Page 109 of Broken Grump

On the way out to our moss and vine-covered chapel, I ask him about Claire, his wife. I know she is a neutral topic that will keep things nice and light between us.

“She’s doing great. Thank you for asking.”

“Of course.” While he might not be my favorite person in the world, I did take a liking to her. Well, before all the subtle slut-shaming, that is. “How’s her morning sickness?”

He clicks his tongue. “It still bothers her from time to time, but it seems to be getting better.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad.”

“Indeed,” he says with a nod.

“And the kids? They’re doing alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Growing like weeds.”

“I hear that.”

Finally, when we come upon the chapel, he understandably looks a bit confused. “What is this place?”

“I’m glad you asked.” There’s a plain, metal cross near the entrance, which my abuelo was rumored to have carried with him on his journey to America from Nicaragua,andI pull away the weeds to reveal it.

“Ah.” After that, Randall seems pleasantly surprised.

“La Capilla de Flores,” I read the rusted sign for him.

“Andcapillameans?”

“Chapel. This is our family’s chapel.”

“Wow. That sure is impressive.”

“Thank you. You’ll have to forgive me; I haven’t been in here in years.” It takes a little more time, but I finally manage to clear enough debris away from the door for us to squeeze inside.

It’s one of those days when it’s simultaneously cloudy and sunny. So once we're in, faint beams of light shine in from the windows on either side of the building.

“Wow,” Randall marvels. “It’s truly spectacular.”

Somehow, the altar remained relatively unharmed, and the large cross with Jesus hanging from it, appears almost like new, save from a few cobwebs.

While that subject is in my mind, I recall another memory.

“Do you know why we Catholics like to display Jesus on the cross,mi nieta?” I remember Abuelo saying while looking up at the exact same crucifix.

“No, why?”

“Because we like to emphasize the sacrifice he made through his crucifixion.”

It all seemed a little gnarly to me, but his word was my bond, especially when I was a small child. So I just went along with almost everything that came out of his mouth.

“Whereas,” he continued, “the Protestants prefer to hang the empty cross, like the one by the door that I hid in my satchel all the way from Nicaragua.”

“So, what does the empty one symbolize?”

“I’m so happy you asked. It centers around the hope that was granted to us Christians after Jesus died.”

“Ohhh.”

Coming back to the present, I take a seat on the front pew while I watch Randall dip to his knees and pray.

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