The Evanses had thought they were out for a normal family lunch at the local Mexican restaurant, El Reino. Mr Evans had driven; Mrs Evans had sat in the passenger seat, wistfully gazing out her window; in the back seat, Prissy May had tried to conduct her dolls Kevin and Esmeralda's dream wedding; Bobby, Jr. had rudely interrupted the ceremony by causing hot lava breath to descend upon the guests. All was as usual.
'MAAAM, Bobby's making me suffocate!' Prissy screamed. Seven year old Bobby squirmed with maniacal laughter.
'Bobby Junior don't suffocate your sister,' Mrs Evans said.
'I'm not suffrickating her,' he said. 'It's HOT LAVA BREATH.'
'MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!'
'Do you kids need me to pull this car over?' interrupted Mr Evans, firmly. 'Because I will. I will pull this car over right now, and there will be chimichangas for NO ONE.'
A resounding 'No' from the backseat.
Bedito, their regular waiter, seated the Evanses in their usual spot, a booth close to both the kitchens and the restrooms, in the non-smoking section, of course. They ordered their usual. Mr Evans got chimichangas; Mrs Evans got fajitas; Prissy May got a chicken quesadilla, and Bobby, Jr. got a cheese quesadilla, extra cheese.
'Don't you want some vegetables in your quesadilla, Prissy May?' her mother leaned towards her. 'Cheese and meat and carbs are heavy, heavy. That's how Mrs Dorset got the way she is.' Mrs Dorset was the Evanses' obese neighbour.
Prissy May ordered some beans on the side.
Then came the chips. The Evanses loved the free chips. They loved the freeness of them; they loved the endlessness of them; and they loved the cheesiness of the five dollar cheese dip.
'CHEEEESE DIIIP,' moaned Bobby, Jr. No one else voiced his sentiments, but their sentiments were all the same.
After a blissful five minutes, while they waited for Bedito to return to check up on their chip supply, the Evans children began to grow restless. Seeing as these were the days before iBabysitters, the children had no screens to keep them busy. So they began examining the other diners.
'Mom,' Prissy May whispered loudly, 'look at that lady over there. Her dress is like a tablecloth!' Mrs Evans shushed Prissy, but quietly agreed with her. But, she said, it's not nice to stare. Prissy contented herself with staring at her mother's diamond ring, which Prissy thought was the ultimate ultimate most beautiful thing in the world. She hoped one day to be so lucky, she told her mother.
Meanwhile, Bobby, Jr. had begun clambering up onto the back of the booth. Before he drew too much attention, he managed to conduct a hideous faces war with the boy one booth over. Just when his father started to notice how far Bobby, Jr. had clambered, though, and right as Mr Evans was reaching across the table to yank his boy back down into his seat, Bobby, Jr. let out a thrilled scream.
'What on earth is the matter, Bobby Junior?' pressed Mrs Evans, quickly glancing around to check whether anyone had been disturbed by Bobby, Jr.'s scream.
Bobby, Jr. sat down, breathless with excitement, eyes wide. 'JESUS IS HERE!' He threw his arms up into the air and waved them side to side, sliding around violently on his seat. Prissy May pushed him towards the wall of the booth, trying to knock him calm.
'You're lying,' said Prissy.
Bobby, Jr. shook his head in earnest. Mr and Mrs Evans looked at one another concernedly. Prissy May sighed and popped up and onto her knees to look back over the top of their booth. She stared off across the restaurant for some time while the Evanses sat with bated breath.
Finally, she sat back down. 'It's him,' she declared.
Mr and Mrs Evans glanced at each other in surprise. Just then, Bedito returned to check up on their chip supply.
'More chips?' he asked.
'Yes, please,' answered Mr Evans, 'and we're going to need another one of these.' He held up the empty cheese dip ramekin.
Bedito hurried away, and the Evanses began concocting a plan.
'Alright, let's just casually switch sides here,' Mr Evans said, leaning in close over the table. 'We'll get up like we're going to the restroom, but then we'll just switch-a-roo. You on this side, us on that side. Got it?' The Evanses all nodded conspiratorially.
Mrs Evans slid subtly as possible out her side of the booth, allowing just enough room for Mr Evans to slide close behind her; Prissy May and Bobby, Jr. immediately forgot the plan, dove under the table, and popped up on the other side of the booth. Mrs Evans glanced around and slid onto the opposite booth seat; Mr Evans plopped down beside her.
'Alright,' he said, 'not bad,' although he now realised how awkward it would be for him and Mrs Evans to sneak a backward glance over the tall top of the booth. Acceptable for children, maybe, but the grownups would be conspicuous.
'Well,' he leaned close to Mrs Evans, 'there's nothing for it.' Her eyes grew wide. Without a word, she quickly flipped up onto her knees and peered over the back of the booth. Just as quickly, she flipped back down.
'It's him,' she said.
Mr Evans stared at his wife.
'Your turn, Dad!' giggled Bobby, Jr., who was terribly pleased with his parents' behaviour.
Mr Evans followed suit and peered over the back of the booth. Turning back around, he glanced at his family around the table, and they peered up into his face. His face broke into a wide grin. 'Well I'll be! It sure is.'
Bobby, Jr. threw his hands up into the air and waved them wildly back and forth. 'But Dad,' he said, 'did you see it? It's the best part! He's sitting in the SMOKING SECTION!' Bobby, Jr. screamed this last bit so loudly that Mrs Evans flinched, flickering her eyes at the nearest tables.
Mr and Mrs Evans looked desperately at one another. It was true. Jesus was sitting in the smoking section.
Mr Evans cleared his throat. Normally, this was the sort of thing he and Mrs Evans preferred to discuss privately, but they were on the spot now.
'Maybe...' he began, 'maybe he doesn't KNOW he's in the smoking section.'
Mrs Evans breathed a sigh of relief. 'I'm sure that's what it is,' she sighed.
'But what should we DO?' Prissy May whispered, her eyes desperately widening. 'Should we TELL him?'
Bobby, Jr. stood right up in his seat, bent on screaming the news to Jesus -- but, just when Mrs Evans began to open her mouth in protest, Bobby, Jr. plopped back down onto his seat. 'He already knows,' he shrugged.
'What do you mean, he knows?' exclaimed Mrs Evans.
Bobby shrugged. 'The guy sitting next to him is SMOKING.'
Prissy gasped. 'HE'S BREATHING IT!'
Mr Evans slammed his fist down on the table, not hard enough to upset their sodas, but hard enough to make a point. 'Where are those ding dang dong chips?!'
As if summoned, Bedito hurried up to their table with chips and cheese dip in hand. 'So sorry, Mr Evans,' he stammered, 'So busy here! Very important guest is here, qué emoción!' He hurried excitedly away again.
Mr Evans drummed his fingers on the table.
Mrs Evans avoided the stares of her children.
Mr Evans cleared his throat. 'Kids,' he finally began, 'what you need to know,' he continued, 'is,' he drummed his fingers some more, 'that is NOT Jesus.' All the rest of the Evanses stared at Mr Evans. Mrs Evans sighed in relief.
Mr Evans slathered a chip with some cheese dip and slowly, thoughtfully crunched it between his molars. 'No,' he mused, 'that is NOT Jesus.'
Just then, the Evanses' food arrived. As usual, they dug right in -- after saying grace, of course -- paying little attention to Bedito as he hurried by with a pitcher of water to join the fiesta in the smoking section. The wine was just beginning to flow, and Bedito had no intention of missing out.
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