Kingdom of God Read online

  Mom was catatonic. That’s when the Huntington’s really started to hit home. When she lost her job, Matt started picking up more work here and there. Busboy at the country club. Cashier at Ralph’s. Paid usher at church. But it wasn’t enough. The cost of everything just skyrocketed. I started going through the mail and seeing every bill. I saw all these credit card offers that were meant for Dad. I thought I would just sign up for one in his name. I saw it on ‘The Simpsons,’ and it really works. I used one card to pay the electric bill. Then two cards to pay off that one card. One card for clothes. One card for food. One card I used for everything at Christmas. I got another console out of it. I see Matt working himself to death, and I’m just swiping away with no issue at all. It was such a relief just to pay at the counter like adults do. It was like a rite of passage, like losing your virginity.

  I did lose my virginity down here. It was in the mountains outside of town. I was up on this hillside, and I saw a camper van. It looked like Dieter. Dieter was the name my dad gave our blue Vanagon camper van. We used to go on trips with it to Yosemite and Sequoia. This van on the mountain was bright orange, and a girl was beckoning me inside. She has this incredible long brown hair. She just kept waving at me to come closer through the crack in the door. I crawled inside, and there was this other girl there. She was even younger. The older one started kissing me while the other girl took Polaroids. She took off my clothes, let me feel her breast and played with my penis. Got on top of me and let me enter her. It felt amazing. The other girl is just snapping pictures. It was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Then they threw my clothes through the door, kicked me out and drove away. I’ve been trying to find them ever since. I mean, I thought we had a real connection. She was beautiful. She lived in a van just like I did. Mom and Dad met when they were camping. They took Dieter and lived amongst nature every chance that they could get. It was like I had this connection I couldn’t find again. It’s just another part of my life that’s gone now.

  Now when I think of the shelf between the kitchen and living room, it’s empty. There’s no more books or pictures or anything. They’ve all been taken down. I can still remember who took them. It was a guy named Chris. He was there when I got back home from school one day. Nobody let him in since Mom was in the hospital. He just got inside and was waiting for me when I got home. He said I was in deep shit and asked me where Dad was. He asked how I ever expected to pay off twenty grand in credit card debt. He said they were going to find Dad sooner or later, so I should think about helping out in exchange for resolving the debt. He took the books and said he was going to sell them. He was going to take the pictures and embroidery too, but I wrestled them away. I never used another credit card again.

  The electricity shut off around the spring. I hung out at Talon’s place for a few days. Him and his dad were incredibly nice to me. After Mom died, they would always cook me dinner. Let me sleep there whenever I wanted. But Matt still needed money. I couldn’t just leave him in a dark, cold house. So—I don’t know when it hit me—but I remembered this scam I saw on TV. It’s a great source for fraud. I told Talon and his dad that we were expecting a huge life insurance settlement after Mom passed away, but they wouldn’t release the money for a few months, maybe even years down the line. If he loaned us some money now, I would pay them back with the settlement. With interest. He agreed on the spot. He agreed to give me twenty thousand dollars right then and there.

  Of course there was no settlement. I could never pay it back. A few months passed, and I completely ghosted them. God it kills me. I still see Talon’s messages on my phone and consoles. His dad came by the house once, and I wouldn’t answer the door. I could see the messages getting angrier and angrier. It just hurts me every day to know that I stole from them. I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up. I finally confessed to Matt. We were eating mac and cheese at the kitchen table. It was the first time we ate dinner together in weeks. He had to know the lights came back on for a reason. He’s not stupid. I explained how I got most of the debts paid, but I still owned money to Chris and Talon’s dad. With interest. He didn’t really react. He just said ‘okay’ and continued eating.

