr. Considerate,” Brenda said, an enticing smile—complete with lipstick—on her beaming face.

  Philly fumbled for his pocket, found the second travel cup and even found that his pocket was dry. Before he started hallucinating that morning, his mind had been clear enough to use the most leak-proof mug for Brenda’s coffee. Remembering that earlier moment of clarity prompted a brief feeling of nostalgia. He handed Brenda the cup, but didn’t manage to say anything, not even “Hello.”

  “Thanks,” said Brenda, looking at Philly as if he had a Band-Aid in the middle of his forehead.

  Brenda’s expression reminded him of the suspicious looks from his fellow bus passengers and he worried that he had said something to thin air without being aware of it.

  “So, you gonna say ‘Hi’ or something?”

  Philly nearly palmed himself in the forehead when he realized his oversight, but before he could say anything, his Jesus shadow had stepped up right next to Brenda. The most distracting thing about that was the enraptured look on the supposed Savior’s visage, as he looked into Brenda’s confused face. This completely rattled Philly. Was his illusion making a move on his girlfriend? What was that look?

  “Are you okay, Philly? You’re acting really strange. You feeling sick?” Brenda said.

  In a flash, Philly saw a possible way out. He could say he was sick and head for home, surrendering the field to the conquering army of befuddlement and consternation.

  Jesus made a motion signaling Philly to answer Brenda.

  Philly took the prompt. “Oh, hello. I’m sorry. My mind is somewhere else just now.”

  And here, his delusion became even more complicated. Jesus raised his left hand as if to caress Brenda’s face, but as his hand approached her cheek it disappeared, as if the Christ were an amputee. Philly stared incredulously.

  “What’s wrong? What are you looking at?” Brenda’s voice escalated.

  Philly covered his eyes and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m not myself this morning,” he said, moaning audibly.

  “Oh, you poor dear. You saw your grandmother last night, didn’t you? And you stayed there so late that you couldn’t call me at a decent hour. So now you’re all stressed and out of sorts,” She hooked her free hand through his right arm and turning to walk him into work. “I’m so sorry,” she said in perfect sympathetic tones.

  Philly brightened slightly at this first bit of good luck. “Thanks,” he said weakly, easily taking the part of the grieving grandson. Her intuition, after all, was not far from the truth.

  Looking past Brenda, Philly saw his Jesus projection walking beside them. He made eye contact with Philly and Philly nearly forgot to walk. Just in that moment, that brief look on Jesus’s face, Philly saw an expression of love and unconditional acceptance that reminded him of his grandma. This is the second reason that Philly wouldn’t think of sending the apparition away. He craved that sort of love as much as anybody and—like most people—he had seen very little of it in his lifetime.

  When he sensed that Brenda had begun to drag him toward the door, he refocused on walking and maintaining a polite connection with Brenda.

  “Are you gonna be alright to work?” Brenda was saying, as she juggled her coffee to her left hand and pulled the door open.

  Philly attempted to rally. “I’ll be alright,” he said very unconvincingly. Again, he thought about calling it quits for the day, so he could recover from his Jesus virus, or whatever he was suffering.

  Dennis Walsh, Philly’s boss, caught sight of him in the lobby and this seemed to wipe out going home sick, though rationally speaking it did nothing of the sort. Philly was, at least, relieved that he had broken physical contact with Brenda before Dennis saw him and he reminded himself that no one could see Jesus but him. These qualifications in place, his slate was clean with Dennis; but with himself, Philly was still inside-out and upside-down. At such a moment, he felt the pressure of his boss’s disapproval of what he was thinking, even if Dennis couldn’t read his mind.

  Glancing at Jesus, Philly saw him cast a friendly eye in Dennis’s direction, something Philly never thought to do. As a boss, Dennis kept his relationship with Philly strictly business and offered little room for friendship or charity. Jesus didn’t work for Dennis, on the other hand, and seemed to feel no guilt or resentment toward him.

  Brenda had increased the distance between herself and Philly when she saw Dennis, knowing how nervous Philly was about pleasing his boss. She truly didn’t want to complicate Philly’s work life, though his personal life was, of course, a different matter.

  “Bye,” Brenda said quietly, giving Philly a tiny wave with three fingers, as they parted ways by the staircase.

  “Bye,” Philly said.

  “Goodbye, beloved Brenda,” Jesus said.

  Philly scowled at his uninvited guest, now that Dennis had turned aside and could no longer see Philly’s face. Craig Washburn, on the other hand, intercepted that scowl. The twenty-eight year old African-American worked for Philly, as a network technician. He did much of the work that Philly didn’t enjoy, making Philly’s days more pleasant.

  “What’s wrong, Phil?” Craig asked, stepping into the traffic flow toward the network room.

