THE MIRACLE BABY JESUS

“So you’re saying,” gesturing down to the open wooden crate between them, “ you went all the way to El Paso to get him?”

“That’s right. Your mother, may she rest in peace, had read about him in the newspaper and figured this was going to be the miracle that would cure her.“

Jimmy and Harry were standing in an old deserted warehouse in Bayonne, New Jersey  sometime after midnight. Jimmy, a gangly middle aged something and Harry, a white haired man with a beer belly, crowbar in hand, were standing staring down into the wooden crate with its top laying on the floor.

Jimmy was slowly shaking his head back and forth seemingly mesmerized by the crate’s content. “I can’t believe you stole baby Jesus.”

“I still can’t believe you told your Mom I stole baby Jesus.”

“Give me a break. What did you expect? I was 4!  Mom really thought he could make a difference.”

“What else was I going to do? I would have done anything for my little sis and your mom was too sick to go to El Paso, so I had to bring Baby Jesus to your Mom!”

 “Some miracle. She was dead within the month.”

“Who knows? Maybe the miracle Baby Jesus of El Paso gave her that extra month”

“Yeah, right. So, what I’ve never understood is why did you end up keeping him all this time? You couldn’t have just dumped him. Why keep hiding him in this warehouse forever.”

“What else was I going to do?  I was lucky I didn’t get caught stealing him. I just never figured out how to not get caught putting him back. Someday I’m going to figure out how to make this supposed miracle lump of concrete payoff finally.”

“Uncle Harry, you are one strange dude.”

“No shit.” It was strange to hear this sort of comment spoken with a baby’s voice and even stranger that it had come from the crate.

The metallic echoes of the crowbar hitting the floor blended with the receding footfalls racing into the darkness of the warehouse as the sound of a baby’s laughter filled the night.