  It must’ve been the anniversary. The anniversary of the day Mom died. We were in our suits. It’s raining. It’s dark. Matt’s driving to the church in Mom’s Camry. It didn’t have a nickname. I remember all of the lights were off, so we weren’t there for a worship service. He never told me what we were there for. He just said wait in the car while he went inside for something. He ran through the rain, unlocked the door, and came out holding a metal box. He threw it in the back seat. It sounded full. I had this terrible feeling it was the church’s offerings. My stomach immediately hit the floor. I couldn’t believe he would do that. Especially when it was my fault.

  We get pulled over. Matt’s driving was all over the place that night. It’s still raining. The cop asked if he knew why he pulled us over, and Matt said it must have been for a good reason. The officer thought he was giving him lip, but Matt would never do that. He’s never sarcastic. He apologized profusely. We both did. The cop said our registration tags had expired. I didn’t even think about paying for that either.

  He asked if Matt had been drinking that night. He did smell, but that’s only because he had just come from work at the country club. That’s why we were dressed up. From work. But Matt doesn’t drink. I’ve never seen him drink. He told the officer that he was working out of a bar, and that’s why he reeked of alcohol. The officer wasn’t having it. He ordered Matt to get out of the car.

  The metal box was still in the back seat. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. If the officer found it, I don’t know what would’ve happened. My heart was ready to burst. I thought about confessing. Just tell the officer about the hole that we were in. I would do anything to make it up. Anything to make it go away.

  Then there was the light. The truck’s headlights, beaming straight into the car for only a second. That’s the last thing I remember clearly.

  Between Mom, the debt, the rain, the officer pulling us over right then and there, a truck driver falling asleep right then and there, I became convinced that the universe was conspiring against me. There’s no other explanation. I don’t know if there’s a god looking down on all us, monitoring the actions of seven billion people rolling around this rock in space, but it has to be real. I thought there had to be this force that’s grinding me deeper and deeper into the earth until I finally couldn’t take anymore. On the plus side, I don’t think I can sink any lower. You can’t fall any farther from the floor.

  Matt completely changed though. I don’t know how he keeps up such a happy façade. He was so encouraging when I was going through my tests. When I started walking again. He gave me these index cards, and we wrote on each one together. I can even remember them in order. It’s the only way I’m able to remember anything at all. The first one we wrote said Dad’s name, Patrick Edward Jacobson. We’re going to find him, he said. This was our purpose going forward. We’re going to find him. He was all we had left. We’re going to find him. That was our mission. We’re going to find him. No matter what.

  The second one was a capital H with four numbers at the end of each point, one two three four. We took Dieter, and when Matt was driving, he would yell out a number. I would push or pull the lever to whatever number he yelled. It was because he had to keep his one hand on the wheel. That’s the only reminder I need for that. That and the washing. He would wash his left arm every day. Then he would shave my head and swab the back of my neck. This is in the summer. These shavings sort of became my calendar, the only way I can keep track of time. Still, his spirits were so high. I don’t know how he kept it together the way he did. I just kept my head down.

  The next few cards were all addresses. The house at 2028 Water Street. Iglesia del Reino de Dios, Calle Cañada. Mom’s resting place at Holy Cross Antioch. The house was empty when we left. We packed two bags of clothes, whatever fo
od was left over and the photo in front of the sequoias. Then we just took off. I stare at that picture of hours, wishing I was back at the side of Cherry Lake. Trees stretching into the stratosphere. A sky blanketed by a billion suns. Waiting for soda cans to explode on the campfire in a shower of sparks. I begged Matt to take us back there. I could picture Dad there. He said he wasn’t there. Instead, we went through the desert. I saw nothing but desert for months.

  ‘Never let go of the water.’ That was the next one we wrote together. It was written on at least four or five different cards. He handed me this plastic jug of water and told me to imagine that it was taped to my hand. I could never, under any circumstances, let go of it. That’s when we abandoned Dieter. It was beached in the sand, this dark blue brick in the middle of the desert. Matt told me to say goodbye to Dieter. We were going to have to find Dad on foot. This was probably the last time we were going to see our family van. I didn’t want to leave it. That’s one of the last places we were a family. He had to drag me away. Another piece of my past just getting ripped away.

