Julio loves jelly. The only thing Julio loves more than jelly is his mother who died tragically three years ago in a circus train derailment. Luckily, Julio and his knapsack of Mason jars were on the scene. After several hours of working deftly with a melon baller, Julio went home with a sloshing arsenal filled with the salvaged fruits of his mother’s mutilated corpse.
Julio’s jelly was about to have a very delicious secret ingredient.
One morning last week, Julio had just finished adding a generous heap of apricots and sugar to a mixing bowl of pureed spleen. He was just slathering a greedy helping of the oozy jelly onto freshly sliced bread when he heard the sound of footsteps crunching along his walk. And then, an earnest rap at the door.
“Good morning, just us Witnesses passing by, thought you might like to chit chat with us about our Lord Jesus Christ,” said the elderly woman at the head of the religious trio. She donned varying shades of gray and soot, and her bony fingers clutched pamphlets depicting Jesus with wind-blown hair. Julio was glad it was not the crucified Jesus; those pictures always agitated his Stigmata.
Julio considered this invitation. He hadn’t had company in many months, not since the encyclopedia peddler asked to use the john. And Julio did so much like to share his jelly.
“You know,” Julio mused aloud, “that sounds like a mighty fine way to spend a Sunday morning. Say, would you like some jelly sandwiches?”
And that is how Julio found himself in his breakfast nook with three Church people, sharing sandwiches flavored with his mother’s sugared spleen.