I JESUS OF SUBURBIA

The bible of “none of the above” states, that I am the son of rage and love, the Jesus of Suburbia. These names, these words make no sense at first. But as it happens to be, not everyone can be St. Jimmy. This I found out the hard way. The son of rage and love. This line hung in the back of my mind for years. Now I have come to understand it.



Becoming St. Jimmy changes you mentally and physically. The first thing I remember was grow up to be six feet in one night. There were other things, too. My hair became light brown close to the roots and farther to the ends, it turned jet black. My face also started to resemble more of someone my age instead of a twelve year old. Muscles formed and my voice deepened and became darker.
The weirdest one was my eating habits. I didn’t eat much of anything. None of it sounded or tasted good. All I wanted was soda pop to drink. I went throw can after can. But there was something else I wanted, though I couldn’t figure it out.
Finally, I skimmed the bible of “none of the above” for answers. I was half way though the book before I found a page from what looked to be a journal. It read,
Of all the changes that come with becoming St.
Jimmy, the Jesus of Suburbia, the strangest and
hardest to understand is my carving for soda
and the drug Ritalin.

I dropped the book. Ritalin? This had to be a joke. A really stupid one. Why would I want to eat drugs and not food? Being St. Jimmy sounded worse and worse. But, the more I thought of it, the better it sounded. There was only one issue, how in hells name did I get my hands on some? Wasn’t only given out by prescription?


My mom remarried five years after my real father died in a car crash. I was only six when he did. I was eleven when I first met the man she was marrying. He was a beastly man by the Barbie-ish name of Brad. Brad was a rich lawyer. He would spoil mom with fancy candies, new cars, and shopping sprees in Pairs. Though his looks and money may have been perfectly golden, his personality was as shitty as the Grinche’s.
He was known to blow up when people didn’t jump when he said. Once, mom went out with her co-workers for some drinks after work and wasn’t home in time to cook diner for Brad. When she did make it home, a half-hour late, he spent the next three hours yelling about a wife’s duties to her family and husband, slamming doors and chairs, and hitting her every chance he got. He’d even screamed at the poor Chinese delivery guy about her being late and stupid.
Sometimes I think mom is stupid for not having left him yet. Then again, I’m just a seventeen year old kid. What do I know about “adult things”? Anyway, that weekend Brad was taking mom on a summer-long cruise. With luck, Brad would fall over board and drown.
I was in the living room when they were leaving. The TV in my room had broke at the beginning of summer. I’d been promised a new set, but now it was nearly three weeks later and still no new TV. I don’t really like watching TV shows, but I love video games. That was the only reason I wanted a TV in my room. So I could play my games in peace.
Once they were in the taxi, I pulled out a pack of Brad’s cigarettes. Before this week, I won’t have smoked a cig in my life. Wasn’t my thing. But for some reason, the smell was nice and inviting and they tasted okay, nothing special but not gross. The only thing is, Brad isn’t aloud to smoke inside the house. So, that meant I had to go out back and smoke where he did so as not to get caught. I mean, I was only seventeen.
I was sitting on the yellow and cream striped lawn chair with its frayed seat, outback when a football soared throw the air and landed, sharply I might add, in my gut. I dropped the cigarette in the grass where it began to smoke more and doubled over in pain. I jumped up and stomped on it, killing the fire before it started. What a waste, I thought.
I picked up the football and stormed over to the wooden fence that separated my yard from the others. Being taller now, I didn’t have to stand on anything, like a little kid to look over into the next yard. “Hey. Someone lose this?” I brandished the football, expecting some little punk to come running over, laughing at me for getting hit by it.
Instead, it was a girl. “Oh, yeah! Sorry. It must have slipped outta my fingers.” She was around my age from the look of it. Died bright red and deep black hair fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were a bright and lively shade of blue. She stopped a few steps back from the fence in order to look me in the eyes.
“Never seen you before.” I said before thinking of how rude it might have sounded. “Yeah. My rents and I just moved in. Name’s Mary Jane.” She held out her hand for me to shack. I smiled and took it. She was really, really cute.