  I never let go of the water because we sweat through our clothes. We wore every piece of clothing we had. Two jackets. Three t-shirts. Shorts under our pants. It was still summertime. We were hiking down this long sewer pipe that went on for miles. There were a few other people coming the other way, we never found anyone else going our direction. It was like we were swimming against the current. We must’ve looked like we were swimming. My feet started to hurt so badly. I thought they were bleeding. I asked Matt to stop. I couldn’t go any further. The boots I had on were too tight. Matt sat me down and offered to change shoes with me. His were a little bigger than mine.

  The next thing I know, I look up, and every word on every sign is in a different language. Cars are whipping by on the highway. Some people get on and off a bus parked a few feet away. People are going in and out of a bank. Engines are rattling in a fast food drive-thru. All of this life is going on around me, and I feel like a piece of trash getting blown in the wind. I just got overwhelmed, and I couldn’t keep it in. I started to cry. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see Mom.

  Matt hugged me. It’s the tightest I can remember him holding me. I just dug my head into his shoulder. And I could feel his right hand grip my shoulder, but not his left. He just pressed his left forearm against my back. That’s when I realized there was no going back. There was no returning to the same old life. I had to trust him going forward. He lost even more than I had. I had to trust that he knew where to go.

  We ended up on Calle Cañada. I don’t know if we stumbled on there by accident or if Matt always intended to go there. I don’t really have a timeline. Events just kind of circle around this void in my head. But I liked it there. They were the most beautiful people I had ever seen. The pastor was so excited. He had this fiery, orange hair. This red-headed girl had this skin that was so smooth that it looked like marble. She would always give me water and snacks. This one guy was very tall, very tough, always had his hair in a perfect, close crop top. The other guy, he had these big thick glasses. I could tell he was smart because he could rattle off a thousand words a minute. Matt and I come in here hungry with dirty hands and cracked faces. We must’ve looked like monsters. But they welcomed us with open arms. I hope I showed them how grateful I was. I truly am.

  There were kids living there too. I had to avoid them most of the time. Their screaming made my headaches even worse. We eventually found a solution. Matt would drag me to the church services even though I never wanted to go. It was relatively quiet then, and he would play drums or the tambourine on stage. It actually calmed me down. The headaches subsided. I could concentrate again. It must’ve been the structure. The rhythm of it. Knowing what comes next. Whenever another headache flared up, I would think of that drumbeat. Just a rhythmic drumbeat, one after the other. It’s my relief.

  I could concentrate during the little meetings too. In church, the pastor spoke in Spanish. But the rest of the time, he would have these meetings with Matt, myself and the others. He talked about suffering, all of these people in the Bible that went through these horrible things. It was like he was speaking directly to me. Then again, everyone else was there. The kids would wander around. Sometimes they would stop and listen, even though I don’t think they understood a word he was saying. I can see the hardships of everyone else, and they did less to deserve that suffering than I did. It was like we all had these collisions with a world that had knocked us down. But he encouraged us to move forward all the same.

  Our first night there, he invited us into his office, just Matt and me. He opened a liquor bottle and asked if we were eighteen. I don’t think it would’ve mattered if we were or not. He poured a few glasses and said that we must be of drinking age down here. He started asking us questions like how we wound up here. My head was burning. Matt reiterated that we were looking for our father. They talked for some time but, to be honest, I couldn’t follow a word of it. The pastor said something about volunteers and getting to work. And if we needed, he could keep a secret. I just kept my head down and hoped he would give me some water.

  He said that maybe it was God’s will to bring us here since we were lost children, just like the orphans. My head suddenly cleared. I was able to speak again. I said no. We weren’t there because we’re orphans. Our father is alive and we’re there to find him. So we weren’t orphans. We’re not.

