Jesus Lives in Colorado (standard:Psychological fiction, 4768 words)
Author: echoesmyron	Added: Jan 07 2005	Views/Reads: 3385/2306	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
After his girlfriend's suicide, a man contemplates his own life.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

market. He didn't care how much it sold for, or even if it should burst 
into flames. He never wanted to see the place again and wished that he 
could forget the address. He decided on a small one-bedroom apartment 
that he had seen in the classifieds of the newspaper. It was the first 
listing, and he didn't have enough curiosity to look any further. It 
was not the ghetto by any means but if he had remotely cared if he 
lived or died, he would've chosen a nicer place. The apartment was 
situated between a strip mall and the interstate. When he first arrived 
there he just wanted to have a place to be alone, so the lease was 
signed without question. He promptly left the rental office and 
proceeded to the cracker box of a dwelling to open a bottle of liquor 
and entertain the thought of loading his pistol. The gun was acquired 
the day after her death and he just couldn't find the guts to use it. 
The gun scared him, he couldn't determine if it was the gun he was 
afraid of or what he would do with it. Thoughts of self inflicted 
gunshot wounds were replaced by the disgust of the apartment's 
interior. Not that the apartment was unkempt, but the décor of the 
place was antiquated. Usually this sort of kitsch would appeal to him, 
but in this instance he was offended by it. It appeared as if the room 
was decorated in the early seventies. Flower printed wallpaper in 
shades of green and lavender overtook the room. He couldn't complain 
because at least this hellhole was completely furnished. The sofa 
looked comfortable even though it could have been salvaged from a curb 
on garbage day somewhere in Middle America. The twin bed was not long 
enough to accommodate his feet. The tiny adjacent bathroom was decked 
out in mint green tile from ceiling to floor, and the toilet seat 
appeared to have been crafted for dwarves. The only amenity that 
somewhat eased his discomfort was the television. 

He opened the cap to his fifth of bourbon and gulped as much as he could
until the alcohol squirted out of the side of his mouth and ran down 
the front of his shirt. He didn't care. Plopping down on the throw away 
couch he turned on the television and stared blankly at the screen. The 
set was tuned to an independent station that showed only foreign films. 
Although he was no fan of subtitles, he made no effort to channel surf. 
The film "Yukoka" was on. The character on the screen appeared to be 
Japanese and was stabbing himself in the abdomen. While watching this 
strange scene, he entertained the thought that the characters' actions 
must be noble. The reality was that he didn't understand what was going 
on even with subtitles. 

He took his pistol out of the brown paper bag that he carried it in and
began to spin it around his forefinger. "Just like a gunfighter", he 
thought. The revolver spun easily around his finger and he began to 
think that he had a natural knack for man handling a firearm. Unaware 
that a slight grin was beginning to spread across his face, his 
spinning was interrupted by a knock at the door. The gun fell abruptly 
to the awful green shag carpet with a thud. 

Upon approaching the door he straightened his shirt, and ran his fingers
through his uncombed hair. At first he only cracked the door to see who 
was out there. A young woman stood on the other side of the entrance 
and smiled warmly at him. He found himself pleasantly surprised at this 
intrusion. The woman introduced herself as Cheryl and reached out for 
his hand to shake. Reluctantly he took her small, soft hand and gave it 
a polite shake. He found himself giving her a fake name, Jack. He 
always thought that Jack was a fine name for a man and was pleased that 
this cute young woman would refer to him as such. He immediately found 
himself staring at Cheryl. She had blonde hair that seemed to 
illuminate in the sunlight. Her eyes were a bright green that almost 
appeared to be neon. He didn't think of himself as the kind of guy who 
ogled and stared inappropriately at women, but Cheryl was by all means 
stunning. She wore an aqua colored waitresses uniform that clung to her 
body as if it had been tailored by God himself. Her proportions were so 
perfect that he questioned that she was actually human. So here he was, 
contemplating suicide and becoming enamored with a young woman that he 
didn't even know. "Life is strange", he thought. 

His thoughts were again interrupted by the shrill voice of a child who
appeared out of nowhere and latched onto Cheryl's leg. The little boy 
had startled him initially and he took a small step back into his 
apartment. Cheryl introduced the boy as Allen, her son. Allen reached 
out to shake "Jacks" hand and proceeded to tell him that he was nine 
years old. Cheryl never offered her age but he assumed that 
twenty-eight seemed like a safe bet. "We just wanted to welcome you to 
the neighborhood, we live next door", Cheryl said. He thanked her and 
excused himself from her company when he glanced down and noticed the 
wet liquor saturating his shirt. He knew that she could smell the 
stench of the alcohol and felt embarrassed. His face was getting hotter 
by the second as he backed into the apartment and shut the door. 