(II City of the Damned )


A couple of blocks from the suburbs is a 7-11 that everyone likes hanging out at. It was once a diner back in the fifties. But for some reason, they kept the diner seats and turned it into a convent store. On Saturday nights I sometimes go there to meet with my friends, Billie, Mike, and Tré. This Saturday night, I brought Mary Jane with me.
We’d spent all day talking and tossing the football around, so when the guys called me up, I automatically asked her along. We walked there from my house. Street lamps clicked on all around us as the evening sky grew darker and darker. Night was setting in fast.
I hadn’t told the guys what had happened with Jimmy, the dust, the bible of “none of the above”, or my transformations. In my pocket was the bible of “none of the above”. This was defiantly going to be interesting. The 7-11 was owned by this guy. He’s somewhat odd. Greg is his name. Greg tends to talk to himself very loudly. He also freaks out about people he thinks are going to kill him or steal his pet rock. I’m not sure how someone like him came to own anything, but at times its best not to question things.
Above the door, Greg had placed this sign he painted himself. It says, “home is where the heart is”. I’d never given it any thought till that night. Just seemed like a mad man’s ramblings. But right then, it kind of made since in a way. Home is wherever you feel welcomed, safe. These days, I didn’t know where I fit in. Did St. Jimmy fit in anywhere with normal people?
I guided Mary Jane away from Greg. We reached the old diner booths in the back where Billie, Mike and Tré sat waiting for us. From the look on their faces as we approached the booth, my new image was going over as well as I could have hoped. “Dude!!” Tré cried, leaping up from his chair to get a better look at me. “Duuuude!! Look at you! Man, I like it!” I laughed as I sat down next to Billie.
Billie was a year older than me. His brown hair was dyed black. He spiked it up all over the place like a hedge hog, and his green eyes were thickly rimmed with black liner to the point of making him look like a panda. Across from Billie was Mike. Mike was the oldest of all of us. And taller. He had short brown hair that was spiked like Billie’s, only not as wild. As I sat down, I noticed he wasn’t looking at me, but instead at Mary Jane.
I scratched the back of my near-bald head and cleared my throat. “This is Mary Jane, guys. My new neighbor. Mary, this is Mike, Billie, and the one still bouncing round is Tré.” She waved at them each and took the seat next to me as Trè slid into his by Mike.
I looked around the table at my friends. The neon lights above flickered on and off. This old place wasn’t built to run all night as a convenient store. I felt the bible of “none of the above” in my pants pocket. This was it. I had to tell them everything. If I couldn’t tell them, then who? I was going crazy keeping it locked inside.
I sighed. “Guys, I think there’s something I need to tell you.” I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out the bible of “none of the above” and handed it to Mike. He turned it over in his hands, then passed it to Tré. Mike locked eyes with me, mouth open in the shape of an O. I nodded. “So, here’s how it all went down,”



(III I don’t care)

Waking up the next day was the easiest thing I’d done in what felt like a long time. I’d spent all last night reliving the horror of watching Jimmy die and become dust, the fear that came with opening the bible of “none of the above”, the insanity of wanting only soda pop and Ritalin, and then the worry about who or what I was the ruler of. At some point, I broke down and cried. Now my eyes were red-rimed from that night that seemed so far away.
They were just as worried that I might be going crazy as I was. Though they tried hard not to show their worry, I could tell. It didn’t matter whether they did think I was crazy or not. I didn’t care if the whole fucking world thought I was crazy and a murderer and should die! That’s what they thought of me.
Everyone thought I killed Jimmy and tried to make up this crazy story as to where he went and why I took his name and why I was acting so weird. Well, they could all just kiss my ass for all I cared. And I didn’t care. I don’t care at all. They don’t care about me and I could care even less about them or what they think. Who needs people anyway!? Not me, that’s for sure.
They’ll all full of shit, with their lying eyes and mouths. They have no hearts what-so-ever. None at all. That’s why they think I killed him. I would never kill anyone! I’m not crazy. But I don’t care what they think. Let them believe what they want to. Fine by me, cuz I don’t care. Not at all! I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care!! I DON’T CARE!!!


Maybe I did care. Just a little.



(IV Dearly beloved)

