Seeing Jesus

by Jeffrey McClain Jones

  “Umhm. I don’t know if she still looks like that,” Philly said. “I think maybe she’s more straight cut now. She has a good job.” Three years previous, when Brenda met Eileen, his sister had just started in a pharmaceutical company as a researcher. Her recent promotion now put her two steps above that initial job.

  “How long will she be here?”

  “Just the weekend. Mostly to see Grandma and help calm Ma down, I think.”

  “Your ma’s pretty upset, huh?”

  “Yeah. Well, you know how she gets.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jesus sat watching Philly, no look of disapproval on his face, just watching. Philly tried to recover with Jesus and Brenda.

  “We could still go out Saturday night, if you’re available,” he said.

  “Really?” Brenda’s voice squeaked. “You don’t have to be with your sister?”

  “No, not really. I don’t plan on spending the whole weekend with her and my folks,” Philly said, his voice accented by a taste of how annoying such a weekend would be.

  “Oh, okay, dinner and a movie, then?” Brenda said.

  “Sure. Pick you up at 6:00?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Good. So I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, well, goodnight,” Philly said.

  “Goodnight, Philly. Thanks again, for calling.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Philly looked at Jesus. “I could tell her Saturday night, right?”

  Jesus nodded, setting Irving down on the cushion next to him. “Of course you can,” he said, with no hint of irony or doubt in his voice, any of which Philly would have felt was justified, even if the Savior was not able to read his thoughts.

  That night, Philly had some difficulty falling asleep, having shut off a TV show that he normally watched and gone to bed early. A combination of remembering that he told Brenda he wanted to be home that night to get some extra rest and guilt over the content of the TV show, prompted him to repent from his usual Wednesday night routine. But sleep didn’t come easily.

  He imagined that he could hear Jesus breathing where he sat in the dark corner of the bedroom. However, when he held his own breath and listened, he could perceive no other human sound. Just when he was contemplating asking Jesus to spend the night in the living room, he fell into a fitful sleep. He seemed to dream all night about the people on the bus staring at him, sometimes people he knew, sometimes not. At other turns, crazy people shouted at him, driving him from the bus, chasing him down the street, until he got lost in unfamiliar neighborhoods and could no longer find his way to work or back home.

  Then, deep into the early hours of the morning, Jesus entered his dreams. He ushered Philly out onto a familiar street, where he realized he was only a few blocks from work. And Jesus showed him that no one was chasing him. Then, there on the street, still in his dream, Philly fell into Jesus’s arms and began to weep with happiness. At last, he had someone to guide him, someone to protect him, someone to go with him and make sure that every one of his needs was met.

  After that, he slept peacefully through the rest of the night, so that Irving chose to sleep on the bed next to him, instead of in Jesus’s lap.

  Chapter Four

  When he first woke up to the sound of his alarm, Philly didn’t remember about Jesus being in the apartment. Flipping the alarm switch to off, he rolled toward the side of the bed and sat up, his T-shirt twisted uncomfortably. He tried to tug it around straight, but stopped when he heard movement behind him that didn’t sound like Irving. Fortunately, his mind had booted up sufficiently to remember his visitor, before he panicked. Philly did turn quickly to see Jesus sitting in that same chair where he had seen him before he went to sleep.

  Jesus smiled. “I’m still here,” he said playfully.

  Philly rubbed his face with both hands and finished by running his fingers through his hair to get it under control. He needed a haircut. Bouncing up off the bed, he waved a groggy good morning to Jesus and headed for the bathroom. Irving followed, taking up his usual post outside the door, where he recited his regular order for breakfast.

  “Yes, cranky cat, I will feed you,” Philly said, as he flushed the toilet.

  After washing up and wiping his hands on a towel, Philly opened the bathroom door and looked at Jesus. “Another day at work; I think I can handle you being there better today.”

  “I think you’re right,” Jesus said.

