Nico met Jesus on the first day of his Perceptual Drawing class during his first week of Junior year. He bears almost no resemblance to Christ, yet his weed is known to send you to Heaven. But as the Montclair State police officer with the exceptionally shiny skull pulled his wrists behind his back, cuffed him, and laid him against Car Parc Diem’s motor oiled concrete floor, Nico could have sworn that he had been dragged to the final boss level of Hell.
Jesus broke the rules, that’s what happens when you break the rules. It didn’t matter if he was a stand up guy, someone to count on who could bail you out with homework answers in a pinch, Nico did the right thing. That’s what Nico told himself 100 times each minute as he watched Jesus’ life crumble in the back of that Chevrolet squad car. Nico wanted to call it off, tell them that he lied, It’d be good to take the heat, even if it burned. Who did that junk hurt other than himself? Nico couldn’t bear to think it, and so he didn’t. He took that slow rickety elevator down eight floors of concrete blocks, concrete blocks that Jesus told Nico he liked to lay down on top of to get closer to the sky, closer to his mom, the stars in the sky almost spelled her name. It won’t be the same now, not ever. Nico remembered the deeper scripture: For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged. The elevator door opened, and Nico threw his own bag of grass in the trash.
Nico slaved his legs around campus like a lost soul in a room of memories. The heat rose as the guilt did in his chest, especially when his vessel of a body reached the skyline behind Life Hall. He could almost hear Jesus’ laughter upon hearing the dancers’ inside complaining about the stench. Nico’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing: “Where’s Jesus?” echoed from the direction of The Cage. Those workers were their greatest customers, but even better friends. Nico had not the will to approach them, but something pushed Nico past the corner wall, making him as visible as a white sheep in a lavender field. It could have been the wind-tunnel effect Montclair is famous for, but he did not remember hearing the harmonious whistle that came along with it. He took a moment to halt his thoughts then felt his eyes pulled to the ocean above. He always questioned Jesus’ connection to his mom until he widened his gaze at Jesus’ name written in the sky, as if she painted his name just for Nico. Only then did he feel the spark of faith.
“Nico? Hey, Nico!” one of them spotted him as his fists elevated from his pockets. Despite the cheery greeting, Nico refrained from uttering a word back, he only approached the group with gusto. “Nico? Where’s Jesus? I never see you without him.”
“He’s gone… but I’m going to bring him back.”
Written by Olivia Yayla, Gavin O’Melia, and Kiara Oelkers
To Be Continued…
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