Someone found a bloodied pair of shredded jeans. This much was fact among the boys. Who found them? That was speculation. Where were they? Even more of a mystery. But the fact was, someone found a bloodied pair of shredded jeans. All longed to see this relic of a bygone death.
Rumor had it that a train smashed a car scooting around the lowered crossing gates. Happened late Saturday night, or early Sunday morning, depending on how you measure time. Danny heard the crunch of metal, the shattering of glass, and the screech of the locked-up train wheels from his street, even though his house was the furthest away from the tracks. The rest were too sound asleep.
That Sunday afternoon, they held an assembly in Rickie’s partially finished basement. Benjie and Rickie sat on a loveseat with torn cushions. Danny and Jimmie both splayed on their bean bags. Tommie sat in the fake-leather recliner.
“Fact is,” Danny said, “cops found the guy’s head a hundred-and-three feet away.”
The other boys were skeptical but the detail of the exact number of feet was too precise not to be convincing.
“I’ll have to see it to believe it,” Tommy said. He lived in a neighborhood on the other side, the good side of the tracks, and rarely spent time with the gang. He was over because Rickie and he played on the same soccer team and had a game earlier that day.
“You don’t have to see to believe,” Benjie said. “If Danny says so, then I believe him.”
“I’m not sayin’ anything,” Danny said.
“You said, ‘fact is’,” Rickie said. “fact.’”
“I meant, fact is, someone told me,” Danny said.
Jimmie humphed at that.
“I’m just sharin’ what I know,” Danny said, “what I was told is the truth.”
“Where’s the blood?” Tommy said. “Car parts? There’d at least be broken glass.”
“City might’ve cleaned it up,” Danny said. “Why are you askin’ me?”
“You said–,” Rickie said.
“I know was I said,” Danny said.
“Let’s say that a train did smash a car,” Rickie said as he walked to the basement bathroom. “Whoever was inside is sure dead.”
“Crossing would’ve been closed for at least a day,” Tommy said. His uncle was a cop. “A train doesn’t plow into some car, cut a guy’s head off, and then the city just cleans up in a few hours and it’s over. Things like this take time to develop.”
“Time to investigate,” Jimmie said.
“You know all about cops investigating,” Benjie said.
“I do,” Jimmie said. “I know how cops figure out how to find what they want.”
“The police find the truth,” Tommy said.
“Truth?” Jimmie said.
“What is the truth?” Danny said.
“The truth is that Jesus died and rose from the dead,” Benjie said. He danced in a small circle and raised his arms to the sky.
“Catholics don’t dance around like that,” Rickie said. He was wiping his hands dry against the legs of his jeans.
“I’m not Catholic,” Benjie said. “I’m Christian.”
“Same thing,” Tommie said.
“Not what my pastor says,” Benjie said.
“That’s just talk,” Danny said. “Just words. If we find those jeans, we’ll know for sure.”
“There ain’t no jeans,” Jimmie said. “No train. No car wreck. No dead guy missing his head.”
They sat in contemplation, almost prayer.
“I don’t know what’s for sure,” Danny said. “But if someone tells a story, there has to be some truth behind it.”
“Some stories are just made-up,” Jimmie said.
“My uncle says most people are liars,” Tommie said.
“I believe it,” Benjie said. “I believe. I believe.”
“Who told you that story?” Rickie said.
“I don’t remember,” Danny said. “Someone.”
“Then fact is,” Rickie said, “someone, who we don’t know, told Danny about someone dying. All we have is the story. I believe it, even though I know it’s probably not true.”
In their minds, the boys knew no one had died, but they so longed to see the dead, in their hearts, for that summer, the boys kept the faith.