  Philly managed to run through his usual morning routine, even brewing himself a cup of coffee, only to get a text from Brenda saying, “My trn t brng cofee.” He dumped hot coffee down the sink, after debating drinking it before seeing Brenda at work. He decided that was too much trouble and he didn’t need that much coffee, anyway.

  On the way out the door, Jesus helped him remember his cell phone, which he had laid on the kitchen counter while debating what to do with the coffee. He had totally forgotten that absent-minded move.

  “Thanks,” Philly told Jesus, as they headed down the back stairs and toward the bus.

  “You’re welcome,” Jesus said. “You better start practicing communicating with me without talking out loud.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Philly said aloud and then laughed at himself.

  Silently he thought, “I’ll get the hang of this.”

  The April wind from the southwest undid all of Philly’s coiffing, but he didn’t mind. The temperature was over fifty already and the wind was only moderately cool. In fact, Philly was in a good mood, coming to enjoy Jesus’s company during the dull parts of his life, which included most parts of his life.

  On the bus, Philly noticed a few of the people who had marked him for suspicious surveillance the day before. He determined to be as normal as possible this morning. Jesus sat next to Philly, facing forward this time and, for the first time, Philly thought about the fact that he could feel Jesus next to him, as well as see and hear him. For reasons he couldn’t articulate, this realization gave Philly chills, to the point that he visibly shook for half a second. After he did that, however, he feared he might have alerted the freak detectors of his fellow passengers. He looked out the window and caught Jesus’s reflection there; they exchanged a welcoming look.

  At his transfer stop, a man with a raw, red face and boney hands, shook a Styrofoam cup, soliciting donations with a weak jangling rhythm. Philly, not generally a spontaneous donor in such situations, felt a surge of generosity. He found the change from the coffee he bought two days ago and dropped all of it into the beggar’s cup, all thirty-seven cents. Philly didn’t know the exact size of his donation, but he knew it was small, yet he privately congratulated himself for breaking out of his usual cocoon of protection from the world around him. As he turned away from the beggar, nodding to acknowledge the man’s monotone thanks and “God bless you,” Philly saw Jesus stop. Jesus stood next to the beggar, his garment brushing against the stained sleeve of the man with the cup.

  Philly held up the line boarding the LaSalle 156 bus, as he stared at Jesus, who was looking sorrowfully into the beggar’s glassy and bloodshot eyes. A short woman behind Philly cleared her throat meaningfully, breaking him out of his daze. He dutifully shuffled onto the bus, fearing momentarily that Jesus wouldn’t follow. Before the bus pulled away from the curb, Jesus turned away from the beggar and stepped through the side of the bus and next to Philly, as if the world around him were a mere projection.

  Seeing Jesus appear suddenly through the side of the bus startled Philly, but the bus rocking through a pot hole disguised his physical spasm of surprise. Jesus squeezed between passengers and took his place pressed up against Philly on the crowded bus. Philly averted his gaze and then met Jesus’s eyes, over and over, unable to hold eye contact but reticent to look away. Only the general internal preoccupation of his fellow passengers prevented them from noticing Philly shifting his eyes back and forth nervously.

  Finally, Philly
ventured to address Jesus with his thoughts, “What were you doing back there with that beggar?”

  Jesus met Philly’s gaze with his own receptive eyes and peaceful smile. He spared Philly the strain of thinking in reply to someone speaking, by communicating mind to mind in response. “I was getting as close to him as you had and lingering there as long as you would let me.”

  “Why were you doing that?”

  “I want to touch as many people as I can, in any way that I can.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You gave him money, but, in doing so, you acknowledged him as a fellow human being, someone who is connected to you in some way, someone who matters. You did more than make him a few cents richer. As you did that, you made way for me to briefly connect with that man, whose name is Ben, by the way.”

  Philly was not comprehending the significance of Jesus’s words and he felt too constrained by the crowd around him to ask the questions necessary to clear his tangled mind. He just said, “I don’t understand.”