Barely inside the door he lit a cigarette. Before the death of his
girlfriend he never smoked. The habit had disgusted him before, but his 
girlfriend had smoked clove cigarettes. He supposed that he had picked 
up the habit to feel closer to her. After the first week or so, the 
smell of the cloves comforted him and he knew exactly why. He went to 
the end table to retrieve the bottle of bourbon and forced himself to 
gulp as much as he could stand. Walking to the curtains he gingerly 
peered out to see Cheryl opening her mailbox. He quickly replaced the 
curtains just as she caught his stare. Retreating and feeling like an 
idiot, he turned the bottle up once more and inhaled deeply on the 
cigarette. Remembering where the gun had fallen, he walked over and 
picked it up. He sat on the couch, gun in hand, extinguishing the 
cigarette he laid his head back on the cushion. The afternoon sun 
blazed brightly as he slipped into a depressed and alcohol induced 
slumber. 

It was snowing outside as he walked into an unfamiliar diner and went to
the first booth. The sky was overcast outside of the large glass 
windows and he realized that he was the only customer in the diner. He 
was taken by surprise as Cheryl approached his booth in her aqua 
colored uniform. Only this time her uniform seemed to be about three 
sizes too small for her and her breasts appeared to be spilling out of 
her top. Her skirt looked as if it had been painted on. "What'll it be 
Jack?" she chimed in a smoky voice that appealed to him and seemed to 
ring in his ears like a chorus of angels. "Coffee", he replied trying 
to sound as tough as possible. He couldn't believe that he was ordering 
coffee; he despised coffee and had often told his girlfriend that it 
may as well be mule piss. His girlfriend had been an avid coffee 
drinker. Cheryl smiled a devilish smile and told him she'd be right 
back. He stared at her as she walked back to the counter. He was 
convinced that Cheryl was trying to seduce him with the way she over 
exaggerated the sway of her hips. 

Cheryl arrived at the table with a large coffee mug. He had made up his
mind to tell Cheryl that he didn't care for coffee, that he had ordered 
it because it was the first thing that came to his mind. Before she 
placed it in front of him he did just that," I don't know why I ordered 
coffee, it just sounds like something that you should order in a diner 
on a day like this, I don't really like it", he said. He was 
embarrassed at his own confession. "But Jack this is a special order 
just for you, on the house", her voice had changed and seemed to have a 
mocking tone to it. He didn't like the sound of it. Before he could 
argue, she sat the cup down in front of him and stared at him with a 
hollow expression. He glanced down at the cup and realized that it was 
filled nearly to the top with what appeared to be dishwater. "What the 
hell is this?" he said surprised at the language and tone of voice that 
escaped his lips. Cheryl had turned her back to him and was walking 
away; she paid no attention to him as she strolled back to the counter. 
He sprang to his feet towards her and was stopped in his tracks by a 
loud sound emanating from the sound system in the diner. The shrill, 
evil voice of a child was chanting Colorado, C-O-L-O-R-A-D-O, Colorado, 
C-O-L-O-R-A-D-O, Denver, D-E-N-V-E-R, Denver, D-E-N-V-E-R! The mantra 
was piercing his skull, and he found himself on the verge of bursting 
out in tears. Cheryl began wiping the counter and appeared not to 
notice the sound or his cries. It was if he were invisible. 

He awoke in a cold sweat and dropped the gun to the floor once more.
Sitting up quickly he surveyed his surroundings and initially could not 
register where he was. The feeling subsided and he looked across the 
room towards the curtains to learn that it was only dusk and he was 
already hung over. Allen was next door spelling the word Colorado over 
and over. Cheryl would say, "Very good honey, now how do you spell 
Denver?" The walls in the apartment were paper-thin and that annoyed 
him. Allen continued to spell the same two words in rapid repetition as 
if he were amusing himself. Cheryl was laughing and joking with her 
son. After about ten minutes of this, "Jack" was appalled at himself 
for wishing that Cheryl and Allen would shut the fuck up. They were 
driving him mad, although they were not aware of it; He would not tell 
them. He would brood and curse them under his breath. 

He drank from his bottle again and found that it soothed his pounding
head. He thought about his girlfriend and sobbed wildly. He lit 
numerous cigarettes and drank many gulps from his bottle. Cheryl and 
Allen were still talking about Colorado, and spelling various words 
associated with the state. He began to seethe with hatred for Colorado. 
He had never even been to Colorado, but he wished harm on all of those 
who had. He even hated anyone who was currently in Colorado. He wished 
them all dead. It would all stop if his neighbors would only shut up. 

He began to spin the revolver around his finger again, only this time he
fully loaded the weapon and cocked the hammer back. He didn't care if 
the gun went off. He had reached the end of his rope and was accepting 
it. His head was swimming as he blacked out with gun in hand. 

