I Fuckin' Hate Jesus

"I fuckin' hate Jesus," I tell the young man with raincoat and backpack that looks as though it's seen brighter days.

 He looks at me with a rueful expression that more than admits that he knows that I'm right.

 "Eight days. Eight fucking days and NOTHING! NADA, man, NADA" I blast, gathering steam.

 We're walking toward the center and the young man decides to stop at the Halal cart. I decide to get the lamb over rice. He takes a long moment to consider his options. Then, crinkling his eyes in his usual way, he shakes his head no. He's not hungry after all.

 "It's not that I'm sayin' he should have no role in his life or whatever," I say in between mouthfuls of the delicious heap in the styrofoam container, "it's just that...I dunno man, he got no right."

 The young man shakes his head is commiseration. Our pace has slowed considerably and the thick humid air smells of rain. A thunderstorm is coming for sure.

 "I mean, he walked right into my place like he owned it. Like he OWNED him!" I've crushed my late lunch and am now working on the complimentary diet coke.

 "Kendra gave him a key I guess, and I'm thinkin' why in the HELL would she do that? He got outta jail, what, 2 weeks ago? You really gonna let a fuckin' rapist or whateva git all up in ur space?!"

 I burp emphatically as we wait in front of a traffic light. A single drop of rain falls on my head. The young man next to me takes out an umbrella.

 "Just marched in and said he was gonna take his son. Says it just like that. 'He my boy, he should be with his father.' "

 I toss the can on the ground and pull up my hoodie. It's about to pour.

 "I change his diapers, built his crib, painted his room...SACRIFICE man!" The rain was in earnest now, and we begin to run now.

 "And Kendra, " I say when I signal the young man to slow down so I can have my ash filled lungs recover for a moment, "she don't even fight. Just let him take the boy and walk out. Told me to chill it when I said I was gonna kill his ass. 'It ain't your business' she says."

 The center has come in view and the young man next to me looks thankful. I can see he's bothered that we're a little late.

 "Ain't my BUSINESS?! AIN'T MY BUSINESS?!! NIGGA IIII was the one was there next to her when she was going through labor and everything! It was ME!"

 He opens the door to the place and Mrs. Johnson smiles kindly. She's always been nice, even though we are routinely late coming from our shift at the Warehouse. I think she's got a crush on my friend, but he's to bashful to admit that I'm probably right.

 "Zion and Michael are in the back," she says warmly. We nod and make our way there.

 "Jesus took'em on father's day man. You know how bad that hurt? FATHER's day," I whisper as we head down the hallway.

 "Judge had to order he bring'em back, you believe that?! Nigga better not have hit'em over there. He ain't go no right. No right at-"

 We enter the spacious back room of the daycare, and Zion races over to me. Michael is shy like his daddy, and makes his way to the young man next to me.

 "DADDY!" my boy shouts, and gives me a hug. I haven't seen him in 8 days. 8 whole days. I feel my eyes welling up with tears. My friend, the young quiet man, takes hold of his own son's hand and shakes his head at me.

 "Kids always know who belongs in their lives." he says quietly.

 I nod. For once, I'm too overcome to speak. The rain pours on outside, washing away fresh wounds.