Toby

I told them, “Here’s what I’m thinking. We get ourselves a tent, set it up in my yard, put this on a little table in there, with some special lighting. Get some fliers out: Is it Jesus? Or just a rock? You decide. Charge by the minute, say a dime, which sounds like a lot, but hey, we’re talking about a minute with the Son of God, right?” I looked at them. “How ‘bout it, people, what do you say? You with me or not?”

“Give it here,” Ralph said.

“You got a better idea, let’s hear it.”

“Hand it over.”

I turned away, cradling it. “First tell me what you’re gonna do with it.”

“Give it to Father Clay,” he said.

I said, “Excuse me?”

He repeated it.

“What’s Father Clay got to do with it? We’re the ones who found it.”

“You didn’t find it,” from the little one.

“The point is, why give it to him?”

“We have to,” Ralph said. “It’s a holy object.”

I laughed in their faces. “It’s a rock, people.”

“It’s Jesus,” from the little one again.

I looked at her, looked at him.

My mother would love these two. She doesn’t like kids, especially dirty little smelly ones, but she would think these two were like the children of Fatima. You’ve heard of them, right? Those little shepherd kids Mary appeared to? Fatima, Portugal, 1917. We had a quiz on it after watching this movie about them Thursday in the gym—I’d give it one and a half stars, maybe not even that. Anyway, that’s how my mom would see these two, like they were the poor little shepherds of Fatima. She knows all that stuff, the miracles and appearances and feast days, and all the different names for Mary:

Our Lady of Fatima

Our Lady of Sorrows

Our Lady of the Rosary

Our Lady of the Weeping Jesus Rock

Anyway, here’s the thing. To get this ten-cents-for-a-minute-with-Jesus idea of mine off the ground I would need some serious money, and having these two along would help loosen her up.

The Children of the Vacant Lot.

They’d give the whole thing a certain glow, you know? Put a nice warm glow around it.

First though, I had to loosen them up.