  “You will,” Jesus said. “Just give it time.”

  Philly nodded slightly and then blinked self-consciously, hoping no one had noticed the gesture.

  Before the bus even stopped, Philly could see Brenda waiting for him near the bus stop, the breeze blowing a curl of her brown hair over one eye. She held a paper coffee cup in each hand.

  Philly followed three other people exiting the bus and, just as the woman in front of him reached the top step, a young teenage boy pushed his friend, a chubby boy, into the woman. The stern thirty-something woman swore at the boy. “Jesus,” she said.

  When she said that, Philly looked over at Jesus, who was closely following him off the bus. Jesus raised his eyebrows in surprise, as if to say, “Is she talking to me?”

  This little joke distracted Philly, who nearly stepped on the back of the disgruntled woman’s shoes, having to dance delicately with his hands held chest high to avoid the collision. He caught a grim look from the woman at the same time that he regained his balance. Then he looked at Brenda, who was just fifteen feet away. He gave her a look that said, “Oops,” and then smiled. Brenda mirrored his look and shrugged slightly.

  As she presented him with the coffee, Brenda said, “Good morning, Philly. A close call there, huh?” She smiled as brightly as the sun, which dashed out from behind a white cloud being driven by the April wind.

  Philly smiled in return, as they began to walk toward work. He lost his focus for a moment when Jesus swept around to the other side of Brenda, as if the three of them were old friends, skipping off to work together.

  Brenda tugged Philly back to her. “So did you sleep well last night, get the rest you needed?”

  Philly wound up for a cogent response. “Oh, yeah. I did sleep pretty well, I think,” Philly said, uncertain what the right answer was, until he remembered the anxious dreams. He chose not to amend his answer, however. “How about you?” he said, striving to pay attention to Brenda, this time.

  “I slept well, thank you.” She answered with the whimsy of girl skipping off to play.

  “Hey, thanks for the coffee. You didn’t have to do that,” Philly said, raising the restaurant cup. Philly really meant that he didn’t want Brenda to buy him things. He knew she made about half of what he did and that she was not particularly careful with her money. Restaurant coffee for two would add up to a problem if this pattern persisted.

  “Oh, I know I should have brewed it myself. But I got a late start this morning and was afraid I’d miss the train. So I just bought some between here and the El station. I’ll plan better next time.” She sensed that his concerns for her money persisted from when they had dated before.

  Entering their office building, they had reached the place where they would naturally part and all three hesitated. Jesus looked at both of them expectantly. Philly caught that look and again tried to elevate his game.

  “I guess we better get to work,” he said. “I hope you have a great day, Brenda.”

  “Oh, thanks. You too,” she said.

  “I’ll be thinking of you.” He inserted this awkwardly, like someone who had forgotten his line until too late.

  “Oh, wow. You too,” she said, surprise momentarily freezing her in the middle of turning toward the stairs.

  That reaction, which Philly caught just before heading for the elevator, made him feel that he might have overreached. He glanced at Jesus, who seemed unconcerned. In fact, Jesus was looking at each of the people they passed with that intimate interest that Philly had noticed before, as if he expected each person to stop and greet him like a long absent friend. He continued this on the elevator, as well. When they reached Philly’s door and the hallway was clear of traffic, Philly managed to ask a silent question.

  “What are you thinking when you look at all the people you pass?”

  Jesus followed Philly into his office and dropped casually into the same chair he had occupied the first day. “I’m looking into their souls, connecting to what my father is saying about them, or trying to do with them. I’m essentially praying for them, as I always am for all people. You’re seeing a very brief, and local, representation of my role as intercessor for humanity.”

  Philly swung into his swivel chair and looked at Jesus, trying to comprehend what he had said. Just then, Dennis poked his head in the door, which Philly had left half way open so Jesus could follow him.

  “What’s wrong with your chair?” Dennis said.

