Lucy dismissed us shortly after that. She assigned all of us a single task to work on until we meet again on Monday at school. Delilah is to write and compose songs about what we've discussed. Squid is to acquire more popularity legally this time. And Lucy will aid all of us to the best of her abilities. However, I have a suspicion she's going to be doing more with what she mentioned during our walk to her house a few days ago.

Lucy's task assigned to me was simple, yet not all: "Collect knowledge that we can refer to for our mission." I've studied the bible since I first learned how to read, but I had to admit that there was a lot to take from when it came to 'our mission'.

That being said, I have a particular place I like to go to when I study God's word. So I grab my car keys, tell my mom I'm going to read and set sail for the spot.

I like to drive in silence. But it doesn't take long for that to be interrupted.

"When looking for wisdom, I like to look at Proverbs," Jesus says, appearing in the passenger seat.

I'd like to say I'm used to him appearing in and out of my life but I'm not. I swerve into another lane and nearly hit the rear end of a bus. Someone honks at me and I correct myself into the lane I was previously in.

"Jesus Christ!" Escapes my mouth.

"Yes, Judas?"

"You scared me."

"I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention."

I take a moment to recollect myself.

"Where were you?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"You disappeared again."

"I never disappear. I'm always here, Judas."

"Right. I may have the luxury of seeing you sometimes, so when I don't see you it just scares me."

"I know it can feel like I'm not there sometimes. But know that I am always there. I will never leave your side, Judas."

I take a right and park in the parking lot. We're here. I get out of the car and begin to walk my way to the spot. Jesus is right behind me.

"Coming here again I see," Jesus says.

"I find you speak your truth loudest here."

After about five minutes of walking and passing multiple tombstones, we've reached the one in the sea of many I'm looking for. The name engraved in it reads "Jenny Pierce". My biological mother.

When I'm done reading Proverbs I stand up from Jenny's grave and turn towards it. I lay my hand on it and begin to pray:

"Hey, Jenny. How are you? Where are you right now? What are you doing? Every time I see someone drinking I think of you. I know our relationship was... complicated but I want you to know that I hope you're with God right now. I hope you know that I've forgiven you. Life is too short to hold grudges. And in a way, I don't think I'd have Jesus if wasn't for you. I know you did your best. And I hope that Heaven is giving you its very best. It's in Jesus' name I pray, Amen."

I then start to walk back to my car. Then I take notice of someone holding a sign in front of a Planned Parenthood. The sign reads, 'PRAY FOR THE UNBORN BABIES' written on it. It makes my stomach turn.

"God damnit..." I mutter.

"Let me guess; you wanna go and say something to him?" Jesus asks.

"I want him to put the sign down. But I should leave it alone. I mean—it's not like he's hurting anyone, right?"

"Do you think he's hurting anyone?"

"It's just—It's not good timing. He's not able to discuss this with anyone in the context of a relationship. He doesn't get a chance to explain why he cares so much. He doesn't get a chance to listen to someone else's story and experience an opinion. He's on a fucking street corner on a busy highway."

"Why does that anger you?"

"Because that can only result in three outcomes! The first is people on his side are going to agree and say 'He's so brave!'  So it's virtue signaling. The second outcome is that people who aren't on his side will drive by and roll their eyes or be infuriated. The third outcome—the worst one—is that some poor woman with a history of abortion or miscarriage is going to feel a tone of guilt, shame, and sorrow from a literal stranger on a street corner!"

"That doesn't seem like he's being courageous."

"No, he's being foolish. He's being an asshole. He's being self-righteous. He's being—like I was once."

Jesus' eyes glisten. I wish I wasn't so involved with literal strangers.

"Why do they do that?" I ask.

"Why do they do what?" Jesus implores.

"Words? Why do they hurt? I feel like they shouldn't. But they do. I shouldn't give a shit. But I care."

"Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing. Words can hurt Judas. We may say we don't care, but we do. Our societies wouldn't be built upon them if we didn't care about them."

