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.
His eyes shot open and he grimaced. Man, I wish I thought before I did stuff sometimes. I couldn’t even remember how to say sorry in Spanish so I just said sorry over and over hoping he would understand. He groaned while he tried to get up. It was a good thing it was Sunday. The farm work was a lot lighter on Sundays since Eli says he doesn’t want the neighbors thinking he’s not Christian.
If Jacob thought I looked like hell last Sunday, I don’t think there’s even a place that can describe what Santos looked like. His face was less swollen, but he had a big black eye and an ugly scab on his lip. I think I even made that stupid face Jacob’s mom made. I just repeated what I heard my mom say, iglesia.
He looked confused, so I grabbed the dictionary off my nightstand. “Do you want to go to church?” I tried to ask. He looked excited. As excited as you can look after what Eli did to him, anyway. He told me he needed help getting ready. The poor kid could hardly stand. I’ve been there. It’s awful.
I hope you never feel like that. It’s almost as bad when someone you care about feels like that. I just wanted to tell him that he was going to be alright. That it gets better. But it doesn’t. It never fucking gets better. Sometimes you think it will, but right when you get feeling comfortable again, that’s when things snap.
I helped him across the hall into the bathroom. The old quarters had one of those showers like they have in the locker room for after gym class with the pole and three shower heads. We usually used the shower at separate times because I figured he’d want some privacy, but there wasn’t time before church was gonna start. Besides, he did laundry naked the first few nights he was here, so I figured he wasn’t too shy.
We got in the shower, but it looked like he couldn’t really balance by himself. I told him to hold onto my shoulder. He didn’t seem to like the idea but I guess it was better than smelling like yesterday’s work at church or falling and getting hurt even worse.
I think Santos didn’t have hot water before, cause he turned the shower right to cold and didn’t bat an eye. I was getting splashed with a lot of cold water so I turned it to warm for him. He must’ve liked the change cause he gave me a thumbs up and kept saying macizo. He taught me that’s a Spanish word that means something is awesome.
I hadn’t noticed before, but I saw that Santos had a tattoo on his back. It was just the number 18 in fancy writing. I wondered if he got it to remind him of something in Mexico. Like his old address or something. I thought about getting a tattoo a while back, but I couldn’t convince my mom. Good thing too, cause it was gonna be my ex girlfriend’s name, and then she moved to Arizona and never called me back.
We finished getting ready and I helped him walk back to my room. I thought it wouldn’t be right for him to go in work clothes, so I gave him my old Sunday clothes. They were a little worn out but he looked pretty good in them. A little bit like that handsome Mexican man in the commercials for the tequila Eli liked. Except with a black eye. He looked in the mirror and smiled. I never understood how he could be so content about everything.
I tried to give him some of the concealer my mom told me to use the last time Eli hit me. I didn’t realize concealer came in different colors. He just looked worse with the concealer, so he wiped it off and we agreed to say it was an accident on the farm. Somehow falling off a trailer made more sense than telling people what they already knew about Eli.
By time we got dressed we were running late. Eli was pacing in the living room, so we turned around and I hollered for my mom. She was finishing curling her hair or something. She looked so nice on Sundays. Not in a perverted kind of way. She was just a beautiful woman. I wish we took a picture that Sunday morning. Mom in her best dress, Santos dressed like a tequila salesman, and me in the suit we bought for my great aunt’s funeral. Hell, even Eli in his suit that he said made him look like the mayor. We almost looked like a real family that day.
My mom didn’t see me, so I knocked on the door frame. “Heads up, he’s bitchy today.”
“Language, Ben. I’m just happy it’s Sunday.” I wish I could have explained to Santos that Sunday usually meant Eli pretended to be Christian and not hit his family.
The three of us walked into the living room. I had a sinking feeling Santos might start apologizing again and getting hurt worse, so before he could talk I tried to be a hero. “Sorry it took us so long, I guess I stayed up late reading last night. Didn’t hear my alarm go off. It sure is hot outside. Are we ready to go? Who’s giving the sermon today?”
Eli seemed distracted by the sight of Santos in a suit. He raised his stupid eyebrows and looked down at my mom.
“Santos is coming to church today,” my mom said as if it were obvious.
“Santos isn’t family. I only go to church with family.”
My mom said something that surprised us all. “Alright, you go to church by yourself today and we’ll go to the other church. I’ve wanted to try it out anyway.” I wonder if she remembered it was in the Bible not to switch churches. I wonder if she cared.