  “Huh,” Philly had not noticed Craig next to the receptionist’s desk. He told as much of the truth as he dared. “Oh, not a great morning so far.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” Craig said. He generally tight roped a line between sucking up and genuine helpfulness. Philly could never see clearly on which side of that line his assistant stood from one moment to the next. He just treated Craig at face value.

  “No, it’s personal stuff, but thanks for asking.” Philly changed the subject. “You got her computer switched over to the new patch panel?” he said, referring to Donna at the reception desk.

  “Yep. No problem, she’s up and running.”

  “Good. Go ahead and start using that new firewall. I tested it last night. We can just switch over people who aren’t in the office yet, up on the third floor.”

  “Cool. Will do,” Craig said. “I don’t need to login to it or anything do I?”

  Philly shook his head, distracted by the sight of Jesus in his work place. The robe and sandals didn’t fit in the business casual dress code, but it did look comfortable.

  “Okay, see ya later,” Craig said, when Philly detoured toward the bathroom.

  “Yep,” Philly said quickly over his shoulder. He wanted to wash his hands. The coffee he spilled had made his right hand sticky.

  While Craig had known not to follow Philly into the bathroom, Jesus apparently had no such boundaries. He leaned against the wall next to the paper towels and crossed his arms over his chest. That pose reminded Philly of high sch
ool and Ray following him into the bathroom between classes, or during some class they were skipping.

  “You gonna follow me everywhere?” Philly’s tone was just short of complaint.

  “You can draw the lines wherever you want, Philly.”

  Somebody in one of the stalls flushed and Philly rolled his eyes, realizing that he had asked his last question aloud again. He sped up his hand washing, picked up his cup and scuttled out of the bathroom, before he could be identified by the other mortal occupant. Jesus scuttled right along behind him.

  As he walked toward the elevator, Philly decided he had better work on communicating with his hallucination without his voice.

  “Are you just some kind of a mirage, or something?”

  “No, you’re really seeing me. I know this is unusual, but Grandma and I have a very close relationship and I respect her prayers,” Jesus said, still moving his mouth and seeming to use good old-fashioned sound. “You’ve been given a rare chance, Philly,” he continued. “Most people just have to assume that I’m really with them because they heard it in church. You get to see for yourself.”

  Put that way, this delusion seemed almost desirable, as Philly got off the elevator and walked to his office. He unlocked the door with Jesus patiently waiting. He sloughed his jacket off absently and hung it on the hook behind his door, swinging around his desk, clunking his cup down on its surface and dumping himself into his swivel chair. He tapped the space bar twice to wake up his computer. Jesus took a seat across the desk, in one of the aqua-blue, woven-cloth guest chairs.

  Philly glanced at Jesus as he waited for his password to be recognized and then clicked on his email icon, again waiting, this time for the screen to update with the latest messages. He sat back and looked straight at his visitor, but remembered not to speak, thinking, “Should I go home? I’m not sure I can work with you sitting there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, you’re distracting.”

  “Okay, how about if I move over here?” Jesus got up and switched to the chair further from Philly’s field of view.

  Philly shrugged. “I guess that’s better.”

  He decided to work on purchasing half a dozen new computers, one of his favorite parts of the job. His boss took care of software licensing, as well as managing programmers and the help desk, leaving Philly with the network hardware and software, and purchasing most of the desktop and laptop computers. Philly immersed himself in gigabytes and gigahertz, flat screens and purchase prices, aiming to buy the best computers he could fit into the budget he was handed.

  In this way, Philly started the strangest day of his working life. He was grateful that he had a consuming task to keep him from tangling with the meaning of seeing this apparition in his office. Jesus, sitting there watching him work, didn’t bother him as much as the fact that no one else could see him, impugning Philly’s sanity.

  At five o’clock, Brenda found Philly closing his office door and locking it. She had checked the network room twice that day, wondering why he hadn’t answered her emails. Of course, the answer was not about Brenda, or even Philly’s feelings about Brenda. For one brief moment, when he looked at the second email, Philly longed for a relationship with Brenda, or someone, in which he could tell exactly what was happening to him. The vision of such an honest and intimate relationship had blossomed and then withered, leaving only the specter of the God-man peacefully watching him check his email. Philly sighed, confronted with the reality that his problems ran well beyond this one delusional day.

  “Philly, didn’t you get my emails?” Brenda said, painful accusation spilling all around her question.

  As he began to form his evasive defense, Philly sensed Jesus stepping up close to him, as if he were about to whisper in his ear. He couldn’t stop himself from turning to check what his religious mirage was doing now. He made eye contact with Jesus, who seemed to project reassurance and peace from his loving eyes. On the impulsive strength of that look, Philly started to tell the truth.

  “I wanted to be alone today,” Philly began. “I had work to do that kept me in front of my computer all day. I didn’t even go out for lunch, just ate peanuts and granola bars from my desk drawer.”

  His sincere response and melancholy look, melted Brenda’s complaint, if not all of her resentment. “Oh, I keep forgetting about your grandmother. You poor dear.”

