You know, maybe this guy is right.
This guy is the nephew of the building manager.
He’s the one who’s letting us stay here even now, after the remodeling.
The new tenants seem to have money.
You can tell from the cars in the parking spots and from the way they look at us or, actually, don’t at all.
But Jesus doesn’t care. He just calls them The Rich Losers and lets us stay here.
His uncle has been the manager here for twenty years.
When he got this position, he couldn’t believe it; all his friends who had crossed the Mexican border with him were still burning their backs under the sun of the San Fernando Valley—for nothing.
They were all still illegal, working as bricklayers and not even able to speak English—not yet.
Instead, he had studied hard for all his first year in Los Angeles, working ten hours a day as dishwasher in a Mexican restaurant—seven days a week.
Every day he used to get off work and run straight to his free English class for immigrants on Lincoln and Venice.
It was hard because he had no time left for anything else but it became worthy when, in the same restaurant, he was promoted to busboy. And then, to server.
One day, just by talking to one of his frequent customers, this opportunity to become a building manager came up.
He had to take a six-week training course; done that, his new job was set.
The new building company also sponsored him for a green card; that way, he obtained the freedom to go back and forth from Mexico as much as he liked.
And, it was right on one of his trips to Oaxaca that he persuaded his youngest sister, this fourteen-year-old peasant, to move to Los Angeles.
He paid the coyote the double of what they usually charge just to make sure nobody would rape her.
This Mexican little thing made it safe to Los Angels but, once here, she didn’t make it so in the little alleys of the big Angels’ City.
You know, shit happens: she found a buddy who got her pregnant but the buddy was beating her, so she gave birth alone. Then she found another buddy, but he was beating her too so, once again, she gave birth alone.
By the time she was nineteen, she had found lots and lots of new buddies and given birth for the third time.
After that, nobody knows what became of her.
People don’t even exactly know who, among all of those buddies, Jesus is the son of.
He has always been said that his mother went to study English in a school that is far away and she will be back soon.
This is a lie—of course—but, it’s true that she really needed to learn English: as a fact, she could always find plenty of buddies but never a single word, when she had to speak.
Thank God, Jesus is always too high to wonder why his mother picked a school that is so far away, when there are tons of free classes just in the neighborhood.
In the meantime, the uncle and his wife have been trying to raise Jesus as their own son, together with their other six children.
But, it’s not easy. You know, people might not know who Jesus’ father is but, sure they can tell he’s the son of a Mexican bitch.
Because, when she disappeared, she took away her two other children but Jesus.
Because, at some point, rumors were suggesting the reason why.
Because, for those rumors, Jesus is the son of his uncle.
Yes, for those rumors, Jesus is the son of a loving brother who used to fuck his tiny innocent sister.
Can you believe that?
Story by Liliana Isella.
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* Father of Mine by Everclear.
LILA 