CIVILIAN . SANCHEZ, JESUS

Jesus Antonio Sanchez de Cepeda-King

CHIVALROUS. RECKLESS. UNIMPRESSED.

Jesus Sanchez, Senor Sanchez de Cepeda, Mr. King = NO.

Twenty-Five

August 15, 1987

Manliest of Men

Homosexual

CIVILIAN

Kindergarten Teacher. AKA trusted with the smallest of children.

Personality

The world wasn’t conquered in a day, and it takes all kinds of diverse tactics to turn even the worst moments into the greatest successes. So he started reading everything he could, starting at the very beginning and finish off the pile with a healthy round of what makes the genders tick. The world is all a flick of the wrist and a turn of the head, a confiding whisper and a hedonist’s smile that lead the unsuspecting sheep down the path of knowledge. Jesus’ Mama raised him right in her eyes, taught him not to listen to what people say and pay more attention to what they reveal with their bodies. He’ll be bad to be good, twist the wires and push until the bones break and everything changes for the worst. And when they scream Jesus will whisper their cure in their ear, drag everything wicked from his beloveds in one session of pure cathartic pain. Life’s that much easier when you’ve left no secrets from yourself, and Jesus is more than happy to do whatever it takes for that to happen.

It takes a real man to take care of others as well as himself, a true man’s man to keep the secret to his grave. Jesus never knew his father, doesn’t want a shred of sympathy or compassion from anyone, and he’s made it his mission to be the man that his father was never good enough to become. People really shouldn’t pick on those Jesus views as his charges like that, not with your hands down their fronts and those little bitty manhood stuck up like it means something. Whatever it is you start, Jesus Sanchez de Cepeda will be more than happy to wipe the floor with you and everyone you hold dear. And when it’s all over Jesus will be elegantly composed, an emotionless servant made of glacial perfection, not a speck of remorse for his victim in his black sin saturated soul. He takes his moral responsibility far more seriously than a dragon with its golden hoard, and the children he watches know in their bones that Mr. Sanchez will always be there when they call.

Jesus’ life should come with a narrator, and for lack of one he is opt to fill in for the lazy bastard from time to time. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so obsessed with getting it perfect, so driven by his own wanting that he forgets that no one else particularly wants to hear him humming some catchy little tune. He wants to remember all the little things he should have forgotten, the smell of desert dirt under a bright sun, the way home should feel and sound without the din of broken dreams. His students love it, love the days he sings them songs from Mexico, relish the days he tells them a story he learned on Abuela’s knee. Jesus dreams of Mexico the same way others dream of their perfect mate, but he stays for the children who have graced his classroom over the years.

Lineage

Jesus is of the Mexican ethnicity, born in Aguascalientes. His is a full Mexican bloodline all the way back to the Spanish conquistadors who hailed from small towns like Cepeda. He immigrated with his mother to Los Angeles, California, United States of America. Jesus speaks and reads fluent Mexican Spanish and American English, learning English as a second language from television programming and US schools. He is a dual citizen of Mexico and the USA.

History

Maria Sanchez de Cepeda lived a charming life in her hometown of Aguascalientes, where she wanted for nothing and relished the attention she gathered. She was a talented chef with dreams of something greater, dreams that were casually tossed to the side at the leisure of her erstwhile paramour. Rodrigo Juarez was a normal man with normal goals; a man who strove for a life in a more prosperous nation. He told her that he wanted to be with her forever, to wed her in a proper fashion and have as many children as she could stand together. Maria used to dream of being a top chef in a famous American city, of bright lights and impossible things. But when Rodrigo left all she dreamed of was how he would send for her and their unborn child.

He never came back.

Jesus Antonio Sanchez de Cepeda was born in a proper hospital and spent a glorious period of time learning important life skills like walking and talking. He loved his Abuelita and his Mama, and showed it by being a good little boy who never asked for anything more than a cookie and a kiss. Jesus was raised in terrified awe of his mother, a broken woman who threw herself into her old dreams like a demon. Maria would tuck in her son with stories of how his pendejo father had abandoned them and gone on to America on his own, brushed his hair over his café au lait splotches, and raised him to be true to his feelings. Maria refused to accept any less than perfect honesty from her son, slapped him senseless when he so much as dreamed of telling a fib. He was seven when his Abuelita died, seven when his mother held his hand in a graveyard and told him that this would be the last time they would see Abuelita again.

At eight he broke the law in a spectacular way, clung to his mother’s hand as they crossed the border in the dark. Her work visa didn’t include her son, but Maria had no one else to care for him while she was gone and didn’t trust her son on his own. Jesus would spend a year learning English from television and old newspapers, hidden in the back of their horrible little apartment. It was fine for awhile, at least until Jesus had the sense to ask his mother when he could go to school while Maria worked. He was horribly behind by the time Maria managed to get him into a school, but he worked hard to make up for the years he hadn’t had the chance.

It was perfect, up until the year he turned eleven.

Maria had fallen in love with the man she had been cooking for over a two year period. She had been a kind ear to his son, carefully avoided mentioning her own child while she did it, and a no-nonsense housekeeper that kept everything running like a well oiled machine. Jesus hated the man; this Mr. King who dared to lay his hands on his mother and told him he had to be nice to his spoiled little prince of a son. His mother married him anyway. Jesus sulked about it for weeks, sat in his new closet and refused to leave except to go to his new school. He hated that school too, with the awful gringos who kept calling him terrible names. At least it was easy to beat the snot out of the morons, much easier to lose his pent-up frustration and rage in the primal act of violence. He couldn’t hit his new ‘father’, the man who adopted him without his say and changed his name to some stupid gringo abomination.