A door slammed loudly next-door and woke him up abruptly. Looking down
he realized that he had slept through the night with his finger on the 
trigger of a cocked and loaded gun. He opened his door to see Allen 
leaving for school. "Good morning Jack", the boy said cheerfully. He 
nodded at the child and felt guilt for the bad thoughts that he had 
towards the boy the previous night. He heard Cheryl preparing to go to 
work. He was in much need of a shower and decided that it was about 
time. He showered and dressed himself as nice as he could. He even 
shaved, with a disposable razor that a previous tenant had apparently 
left. By this time Cheryl had left for work and he knew that she worked 
just across the street at the strip mall. 

Stepping into the sun, the bright light stabbed into his eyes and caused
them to water. He quickly went back into the apartment to retrieve the 
gun and cigarettes. He locked his door and set out in the direction of 
the strip mall. He went to the diner where Cheryl worked, greeted her 
and ordered a black coffee. He drank the coffee as if it was cold water 
and he was dying in the desert. He paid Cheryl for the coffee and left 
her a twenty-dollar tip. There was a liquor store at the end of the 
strip mall and he bought a fresh bottle of bourbon. While acquiring 
directions to the bus station from the cashier in the liquor store, he 
asked where he could obtain ammunition for a revolver that he had. The 
cashier directed him to a sporting goods store next to the strip mall 
that sold bullets. 

He paid for a full case of the ammunition and exited the store. Placing
the gun, ammo, and liquor in a new, bigger paper bag; he called a cab 
from a payphone and instructed the driver to take him to the bus 
station. 

Arriving at the bus station, he promptly bought a ticket and took a seat
in the area waiting for departures. He looked around suspiciously 
before taking the bottle out of his bag. Not wasting any time, he 
unscrewed the top and took a large swig of the bourbon. The alcohol 
shocked his system on the way down and caused a gurgled sounding cough 
to escape his chest. A large black woman sitting across from him 
snickered at his misfortune. He hadn't even noticed her upon taking his 
seat and her laugh startled him. "You really shouldn't drink in public, 
I believe it's illegal", she joked to him. " I'm sorry, I didn't think 
that anyone would mind", he replied. But he wasn't sorry at all and 
felt that she should mind her own damn business. 

The large black woman introduced herself as Mavis Mahogany and told him
that she was only kidding around with him about the drinking. He told 
her that his name was Jack, which was beginning to feel like less of a 
lie each time that he used the false name. He felt bad about thinking 
that Mavis should mind her own business and got up from his seat and 
walked over to where she was seated. "Jack" asked her if she would mind 
if he sat with her while they waited on the bus. "Alright by me", she 
said and followed her permission with, "...but ya gotta share some of 
that bottle ya got". He nodded to her and took a seat just one space 
away from her. 

Mavis had to be every ounce of three hundred pounds and her skin was so
black it seemed to shine. Her mouth appeared to be missing every other 
tooth in her head. It reminded him of a dental checkerboard. Mavis was 
wearing what looked like a shower cap on her head, there was probably a 
name for the cap but he could not recall it. Her brown shapeless dress 
was large enough to get another average sized person under there with 
her. Mavis was sporting fake, black leather bedroom slippers. Mavis 
looked comfortable, and was just as comfortable with what she said. 
Since he had met her, Mavis had said exactly what was on her mind. He 
was beginning to like Mavis. 

He walked over to a coffee vending machine and produced enough change to
buy two medium black coffees. He turned and offered Mavis one of the 
hot paper cups. She politely refused the coffee and witnessed as he 
drank both in rapid succession. "Jack" then slid the bottle out of the 
paper bag and filled both cups to near overflowing capacity. Mavis 
stared with hand outstretched as he relayed a cup in her direction. 
Mavis had whetted her lips in anticipation of the strong alcohol, and 
thanked him for his generosity. They sat side by side with an empty 
chair in between them as Mavis asked him about himself. He didn't say 
much, and after a while she started filling in the voids of their 
conversation. 

Mavis explained to "Jack" that she was on her way to Denver, Colorado to
visit her older brother and father. "What are their names?" he asked. 
"Frank is my old man's name and my brother is Jesus", she replied. 
"Come again", he said as if he had misunderstood her and poured her 
another round. " My brother's name is Jesus Mahogany". He imagined a 
muscular black man with a shaved head and tattoos covering his arms. 
"How did he get that name?" "Jack" asked in genuine curiosity. Mavis 
told him that she should start at the beginning so he wouldn't get lost 
in all the intricate details of how her older brother was named after 
our lord and savior. 

