A City in Heaven

You probably don’t even want to read my story. And I sure as hell don’t want to tell it. People tell me I care too much and I should let it all go, but I think it’s a story that needs told. So when someone talks about my life they’ll know I wasn’t just some stupid kid. Or maybe they’ll know I was. I can never tell, so I guess I’ll let you figure it out for yourself. And besides, if I don’t tell this story, who the hell will? ...

When I was young I asked my mom why we go to church every Sunday. She said it was so I didn’t turn out like my dad. Eli went to church too, but he didn’t used to. My mom made him agree to it before she would marry him. I guess he mostly liked it eventually. Said it made him feel like a good person. When a new church set up in town, I asked why we didn’t try it out. A bunch of people tried it out and ended up switching. My mom said it wouldn’t be Christian to switch between churches, and besides, it was in the Bible not to. I didn’t mind church though. I thought it was nice to have time to think about life and religion and stuff. I had a lot of time to think on the farm, but I was always sweaty and angry, so I mostly thought about how I was sweaty and angry rather than the meaning of life. I’m not really sure what I believe, but for now I think it feels alright to be Christian and go to church on Sundays. ...

We figured it was time to sleep, so Jacob lent me a pair of shorts and I laid on the orange fluffy carpet in his room. I got back to thinking about Eli and the awful things he said, but I couldn’t have another freaking meltdown in Jacob’s room. He’d never let me in his house again. So I started thinking about the guest pastor and how there’s a city in heaven. ...

Mrs. Glass, Eli, and the man spent about an hour looking for words in the dictionary and figuring out finances. The man really only seemed to say si and gracias over and over. I guess he was really excited about the job. He shouldn’t have been, but I guess he was anyway. I don’t like building up a story like something awful is gonna happen. I hate it when writers do that. Just get to the point, I say. But this is a horrible story to write. I don’t wanna tell it, and I guess I’m trying to put off getting to the bad parts. Maybe that’s why I’m talking so much about myself even though this story isn’t supposed to be about me. ...

Chapter Five

I figured Santos probably wasn’t legal. Who else would work for two bucks an hour? And why else would Eli have had to pay Mrs. Glass five grand to get him here? But he seemed like a decent guy. He kept the bathroom clean, he only talked if you talked to him first, and he worked his tail off on the farm. For the next couple days, we figured out how to run the farm together. We learned how to get a whole day’s work done in half the time it used to take me. I always felt bad when he’d work harder than me and not even have a bed or family dinners. ...

Sometimes things happen that make you wonder if there’s even a God or if we’re all just here to be miserable and that’s it. I mean it. We were having so much fun, and Santos had his arm pulled back like a baseball pitcher, ready to throw a whole handful of some spices we were gonna put in the pickles. The most horrible thing possible happened. I guess Eli’s tools didn’t take as long to sharpen as my mom thought. We didn’t hear his truck pull up. I was right in front of the door, but I saw Santos was gonna throw some spices so I got out of the way right in time for Eli to open the door. ...

It was hard to believe it was Sunday again. With everything that happened the night before, I couldn’t really remember what day was what. My mom knocked on my door and said it was time to get ready for church and I realized I hadn’t even gone to school once that whole week. Down the hall I heard her shout “Iglesia” at Santos’s room. We must have fallen asleep while we were talking the night before. What a swell guy I am, giving someone my bed then sleeping in it anyway. He was still snoring, so I got up and shook his arm. ...

How we got home before Eli I’ll never know. Probably on account of Mrs. Glass driving way too fast with her head turned backward for half the drive, and Eli also probably stopped to run errands. He always wanted to run errands after church and my mom would never let him. The after church crowd made too much work for the poor shops on the day of rest, she always said. ...

Me and Santos just ended up sleeping in my bed again. At first I got the camping mat out of his room and I was gonna sleep on the floor. As soon as Santos noticed what I was doing he got up and pointed at my bed. “You sleep here.” “You’re hurt. You sleep there, and I’ll sleep on the mat.” I hate it when you do something nice and someone doesn’t wanna let you. Even worse I wish I could say I was just doing it to be nice, but I was really gonna need his help in the morning so he needed his rest. I put off a bunch of things around the farm for us to do together cause it was so much easier. ...

We did our dinner shuffle again. I was getting pretty good at balancing a plate, a cup, a can of soda, and utensils walking down the hall. I wondered if Eli knew how much more work it was for my mom and me to make Santos eat in our room. I almost cleaned my plate when Jacob’s mom knocked on the door. The movie theater was clear in town so I was really glad she was gonna take us. ...

When we woke up I don’t think either of us wanted to leave the room. It felt like the last place in the house either of us could be safe. We got ready together, and we decided to both go to the kitchen at the same time. Eli usually woke up pretty late when he was hungover. Sure enough, it was just my mom in the kitchen. She looked like she’d had a worse night than I had. I started getting an awful lump in my throat watching her try and make breakfast. She went to crack an egg and she got some shell in the bowl. Usually she would laugh about something like that but she started crying. Bawling. I never know what to do when someone starts crying, so I got up to give her a hug. She waved me away, but when I started turning around she reached out and wrapped her arms around me. We just stood there hugging for a long time. She got tears all over my shoulder. I never washed that shirt. ...