I think about it. There are works of literature that have been in print for thousands of years and they'll stay in print for thousands more. Or a business proposal. It is not binding until contractual—until it is put into words. In a courtroom, someone is declared innocent or guilty and only after declaring or speaking the verdict does it become true. At a crime scene or an intensive care unit one is pronounced dead. And until death is pronounced or spoken you're gonna do everything possible to save that person's life. Weddings are ceremonies built on the power of words and oaths. The most important part of the ceremony is when you stare your partner in the eye and you say 'I do'. 

Words can be very powerful things. 

When I open my front door to my house I call out to my Mom. She calls back to me from the living room. She's sitting in my Dad's recliner chair scrolling through Netflix on the smart TV. I sit next to her on the couch.

"How was bible study?" she asks.

"It was good. Learned a lot today."

"That's good."

"Look, Mom, can we talk?"

"Of course, honey, what's up?" she's still scrolling through Netflix. I wonder how long she's been searching for something to watch.

"I visited Jenny today."

She stops scrolling and sets the remote down in her lap. She turns to me.

"You did?" she asks.

"Yeah. She's still in the same spot. Dead and all. I um—well—visit her whenever I go to study my bible. I figure she'd appreciate it. Did I ever tell you about my last few days with her?"

"You didn't. Do you want to?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. It was my birthday. I was turning thirteen. We never celebrated my birthday before so I wasn't expecting anything this year. Anyway—I was in the room—reading the bible as I do. And then I heard the door being unlocked. When the door opened—it was Jenny—but she was happier than usual. I had never really seen her smile before so it was strange when I saw her so happy. She wished me happy birthday and said there was cake in the dining room. I thought this was some kind of test so my guard was up. I followed her to the kitchen and sure enough—there was a white frosted cake on the center of our dining room table. She then picked me up and sat me down in front of the cake. There was a number thirteen candle sticking out of the top of the cake with a tiny flame dancing on the top of it. She told me to make a wish and—"

I start to choke. My mom grabs my left hand. I continue with the story: "—I wished that she would die because of all the things she did to me. I then blew out the candle. She served me a piece of cake. I practically inhaled it. When I asked for more, I was expecting a no, but she let me eat as much as I wanted. I must've eaten three-quarters of that cake before I could barely fit anymore into my mouth. She then picked me up and sat me in front of the TV. Cartoons were playing and I never get to watch cartoons so I was invested almost immediately. Jenny was walking around in the background. I didn't know what she was doing but I didn't really care. I just kept watching cartoons. After some time, she sat down on the couch and told me to keep watching the cartoons. And..."

I grab my mother's hand with my right hand. She overlaps it with her left.

"I heard a click," I start, "Then Jenny said goodbye to me and I heard this loud bang. It was like an explosion. I then heard something heavy hit the ground. But I didn't look away from the TV. I just kept watching the cartoons. A little later the police showed up and I ended up in a home for the mentally ill. After a bit of hoping around you adopted me a few years later. I did research on what happened that day, even though it's pretty obvious. She shot herself in front of me. I didn't see it. The officer, Nick was his name, covered me with his jacket before carrying me out. But I heard her shoot herself."

A single tear falls down my mother's face.

"I guess I'm telling you this because you never know when you're last moment with someone is going to be your last, you know?" A tear falls down my face, "I keep replaying my last moment with Dad. And I wish I just did something different. I wish I woulda told him I loved him. I wish I would've invited him to church. I—I wish I was a better son—"

The tears start to fall from both of us. She starts to wipe them away from my face.

"You were the perfect son," she says, "I'm glad to call you my son."

"Mom, with the way this world works, you could die in your sleep tonight. I need you to know that I love you. And that God loves you."

She hugs me and I hug her back tight.

"The last conversation I had with him," she says sniffling, "Was about you. He wanted to go to church with you."

I pull back, my eyes wide.

"He was curious," she says.

My dad wanted to go to church with me. He was curious about God?

"But he's dead," I say, defeated.

"I wanted to go too," she says. I turn to her. It's Saturday currently. Church is at eleven a.m tomorrow.

"Maybe I can invite Delilah and we can go tomorrow," I say.

"I'd like that."

I lean back on the couch and think about the past couple of days. Even though my Dad's death was a horrible thing, God still finds beauty in it.

"Do you wanna watch something?" My Mom asks.

"Yeah. Something funny after that conversation."