  Again she hooked her arm through Philly’s, as if to help him make it to the elevator. And again, Philly fell into the role that Brenda created for him, thinking momentarily about whether he was being dishonest by not clarifying what he meant and correcting her misconception. But he looked at Jesus again and his apparent contentment with the resolution of Philly’s situation, reassured Philly that he had done nothing truly wrong, only fallen short of his own deep desire for that perfect intimacy that he had imagined earlier in the day. Maybe that was a sin, but it was a different kind of sin than what Philly was used to regretting.

  The day had turned cloudy and rainy while Philly worked in his windowless office. Instead of the rain, however, Philly focused on how to make a graceful break from Brenda. He needed to get alone with his Jesus shadow and figure out what was really happening to him.

  “I’m worried about you being alone this evening,” Brenda said, as she opened her umbrella.

  Philly stood in the rain, his hair beginning to darken and sag under the steady shower. He struggled to decide whether to go see his grandma, or just head for home.

  Jesus responded to his thoughts. “Your grandma is fine. Your mother is with her now and will stay for a while. You need to get home and call your sister about picking her up at the airport.” The apparition seemed surprisingly well-informed.

  For Philly, taking advice from a specter seemed no less insane than seeing and hearing Jesus with him all day. But he still wondered how to break from Brenda.

  “Tell her about the call to your sister and that you need to get some rest tonight,” Jesus said.

  “Ah, thanks Brenda. But I need to talk to my sister tonight about arrangements for her to come into town and then I gotta get some sleep,” he said, zipping his jacket to the top and taking a decisive step toward his bus stop.

  He last saw Brenda’s dejected face peering from under her pink, flowered umbrella, as he threw a resigned grin over his shoulder and began to jog up the block. Jesus jogged with him, which became somewhat annoying, when Philly realized that the long-haired carpenter could run forever without getting the least bit winded or wet. Philly slowed to a fast walk, taking the rain as a small, deserved punishment for a life of irreverence and disbelief.

  Jesus actually skipped up the stairs into the bus ahead of Philly, when they arrived two seconds before it left the bus stop. Philly moved more carefully, trying not to slip on the wet steps and aisle. The bus was crowded and he and Jesus both had to stand, while holding onto the overhead rail. Philly focused on Jesus for a moment as he watched his mirage looking around at all of the people. Something about the way he looked at them told Philly that Jesus knew each of them personally and had a compelling affection for all.

  The survey of all who surrounded them ended at an African-American man in his late fifties, wearing a White Sox cap sideways, muttering through his ill-kept beard. He had been quiet when they entered the bus, but his attention now seemed to have fixed on Philly’s hallucination. He began saying, “Jesus, I see you. Jesus, don’t mess with us. Jesus.” He fired that name into the air almost like a cough, such that it punctuated his mutterings in a way that startled half of the passengers.

  “Oh, oooooo, oh, you’re messin’ with me, I know it, Jesus!” He shouted now.

  The bus pulled to the next stop and the disturbed Sox fan pushed toward the side door of the bus. As it swung open, he flailed both arms all around his head, as if shooing a swarm of bees. “I ain’t lettin’ you mess with us.” He screeched as he bailed onto the sidewalk. From there, he looked back repeatedly and began running up the street. Unfortuna
tely for him, the bus drove in the same direction. His panic kept him running for a whole block, as the Jesus-bearing bus seemed to be chasing him. Finally, he stopped running and let the bus drive past him, flailing at those invisible bees again.

  Philly could just hear one last, “Jesus,” barked into the rainy air, as the bus swung back out into traffic and away.

  Jesus looked at Philly and Philly returned the gaze. Careful to not be associated with the escaped passenger, Philly remembered to communicate silently. “What did you do to that guy?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Jesus said. “I’m just here and I’m just me.”

  “I thought you said no one else could hear or see you.”

  Jesus nodded, “He didn’t see or hear me, but the bees buzzing around in his head all recognized me.”

  “Oh,” Philly thought.

  Then he let the whole incident sink in. That man’s insanity—or demons, or whatever—recognized that Jesus was standing there next to Philly. Here was the first bit of proof that this person with him was more than just a figment of his own fractured psyche. For the first time, Philly allowed himself to form the thought, “This could be real.”

  Jesus, reading this thoughts, smiled at Philly.

  Chapter Three

  Philly sorted through his mail as he walked up the stuffy stairwell, stomping slowly on the light gray carpet stretched over the chocolate-brown wood, toward his front door. “The stairs will do you good,” he thought. This phrase passed through his mind whenever he walked up the front stairs, though he couldn’t remember when that had started and why.

  “Yes they will,” Jesus said, following close behind.

  On the landing outside his apartment, Philly stopped and turned toward Jesus, who effortlessly scaled the last three stairs. Philly spoke aloud, “Are you like a ghost, or something, so you can just do that so easy?”