The son was smart, plotted and planned until Jesus could stand to be in the same room. Lucius King treated his new ‘brother’ like a wild animal, a tiger trapped in a cage far too cramped for his own good. Jesus was fine with that, and came to an awkward peace with the other boy. They would never really be brothers and that was perfect to twelve year old Jesus; at the least they could be civil. Jesus still hated Mr. King with a fury that made his mother slap him if he brought it up in conversation, but the prince wasn’t so bad to deal with. And for awhile they were a somewhat pleasant if dysfunctional family that even managed to have dinner together every night.

Then came hormones and puberty, a voice that cracked and a body that wouldn’t do what he told it too.

Fifteen year old Jesus had an epiphany as he waited for that stupid prince to finish in the library: he had a crush on his step-brother. And of course he couldn’t lie about it, not with the memories of head trauma and an angry Mexican mother, so he kept a strange rule of silence around the older teen. Love was a tricky thing to wrap his head around, less a concern that he was in love with a man who was supposed to be his brother and more of a problem that his mother would disapprove. Jesus kept his distance, told his Mama he needed to be better because his love wasn’t the sort to take anything second best. Quietly, ever so quietly, he replaced the college-bound Lucius with new hobbies. He studied, took prep classes for tests he had sworn he wouldn’t bother with, went to the gym, and helped his Mama with the housework. Jesus refused to be the one to hold his family back from anything less than perfection.

He did well on his exams. Two years of studying paid off, and he proudly showed his mother his acceptance letter to an actual college. Mr. King was more than happy to pay his step-son’s way, but his prideful Mama told her husband that her son would take no hand-outs and would work for his dreams just like she did. Adversity built character, and Jesus never told a soul what he was even doing there. There were a surprising amount of odd-jobs and hard labor that an intrepid student could do for a ridiculous amount of money, and he was just the sort of gung-ho muscle bound moron to take advantage of them. A man did not accept things for free, and Jesus was more than happy to do his Mama proud and live up to her expectations. As long as she never asked what his degree was or why he never came home for breaks like Lucius did, he would be fine.

He graduated early; firmly in the middle of his class with more glowing job references than anyone else, a Bachelor’s in Education that he intended to use.

Sanchez de Cepedas did not get happy endings. Twenty-one years old and proud of a gig as a substitute teacher for a gym teacher on maternity leave later he was destined for a fall. And fall he did, in a spectacular blaze of violent glory that would make a Spanish novella writer cry. Jesus was drunk at the time, celebrating both his own birthday and a reunion with his not-quite brother. He had a long day at work, thoroughly convinced that some children existed primarily to have hard balls thrown at their heads by their peers, and his dear beloved ‘step-brother’ kept plying him with alcohol to celebrate the auspicious occasion under Mama’s orders. It was in this drunken state that he told his first lie, invited his brother home and kissed him. He called it a Mexican tradition, a kiss from their most important person to herald them into their new life as an adult.

Hung-over Jesus did not take well to the phone call he received the next morning. His far too sober step-brother took even less kindly to the string of increasingly hateful Spanish words Jesus yelled into the phone. Rodrigo Juarez wanted his son to know he was alive, that he was planning on making Maria pay for leaving him. But he wanted to meet his son just once to see what a fine specimen of manhood he had helped to make.

Jesus met him at a construction site, the illegal immigrant’s workplace for the month, rage in his heart and Lucius tagging along to make sure nothing untoward would occur. One angry Spanish conversation about how Maria was a harlot of the worst order later, Jesus lost what grip on sanity he had left. It was this moment that made him realize just how far he was willing to go, the moment where he shoved his dear biological father into a cement mixer after beating the man within an inch of his life. Jesus was more than happy to spend eternity in hell if it meant keeping his loved ones safe, if it meant that the man he was still foolishly in love with had to see him lose all of his composure. No one questioned the discovery of one person in such a horrible work-related accident, not when the company had been so foolish as to hire a man without proper documentation.

A drunk or hung-over Jesus was no longer allowed to be around anyone but Lucius, an arrangement Jesus balked at but his Mama enforced. It wasn’t acceptable for her son to go about kissing random people, and Lucius was more than capable of making him stop. Her son had lost all his sense after he turned twenty-one, threw himself into his job and worked himself to the bone. Jesus became a real teacher at an elementary school, took over the worst of the kindergarten classes and worked hard at being supportive of each one of them. ‘Mister Sanchez’ they called him, those tiny little minds that were his to begin to mold, and he greeted each one with a smile every day.

That he was sleeping around with men and women wasn’t something one brought up at family dinners. He wanted to bury his unrequited crush, remove the lust from his heart and focus on giving his Mama the grandbabies she so desperately wanted. Somehow Jesus has found a balance between his nighttime sex appeal and his daytime child-rearing, between kissing a woman breathless and making sure all of his ducklings stayed in their line. Who cared if sometimes he got a little too drunk playing cards with Lucius, made out with a man who was supposed to be his brother and pinned him to his polished desk. What happened nearly every time he was drunk would remain a fluke, at least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

ET CETERA

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