Being left alone is something I’ve been used to since my father died. Mom had to work and then there were her dates she went on. She made the excuse that I needed a father, when ever I asked why she couldn’t stay home with me. I had a father. A great one. No one could ever replace that.
It took me three days to get outside of the house again. I was so pissed, so sad. I felt betrayed by my closest friends. But I couldn’t let it keep me down. I had to get out and see father before my sorrow killed me.
I walked the empty suburban streets in the rain, on my way to father’s grave. If ever I was sad or scared, he was always there to make me smile once more. Just seeing his grave would be enough to make me feel a little better about this all. He would be the only person to understand me.
I listened to the sound of my heavy footsteps on the cold concrete walk, the beating of my heart, the rain smacking my skin. It was almost like music in a way. It had a beat, but no words. I added my own.
“Dearly beloved, are you listening? I can’t remember a word that you were saying. Are we demented? Or am I disturbed?” I shuddered at the word “disturbed”. Was I disturbed? I mean, here I was believing that a living being had become dust and told me to rule over the Land of MakeBelieve. It didn’t sound too normal when you thought about it. I pushed the thought from my brain and continued on down the road to the cemetery were father lay, resting.
Under my feet, the ground turned to mud. It squished and sucked my shoes deep into the earth. When I finally reached father’s grave marker, I fell to my knees. “Father. Help me. I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t understand anything anymore. I need help. I need a sign as to what I should do! Please! Something, send me something!” With that, lighting crashed near by a looming tree.
I watched the tree, something was moving in its shadow. A man. He lumbered over from the tree to where I was. My mind told me I should run, run fast and far. But my heart said this was the sign. My help had come. The man stepped closer and I could make out his features. It was Greg. He had a grave look on his face. When he spoke, it was not the familiar voice of the crazy guy who owned a 7-11. This was the voice of a demon, the devil.
“St. Jimmy?” He asked. I nodded mouth far too dry to speak. “I have come to serve you once more, my Lord.” He bowed gracefully for a man of his weight. He stood back up and locked eyes with me. “Please follow me, Milord.” I climbed to my feet and rushed after him, eager to learn whatever it might be that was going on.

We had to have walked forever before Greg stopped in front of a small house. It looked to be made completely out of only wood. The wood was a strange color and texture. It had water marks all over and holes from where mice chewed their way in. The front and only door had a sliding eye hole, like the ones in movies. Greg walked up to the shack and banged on the door. I thought for sure it would tip over.
The little door on the eye hole creaked open. “Who goes there?” A nasally, old voice crooked. Greg straightened up and spoke in the same devil-like voice. “It is I, Gregen, the keeper of the holy scriptures of the one called St. Jimmy. I have brought him with me today.” The dark eyes widened and then disappeared, opening the door.
Greg walked in and I followed quickly. The rain was really coming down now. The inside of the shack was much larger. It was far vaster than a castle. Everyone within the shack was draped in dark colored clocks. Their eyes traced me, taking in every detail of my being. This made me nervous. Just what was it they wanted with me anyway?
“Brothers and sisters, the time has come. The old St. Jimmy has died and a new one has taken his place. This is the time to take back the Land of MakeBelieve for ourselves!” Greg raised his fist into the air. Cheers rang out all around. People chanted my name and held their fists above their heads. I was even more confused than before.
“Brother, Simon. Would please bring St. Jimmy his guitar?” A short, balding man stood up and scampered out of the room. He returned moments later with a guitar like none other. It was shinny black with a marble neck. The strings seemed to be made of pure gold and the sound it made was more beautiful than any the heavens could have made.
Simon brought the guitar to me, got down on one knee and held it above his shinny head for me to take. The room grew quiet as all waited for me to take it. I looked at Greg. He nodded to me. Slowly and carefully, I took the instrument from Simon’s thin hands. I looked it over, admiring the beautiful creature. A girl rushed forward and handed me a pick. I took it and smiled to her. She and Simon walked back to the others, overcome with joy.
I raised the pick and strummed the strings. The sound echoed back. All began to cheer once more. I started to play a song, I couldn’t remember the name or who wrote it, but it was amazing.


(V Tales of another broken home)

After receiving the guitar, I made sure it stayed safe. Greg had given me a book of songs that he said would come in handy. When I tried to ask what he meant by that, he shooed me back home. That’s where I was when Mary Jane came looking for me. The door bell cried out to me and nearly caused me to drop the guitar. I flew down the stairs to rid myself of whoever was keeping me from my guitar.
I flung open the door. She looked surprised. Maybe it was cuz I hadn’t showered in about three days. It’s bad when even you think you smell like a dead fish. “Uh. Hi.” I managed.
“Hi.” Her face was slightly red. I stepped back to let her in. She shook her head. “I don’t have much time to speak. I just wanted to see if you were okay…..and say sorry for not believing you.”
That’s right. I had been mad at them. Getting the guitar had made me forget all about everything, even them and how they had treated me. I shuffled my feet. “It’s fine. I mean, I wouldn’t have believed me either.” She stared at the ground. “It was still rude, though.” She said, biting her lip. “Well, I should go now….”
“You free tonight?” I asked. She looked up quickly. “You and the guys could all come over. We could rent a movie or something.”
“That…that would be nice.” It sounded like a lie. Like she didn’t really want to be around me, but she didn’t want to say it. I could feel my anger boiling up within me. I gripped the doorway to keep myself from hitting her or slamming the door. She looked around, awkwardly, then turned and left me in the door to feel abandoned and betrayed again.