  Philly startled at the appearance of his boss and bungled his answer. “Wha. . . my chair? I don’t know. What’s the matter with it?”

  “I thought you were looking at your chair as if something was wrong with it,” Dennis said, furrowing his brow at Philly’s disjointed behavior.

  Philly shook his head nervously, casting a quick glance at Jesus. He answered with a forced laugh, “Oh, I guess I was just staring into space. Nothing wrong with the chair.”

  Dennis still looked thoughtful. “You know, your girlfriend told me yesterday about your grandmother. She was looking for you by the network room,” he said. “Feel free to take some time off, if you have to deal with . . . things.”

  This uncharacteristic kindness caught Philly off guard. He very nearly teared up for a second, but quickly recovered. “Oh, okay. Thanks, Dennis. I really appreciate that,” he said. “I may have to take you up on that, depending on how things go.”

  The boss, whose motivation for speaking to Philly was actually a desire to prevent any mistakes by a distracted network administrator, decided to let the impression that he was considering Philly’s welfare stay where it lay between them.

  Dennis nodded and said, “Alright. See you later.” And he retreated, closing the door, having said his piece, but not having precisely delivered his intended message.

  Philly looked at Jesus again, once the door was closed. He said aloud, “Was that a lie?”

  Jesus looked back at him and nodded, but said nothing.

  Philly grimaced and said, “You know I tell almost all my lies because I’m afraid of what people will think if I tell the truth.”

  Before Jesus could respond, someone knocked on the door. With the blinds closed on the long window next to the door, the knocker would not know who Philly was talking to, so he picked up the phone and said, “Come in.”

  Philly held up one finger, as Craig opened the door and waited.

  “Okay, that’s fine. Thanks. Yeah, goodbye,” Philly said to the dial tone in his ear.

  Making a mental note to begin talking to Jesus silently while at work, Philly turned to Craig. “What’s up?”

  “Remember I wanted off tomorrow?” Craig said.

  “Sounds familiar.” Philly had forgotten this personnel detail.

  “Just wanted to make sure you knew,” Craig said.

  “No problem,” Philly said. “What are you working on now?”

  “Antivirus software updates pushed out to all computers with nobody on them today and then cleaning ou
t the old boxes in the back of the network room,” Craig said, like he was reciting a lesson.

  “Sounds good,” Philly said. “Make sure you come get me before throwing away any boxes, so we can make sure we’re covered, in case we need to return certain items.”

  “Okay, will do,” said Craig. And with that he closed the door and went on his way.

  Philly sighed. He looked at Jesus again, this time telepathing instead of speaking. “That was kind of a lie too,” he said.

  Jesus nodded. “You’re afraid.”

  Philly nodded, feeling that Jesus had summarized far more than just two short conversations at work. He could list a number of fears that plagued him. Even then, Philly remained unaware of the extent to which he lived by fear, every aspect of his life in some way motivated by fear. He would have been surprised to know, for example, the volume of energy he devoted to not flinching when someone moved too quickly, got too close, spoke too loudly, or acted crazy. And he lacked the prodigious self-awareness required to see how many options in his life he had closed a priori, due to his root-level fear.

  Sensing the work-negating abyss that opened before him, if he were to follow this introspection, Philly backed away. He sought refuge in his email and To-Do list, instead.

  When he thought about it later that morning, Philly was amazed at how silent Jesus remained through most of the day. He didn’t preach or pry, or interrupt Philly’s work. Rather, he waited silently, patiently, always present, always ready and never perturbed. Jesus seemed willing to wait for Philly to initiate conversation most of the time, especially at work. “Perhaps, he simply respects work and knows I wouldn’t get any done if we talked about the sort of things we should probably be talking about,” he thought.

  Jesus looked at him and smiled, his playful eyes saying, “Did you forget that I can hear your thoughts?”

  Philly had forgotten for that moment. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it’s time for lunch.”

  Jesus looked at Philly as if he had an idea.