In his early days, Frank Mahogany was a hard gambler. He had lived in
Virginia and often crossed the West Virginia border to partake in a 
weekly poker game. Although he played almost regularly, he didn't make 
any friends at the card table and no one really knew anything about 
him. One night while playing, Frank noticed that the man sitting across 
from him appeared to be cheating. The details of how he had cheated 
remain vague to this day. Being a man with an awful temper, Frank lost 
his composure and lunged across the table with his pocketknife. Without 
saying a word of warning, he lodged the small blade into the suspected 
cheats' chest. The man gasped a wretched lung full of air and collapsed 
under Frank's weight. Everyone at the table began to scatter for the 
exits thinking that they could be next. Frank withdrew his knife and 
wiped the blade clean on the dead man's shirt. Frank jumped up and ran 
for his car never to return to West Virginia, and never to be 
rightfully prosecuted for the crime. 

The story that was passed down in Mavis' family goes like this: Frank
returned home that night and amazingly went to sleep with little or no 
trouble. Sometime in the night Frank dreamt that he was in a Catholic 
Church confessional. "Strange", he thought, " I ain't even a Catholic". 
Overcome by the fear that this was God's way of giving him a way to 
wipe the slate clean, Frank began to cry and confess to the unseen 
priest in the other side of the confessional. Frank explained how he 
had lost his head and ended someone's life in the heat of the moment. 
He expected his penance to be turning himself over to the authorities, 
but the priest had something else in mind. "Twenty Hail Mary's and name 
your first born son Jesus", the priest said in a monotone voice. 
"Excuse me"? Frank replied. "You heard me, now get out of here before 
God changes his mind", the priest scolded. Frank did not argue. Having 
a son named Jesus was far better than being sent to the electric chair. 
So about a year later Frank's wife gave birth to their son, Frank 
insisted on Jesus as the name. Frank's wife did not fuss because he had 
told her that God himself had commanded it, and who was she to argue 
with God? 

"Is that the truth"? "Jack" asked Mavis. " Absolutely is", Mavis
retorted. He asked her about her brother and she told him that Jesus 
was recently institutionalized for trying to commit suicide." Jack" 
told her that he was sorry to hear that, and he had been through a 
similar situation in the not too distant past. He wondered if Jesus had 
tried to off himself because of his name. "Jack" was an easy name to 
live up to, but "Jesus" carries a lot of expectations. He lit a 
cigarette and offered one to Mavis, she gladly accepted and they both 
poured another drink. 

She continued on about her father and all of his craziness. Mavis told
him how her father was petrified of ice-skating. "Too many sharp blades 
and too much ice", was a popular expression of his whenever the subject 
arose. "Jack" began to wonder how often the subject did arise in Mavis' 
strange phone calls to her father. She told him that her father never 
missed an answer on "Jeopardy". He played against the television every 
night and by his own calculations he should be a millionaire by now. 
Frank would often tell Mavis that he knew more than any book ever 
written. 

Mavis confided in "Jack", that her father was in danger of being kicked
out of the old folk's home where he had lived for the past ten years. 
Frank had a bad habit of eavesdropping on the other tenants phone 
conversations, and it was wearing thin with the home's management. 
There were also many complaints about Frank's cat, Larry. Mavis laughed 
as she told him about the cat. It seems that Larry farted audibly 
whenever he tried to jump from one place to the other. A drunken giggle 
broke out from "Jacks" mouth along with some of the bourbon that he was 
trying to swallow. Mavis chuckled as well. "It's the nastiest thing 
that you have ever heard or smelled," she broadcast to him. She went on 
to tell him that the cat did this every time he leapt. It was not an 
intermittent occurrence. The neighbors were upset about the smell that 
crept out of Frank's room and assaulted all of the other tenants 
senses. Mavis was on her way up there to see if she could talk Frank 
into getting rid of the foul beast. 

"Jack" found himself growing fond of Mavis and her stories. He didn't
know at what point exactly things didn't seem so bad, but he knew that 
they didn't now. Just as he was going to tell Mavis about his 
girlfriend and everything that he had recently been through, the bus 
pulled up. As bad as his life had become, at least he wasn't an 
unconvicted murderer living with a terminally flatulent cat in a 
retirement home. He decided against boarding the bus and gave Mavis a 
long, tight hug. As she took her seat he waved goodbye to her. 

He walked into the restroom at the bus station and splashed some cold
water on his face. He took the revolver out of his paper bag and 
emptied the bullets out into his hand. Tossing the free bullets into 
one trashcan, and the unopened box into another he began to laugh 
thinking about crazy Frank and farting Larry. He also thought about 
suicidal Jesus. Just outside the restroom he tossed the gun into 
another trashcan and walked out of the building into the sun. He then 
turned and went to get a refund for his unused bus ticket. Emptying the 
last drop from the bottle into his mouth he sat out on foot towards his 
small, ugly apartment. "Tomorrow is going to be a better day," he 
laughed aloud to himself. 

15 


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