Lives Between Walls

What is in a name anyway? Parents usually give names to their children in the deluded hope that they will one day live up to them. Or maybe the reason parents chose the names they did for their kids was because they believed that the name would somehow magically guide the brats in the direction that they themselves had failed to go. In a nutshell then, I would say, names are usually the embodiment of parent’s expectations of their kids. It rarely happens that way though.

One then asks, do the expectations of parents put unnecessary pressure on kids? Take this other kid I knew for example – Jesus. Now I really have no idea what his parents were smoking to have named him this. Do you have any idea how much expectation this boy had to live up to? Firstly, his appearance was already a let down. I remember the first day that he joined our class in primary school. “Guys, we have a new student joining us today,” Ms Fox had said that Monday morning, “Jesus.” A smart Alec chimed in from the back seat, resulting in resounding cackles from the room,”From where? Nazareth?” Ms. Fox raised her hand to silence the class. “Settle down everyone please!” she had replied in her stern high pitched voice. “Jesus is just on his way from the headmasters office, please try and make him feel welcome,” Ms Fox had said. I remember there was a buzz of anticipation in the classroom. What would this Jesus look like? Would he be wise, and bold like the Jesus of the bible? Would he have a beard? Would he be a ‘bible basher?’ We would find out soon enough. There was a knock on the door, after which it slowly creaked open and in walked a toad of a boy. Nothing about him came even close to being worthy of such a name. He had freckles on his face, his teeth were crooked, he was scrawny – basically everything that could be wrong, was wrong. “Class,” Ms. Fox smiled as she beckoned Jesus in, “This is Jesus Ramirez.” The class was in stitches. They were laughing because the bearer of the name fell spectacularly short of the hype. Ms. Fox had tried desperately to quiet everyone down. I felt sorry for the poor fool as he walked with his head down to take his seat. I would guess that he was used to this by now, surely this was not the first introduction that he had endured.

You can probably guess that going forward, he bore the brunt of most of the jokes in the classroom. “Jesus,” Mr George had said one day, as he handed out exam papers, “you should try doing miracles in your exam paper, 20% simply won’t cut it.” The class would explode. I noted that Jesus would always try to laugh along, so I guess that’s why most of the class thought that he didn’t have a problem with all the jokes. Even the Christian groups in the school would poke fun at him. I remember this one incident that had really driven him to the edge. “Hi Jesus,” Belinda had greeted him in the corridor with two other girls. It seemed like Belinda had a soft spot for Jesus. She was quite attractive I must say, light skinned with a great body – but a little too religious for me. I steered clear of those crazy types. “Hey, would you like to come to our service tomorrow at recess? It would be great to have you there.” She had smiled at him. I was sitting on one of the school park benches over hearing this as I ate my lunch. Yes I was eavesdropping, not like I had anything better to do anyways. Jesus agreed, and I think it was the first time that he had experienced real acceptance in the school – and from a girl. I was happy for the poor fool, he deserved a break. I wondered how his life was like at home, but I had heard that his parents were quite strict. I don’t know why I took such an interest in this boy. It was as if his life was like a movie or something – and I longed to see how it would play out. There was something remarkable about him, I don’t know if it because of his name, or just something I couldn’t put my finger on. So I remember I had decided to go attend this service as well.

Again, I’m not into this religious stuff and so that afternoon was my first time at the school SCO meeting. I remember that those fools were shocked to see me there. “Yeah yeah whatever, I’m just visiting, so you can just chill with the welcoming committee, okay?” I shrugged at the people who were making a big fuss around me. I was seated at the back of the classroom wherein the service was being held and I saw Jesus sitting in the front row beside Belinda. After the singing, a few people had come up to give testimonies. Then Belinda stood up and walked towards the make shift pulpit. I remember I was invited to introduce myself being a visitor at the meeting. “My name’s Adrian, and I’m just here out of curiosity. I’m not a believer, but I thought I would just come see what goes on in here,” I smirked. Afterwards I sat down and then Belinda invited Jesus to introduce himself. “I would also like to welcome our newest member today,” she said in her sweetest voice, “Jesus would you come forward and tell us a little bit about yourself?” Jesus hesitated a bit. Someone shouted from the back, “Where’s thy faith Jesus?!” A few giggles filled the room. Belinda smiled at him and beckoned him to come forward. At this he had mustered up the courage to stand up and step behind the pulpit. I was expectant to hear what this fellow would say, as I’m sure most of the people there were. After all, he rarely ever spoke. All eyes were fixed on him.