Without saying a word, Eli grabbed his Bible off the arm of his stained brown chair, got in his truck, and drove away. My mom and I helped Santos walk with us to the other church. Thank God Mrs. Glass switched to the new church a while ago. She saw us walking and piled us into the station wagon with a couple other people she saw along the way.
“How’s Santos holding up?” Mrs. Glass turned around to ask while her station wagon barrelled down the dirt road.
“You know how Eli is, takes a minute to warm up to someone. But he’s great help. Thanks for finding him for us, Magna.” My mom got to call Mrs. Glass by her first name. I was always too scared to try.
“So why the hell are you switching churches? I thought you said it was a sin.” Mrs. Glass was delicate as always.
“It’s probably not permanent. Eli’s in a state today and I wanna get Santos some religion. He could use some Jesus in his life, just like we all can.”
“Amen.” Old ladies always said amen. Especially when they talked about Jesus. I think they just didn’t know what to say, and one day one of them made up a word and the rest of them just went along with it.
We walked in while the congregation started singing. What with Santos’s leg in bad shape, we sat right in the back row. My mom always said that’s where the sinners sit, but I guess you get a free pass if someone just beat the shit out of you.
I didn’t usually pay too much attention at church, but I thought Santos might ask me later what they talked about. Imagine going to church and a pastor is shouting and you don’t understand any of it. He just sat there too, looking happy to be there. It was sometimes upsetting to see him happy, especially if I wanted to complain about something. How bad was his old life if he was happy about this?
Turns out the new church’s pastor was a woman. I didn’t think that was allowed, but my mom seemed to like it. She said something about representation. The lady pastor talked about a whole lot of Bible names I’d never heard before. I figured I’d just skip over that part if Santos asked. Then she started talking about Jesus. How he was supposed to be God among man and how he let people hurt him and then just forgave them. She talked about how I guess they beat him up before they killed him, and somehow that’s how we all get saved. I wondered if Santos knew Jesus got beat up, and if that would make him feel better. Probably not. I usually felt worse knowing Eli also hit my mom.
There were a lot less people at this church than the old one. Most of the people were younger too. I didn’t even recognize most of them from around town like I did at the other church. I wondered where they all came from.
People stayed and talked a lot more at this church too. At the other church everyone showed up and went home when the sermon was over. Sometimes people would nod and say hi on their way in or out but that was it. I already told you Mrs. Glass likes to chat for a long time, so we were stuck there for a while. She told us if we left on our own with Santos in his condition, she’d clobber us, so we stayed right where we were. Mrs. Glass introduced my mom to everyone while I sat on the bench with Santos. I figured nobody knew how to speak Spanish and he wasn’t in any shape to be walking around meeting everyone.
A couple probably in their thirties were talking to my mom. They looked really excited to meet her but I couldn’t really tell what they were saying. They started walking toward us and I tensed up. I hate talking to people I don’t know. But they started talking in Spanish. I couldn’t figure out what they were saying, but Santos was smiling and the couple spent a while sitting backward on the bench in front of us and just talking to Santos. It was probably nice to finally understand someone. Mrs. Glass announced it was time for her afternoon nap, so we got up to head out. “Where are our manners, we’re the Quicks,” the husband told me. “Hope we see you here next week!” They shook our hands and I helped Santos walk out of the building.
When we left I couldn’t believe my mom let us go there. The pastor was a woman and there was one of those gay flags in front with the rainbow on it. But I guess my mom never talked about the gays like Eli did. Maybe she was okay with it. There’s a lot I wish I knew about my mom.
The church’s window had a sticker on it that said “undocumented sanctuary” with a bunch of Spanish writing under it and I figured it was stupid to have a sanctuary and not document it. How are people supposed to find it?
On the ride home, Mrs. Glass talked for a while about how nice the sermon was. Then she turned around, which was scary cause she was still driving pretty fast, and she told my mom she couldn’t believe we finally went to the new church. How on earth did we get that past old Elijah, she kept asking.
They kept talking, Mrs. Glass turning around to look at the road every so often. I’ll never know how she didn’t crash that car. I asked why she went so fast on such a bumpy road.
“There’s two ways to drive on a washboard road,” she said, still looking back at me. “You can drive in the ruts, or you can drive on top of them.”