This is the worst part of the whole story. I know I said I don’t like when writers build up like this, but I think you need to know it’s fucking awful. I’m sitting here bawling just trying to figure out how to write about it. Santos and I finished our work for the day and went inside. I guess Eli was running an errand. And when I shouted for my mom she didn’t answer. I figured she was probably in the bathroom, so we showered and changed like we usually did. I hollered for my mom again, and she didn’t respond. We started to look for her, and she was laying on her bed. Please just be napping, I thought. ...

The next morning, I woke up before Eli and Santos so I tried to make breakfast. I knew how to cook a couple things, so I made a plate of grilled cheeses and brought a plate of them to the living room. When I got back, Eli and Santos were awake, so I made sure to offer Eli a sandwich first. Maybe I should have stood up for Santos more, but I really didn’t want Eli to cause any sort of scene. He sort of grunted and grabbed a couple sandwiches. I think we both realized right then how much we would miss my mom’s cooking cause he just sat there looking at the sandwiches shaking in his hand and I got a lump in my throat. Santos took a couple sandwiches off the plate and said thank you, and Eli looked up. “Thank you, Ben.” I don’t think I ever heard him say that before. ...

Santos and I were washing dishes and Eli said he needed to take a shower. It turned out we all forgot to shower for a couple days. And I had even run all the way to Mrs. Glass’s house. I guess you get a free pass to smell bad when your mom kills herself cause nobody said anything about it. The doorbell rang, and Santos ran to open it. He did such a good job taking care of us. The door closed again, and I heard Santos interrogating someone outside. ...

We got home from the funeral and it was like a switch flipped. Me and Santos were changing into work clothes cause there was a lot to get done outside. I couldn’t find my key to the barn so I went to ask Eli for the spare. When I knocked on his door he didn’t answer. When I opened the door, he stood up from his bed and snapped, “What?” ...

We just watched the one cloud for a while. I started thinking about all the horrible shit that happened, and it started getting me angry, so I asked Santos what it was like growing up in Honduras. At first he didn’t want to say much. Just said it was nice, there was lots of mango and avocado to eat. I told him I only tried avocado once cause it cost an extra buck at the Mexican restaurant in town. ...

I don’t know how it came up. We were at breakfast and I guess the news was on. Something came up about illegals like it always does. There was a story about a mom who tried to smuggle her kids in to get away from gang violence. I think I just said, “Hey, like Santos.” Eli started interrogating me. Told me he’d kill my ass if I lied. Pulled up his shirt to show me the gun tucked into his pants. So I told him about Santos. How he was in a gang but wanted to get out. How he had to collect money from businesses for protection. How his family moved and he had a chance to leave. ...

Eli stabbed Santos in the leg. With a knife. Like a fucking psychopath. When I went to help Santos he started stuttering. I don’t even know what I was thinking. It was loud and Santos was screaming and Eli was stuttering and I kicked Eli. Right in the groin. I shouldn’t have done it, but it did feel good. Actually standing up for someone, you know. Eli left the room. I expected him to fight back, but he just left. ...

I did the farm work for a few days. Jacob came over when he could to help us out. After a while, Santos was doing okay enough to walk. The vet said the knife hit just the right spot so he could still walk when he got better. Things were still rough with Eli so Jacob said we could spend a few nights at his house. We stayed for a couple of days, and one night Jacob came in holding a bottle of vodka. Said if anyone’s earned it we have. ...

There was a heavy knock at the door. “Hi, Sheriff, what can I do for you?” Jacob’s mom said loudly enough for us to hear. Jacob tucked the vodka bottle under his mattress. They talked for a minute and Jacob’s mom came to the bedroom door. “Boys, these officers just need to ask a few questions for their report, is that OK?” I got up and opened the door. “That’s fine,” I said. We sat in the living room, Jacob’s mom, me, and the sheriff. ...

We stayed in Jacob’s room that night and when we got up Jacob’s mom took us to the police station. Said we needed to check in on Santos. When we got there they let us see Santos. They had him wearing scrubs like at the hospital. Like the vet was wearing. “They say I killed Eli,” he said as soon as he saw us. “I did not.” He looked so tired. Had bags under his eyes. Looked like an old man, like the first time I met him. I wondered if I looked that tired. ...

Mrs. Glass came back to the house so I went back to the living room. They were sat on all the other chairs but I couldn’t sit in Eli’s stained brown chair. I sat on the floor across from everyone. Mrs. Glass started talking like a lawyer and I couldn’t focus. It was something about how she was in charge of Eli’s will and she got to decide how to deal with my custody. She asked if I could move in with Jacob for a while and we all said that would be OK. Something about how since I was almost 18 it would be fine. She talked about plans for Eli’s funeral and I didn’t really care to remember them. I figured Jacob’s mom would just take us when it was time. ...

I was feeling pretty OK after the talk with the pastor but while we drove back to Jacob’s house I started feeling sad again. It wasn’t like I usually felt sad though. It was like I didn’t actually feel anything. Kind of like I felt right after Eli died. I just went and laid on Jacob’s bedroom floor for a while. The bottle of vodka was still hidden under the mattress so I had a sip. It made me feel a little nauseous so I put the lid back on. It was kind of nice to feel something though. ...

This is a work in process. Come back around August of 2025, and I should be ready to publish the first few chapters!