Page 95 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
“No,” I say, almost defensively. “God is God. Hecreatedthe universe. There are rules.”
“Like the rules of science, right?” Jamal asks.
“I meant more like sins and virtues. Rules we have to choose to follow. Science is just the observation of things, so everything is science. It wasn’t created, science is just... there.”
“So, no beginning and no end...?” I can almost hear his little smile in his tone, and I know what he’s getting at before he says it. “Just an intrinsic part of existence as we know it. It’s in everything, everywhere, all the time, kind of like the universe, right? Kind of like God?”
“No, not like that.” I find myself laughing, despite my frustration. I miss talking with him like this. “You can’t just go around saying random things are God. God is different.”
“I don’t know, I feel like everything is holy in a way. Aren’t we all just an extension of the universe, or God, or whatever created us?”
My frustration dwindles to nothing as I realize how much sense it makes that Jamal would think like that. He’s a really sentimental guy, and he appreciates everything in life, even when the good things are damn near impossible to find behind all the utter shit. Even if Jamal did believe in God, I doubt he’d worship out of fear the way I do.
It makes me think of the two necklaces I used to wear. If the jaguar represents facing fears, then does the cross represent everything I’m afraid of?
“My point is, we’re both sinners,” I say, trying to bring it back to my original question. “Aren’t you afraid of going to hell after we die?”
Jamal’s quiet again for a bit. “Well, however it happened, you and I both exist now. Whether that’s because of the universe, or science, or God, or something else, it doesn’t matter. We’re here.You’rehere....” His voice catches at that part, and I can hear him trying to rein himself in. “Maybe God exists, and maybe he doesn’t, and no one will ever know with absolute certainty. But what I do know is thatyouexist, Cesar. I thought we were going to lose you, but you’re still here. And I need you to know that your life is just as holy and precious as any god.”
Even though I can’t agree, I know he’s not telling me heworships me like a god. He’s saying he sees me as an integral part of his universe. And I can’t help but feel the same way about him. Maybe he is right, in a way. Maybe there is something holy about being completely intertwined with everything and everyone surrounding you.
Maybe there is something holy about loving every part of someone else, even, and especially, the parts made just like you.
35
When You’re Finally Ready to Ask for Help. Maybe? No, Probably Not. No, Yes. Definitely.
Racing Thoughts
HORIZON BEHAVIORAL HEALTH
Day One: Visiting Hours
“You look tired, mijo. Did you get any sleep last night?” Mami asks with a pained expression. Even though she and Yami probably came here together, it’s just my mom sitting across the table from me. I don’t know if it’s because they’re fighting like the last time I was in here or if both of them just want to have a private conversation, but I don’t ask.
“Not really,” I answer honestly. I know she’s pretending the bruises around my eyes are dark circles to keep from bringing up the fight, and I’m okay with that. I find myself remembering the stories Abuela told me and Moni about Abuelo’s trick to solve all her problems and help her sleep. “Maybe I need to grow my hair out so someone can braid it like Abuelo used to do for Abuela.”
Her brows crease. “What are you talking about?”
“You know how Abuela said she couldn’t sleep unless he braided her hair for her?”
She shakes her head, looking confused. “Your abuelo never did that. He tried to braid my hair once in my life and accidentally gave me a fat bald spot.”
“That’s what Abuela told me,” I say with a shrug. I doubt she would lie about that, but maybe Mami just doesn’t remember.
“Well, maybe we can find something similar for you, to help you sleep.”
“I don’t need you to help me figure out how to sleep.” I sigh. These kinds of conversations never end well. It’s just a bunch of suggestions that don’t work from someone who’s never had to even try counting sheep. If she did, she’d know that shit is pointless.
Mami frowns. “Well, whatdoyou need my help with? I want to help, mijo. Just, tell me how, and I’ll try my best.”
“Well...” I hesitate for a second before saying anything, unsure if I should answer honestly or not. While thinking of things I want her to do for me is kind of impossible right now, there are a whole bunch of things I’d gladly have herstopdoing. “I don’t exactly love all the babying,” I finally admit.
“Babying?” she asks, almost sounding offended.
“Yeah, like treating me like a helpless baby who needs constant protection and can do no wrong. I’m basically an adult!”
“Mijo, look where we are!” She gestures around the room wildly. “If I don’t cradle you like a baby bird, you’re going to fall out of the nest and break your neck!”