We listened to him give an underwhelming talk about himself. Yawn. I nearly fell asleep as he spoke with a less than average voice coupled with a monotonous tone. Belinda’s voice woke me up, “Are there any questions for Jesus?” I was surprised. I was sure that new comers were never usually asked questions, no one asked me questions. I saw Jesus’ face go pale. “Yes, I mean it’s not everyday that Jesus himself visits our church service!” Belinda exclaimed. The room was crying with laughter. She smirked and winked at one of her friends in the room, who subsequently raised her hand and asked, “Jesus, are you a virgin?” I saw his bottom lip begin to quiver as he turned to look at Belinda. Her expression was cold, and sarcastic – the face of betrayal. “Well answer the question Jesus.” Someone shouted from the room, “You said that if any man shall look at a woman to lust after her in his heart, he has committed adultery.” I watched as the attendees continually fired questions and scriptures at him. Even though everyone thought it quite funny at the time, I remember when I got home I could not sleep that night – I had tossed and turned in my bed, thinking about the look in his eyes when he realised that Belinda had betrayed him. I never forgot his eyes. There was a point when they met mine briefly. I had been the only one who wasn’t laughing that day – I couldn’t because I was the only human among those so called Christians. Eventually he had run out of the classroom in tears.

Fast forward into high school, after the years of bullying, Jesus had toughened up and learned to stand up for himself. He had grown quite tall in stature which intimidated the other kids, and he inevitably became a bully himself. “Jesus I told you, I wasn’t laughing at you!” squealed one of our classmates in fear, as Jesus held him by the collar of his shirt with clenched fist against the school lockers. I remember he had been a raging bull that day. “Jesus please stop it,” one of the teachers had tried to calm him down, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Please calm down now!” It was tense. Students had gathered all around to witness this. Eventually Jesus let go of him and stormed out of the locker room slamming the gate in a fury. He slammed it so hard, the top hinge broke. To this day it has never been repaired. I suppose the constant anger and bad mood was his way of defending himself from being teased. It actually worked. I remember in those days, whenever you walked passed him, you would have to alter your expression from jolly to solemn. This is because if you were laughing, he might have thought that you were laughing at him. There was literal fear now among everyone whenever Jesus’s name was mentioned – even among the teachers at that point. To this day, when I hear someone mention the name Jesus, my mind goes back to that angry young man from my school. We made him that way, all the students at Macan High School – we had created a monster. I really wonder how his parents were coping with him at that stage.

Then they didn’t have to anymore. I still remember the announcement at our school assembly that chilly morning in June. “Learners of Macan High, I’m afraid,” Mr. Roscow had paused and swallowed hard, “our fellow learner Jesus, has been arrested for the murder of his parents this morning.” We were shocked. Our school was never the same since that day. We all bore the guilt of it – everyone who had ever teased him or laughed at him was equally at fault – they were at fault for driving him over the edge. I remember that Belinda would end up hanging herself three years later – ironically just like Judas did in the Bible. I and several others had turned to alcohol to numb the guilt. That is when my addiction began, and it continues to this day at age 45. All the therapy in the world could not take away that guilt.

I narrate this story as I stand outside my car at a petrol station as the attendant fills it up. I take a puff from my cigarette, watching other cars go by. I then notice a bright yellow cab parked opposite my car, also being filled by a petrol attendant. I see a tall bearded man come out of the shop, walking towards the car carrying a plastic packet. There is something very familiar about him – the stature, the walk and those eyes when they connect with mine for a moment – it was Jesus! Even though he had aged now, I can still recognize him. I draw one final puff on my cigarette, tossing it underfoot as I briskly make my way towards the man as he got into his cab. I ask him if he was Jesus Ramirez from Macan High School and if he remembers Adrian. “Sorry mate,” he replied confidently with a smile, “I think you got the wrong guy. I’m Morty Sawelle, Orchidville cab driver.”

I walk back to my car confused. I had been so sure that it was him. Perhaps it had been my mind playing tricks on me. I watch the bright yellow Cadillac drive off, and as it turns onto the main road, his eyes connect with mine again – he winks.