  There was one other time that happened. When my head cleared and I could speak up again. It was when we went to the grocery store. They took us to the back and we met this guy. I can’t remember his name, but he kept calling out the pastor’s name. He was speaking in English, so I hung on his every word. Even as they were walking away, I thought of the drumbeat and listened to him as best I could. He explained to the pastor what a nice guy he was. How nice he was to deliver food up the hill. Let him hold his church services even though they aren’t Catholic. He said he was very generous, but he needed something in return.

  Then he started talking about the children. How he had all of the papers ready to get custody. He would take the children off his hands and return them to a true Mexican home. And he had until Sunday night to sign the papers and hand them over. Otherwise he would be one of the missing Americans you hear about on the news. I didn’t need to write that down. I didn’t need to read it off a card. I remember those words clear as day. He was going to take the kids, and he was going to do something bad with them. I’m sure of it. I could stop it too. I would have stopped it if I wasn’t taken away.

  I have this whole new life down here. Matt went by ‘M.J.’ which was cool. They would call me ‘L’ for short. I’m having a great time. The girl would always bring me water and snacks. The guy with the glasses, we would talk about ‘Dead of Night’ and a few other games. I loved it. It’s like my old self is in the rearview mirror. There’s no more guilt or feeling bad. That was all in the past. It was like I had this license to be a whole new person.

  I must’ve had at least fifty index cards in my hand at that point, but Patrick Edward Jacobson was always at the top of the deck. I’m always looking for Dad. Reading every sign. Following every familiar face. Taking stock of every little bit of information I could. Matt didn’t seem as invested in it. He spent more time with the kids or with the red-headed girl. We’re down here to find Dad, I thought. That’s what we’re here to do. So I go off on my own. I always wound up at the gas station. The wall had this incredible mural with the sun, the moon, the stars, the city and the people. All this life in one portrait. A new tag appears on it every day, and I would try to decipher each and every one. See what other buildings they appeared on. I remember this one time, I was tracking this tag that looked like a combination of the ying-yang symbol and an infinity sign all the way up the hill. It was on the side of the gas station, the church, the roach coach. It must be saying something if it’s around so much. I never found out what it was because Matt stopped me at the top of the hill. He was sweating and out of bre
ath. He sat me down on this ledge and took the cards away. He told me ‘Don’t write this down.’ I remember that exactly. Taking the cards away triggers my memory as much as having them does.

  He started tearing up. That was the first time I’ve seen him cry since Mom died. He said he couldn’t do it anymore. He was exhausted. He couldn’t run around town looking for me all the time. If I did it again, he might not be there. He either couldn’t do it physically, or he would just give up. I felt that pain hit my stomach again. The guilt. Knowing I caused someone so much anguish again. I didn’t want to feel that. But I didn’t want to stop hunting for Dad either. I know he’s here, and I’m getting closer and closer every day. This is our purpose down here, and we’re lucky to have it. I’m not going to be deterred by life anymore.

  I lost the index cards. All of them. I remember that day through the headaches. It was hot outside. I was following this orange, spray-painted line next to a chain link fence down a dirt road. I thought it could’ve led to another tag or message or something. And there was this van at the bottom of the hill, just like the one where I met the two girls. I thought, maybe stupidly, they would know something or could help out. I went up to it and knocked on the door. There weren’t women inside. There were three old men all dressed in black, all looking pretty ragged. Someone grabbed my arm. I didn’t recognize him at first, but it was Chris. The bald guy who took our things. He had a big beard now. There were gray hairs all over it. He asked if I remembered who he was, and he said I was still in deep shit. He ripped the cards out of my hand and pushed me into the van. My head started pounding. I could barely stand up. I needed a whole marching band of Matts beating away at the drum to keep the pain at bay. But I saw, just before they shut the door, the cards hit the ground. Some of them got caught in the chain-linked fence. Some got stuck in the dirt. Others just floated off. I hope I can find them again.