Crucifixion

The crucifixion of Jesus Christ did not go down exactly as described in the Bible, for no one really saw the event. None. Except, that is, one twelve-year old boy who saw the whole thing but was too terrified about it to tell anyone. Finally, he tells.
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This happened when I was twelve. I was there and I saw it with my own eyes. These two in my own head. I know what happened.

I have kept my silence since, all the way to this day. I have kept my silence in order not to shame my parents, for I ask you: Who on earth would have believed me? Who will believe me now? My parents would surely have thought me deranged and I would have shamed them greatly had I spoken sooner. To have a delusional son, that’s shameful. Seeing things.

You too will think me deranged, I am sure, but what I say is true. I was there. I saw it happen.

But I disobeyed my father. That is what mostly has silenced me.

He told me to stay inside that day, in the house, do not to go anywhere, he said. He felt trouble coming. Nothing for children’s eyes. He was a stern man, my father. He did not tolerate disobedience, any disobedience, no matter what the reason. He would not have forgiven mine.

I remember him saying that he felt trouble coming and he told me to stay inside and not to go out. It was not a suggestion. It was a command. An order not to be ignored or contravened. That too begged my silence. How could I have told him I was there and saw it with my own eyes when he had told me, specifically, to stay inside that day?

But now they are gone, both mother and, now, father. Now there is no one left to shame. Father this Friday last and I am recently back from laying him to rest. Mother left us almost three years ago now. I have no brothers. I have no sisters. There is no one left to shame. And now that there is only myself to shame, I need to tell. For shame means nothing to me now, it is dwarfed by the burden of seeing and not telling.

He was a short man. I remember thinking he must not be fully grown for he was not much taller than I was, and I was of a height normal for my age, perhaps I was just a little taller. But he wore a full beard and I remember wondering how could a boy have such a beard when I realized he was a man. A boy with a beard, I thought at first. A bearded boy. How strange! Then I realized he was a short man. Not a boy at all.