Mary’s Tears

Joe Jukic and His Two Mothers: Mary of Heaven and Mary of Earth

Joe Jukic tells the story of his two mothers.

The first is Mary up in Heaven, the Blessed Virgin, Queen of Sorrows, Mother of Mercy.
She holds him in her prayers like she once held her dying son at the foot of the Cross.
To Joe, sheโ€™s not just a statue in the church, but a real presenceโ€”his true North,
the one who whispers to him in dreams and rainstorms, who understands what he canโ€™t even say.
He calls her Mama, and every time he falls, he says a Hail Mary instead of a curse.

But then thereโ€™s Mary down here on Earth, his actual mother.
A Croatian woman with a wooden spoon, a sharp tongue, and no time for messianic delusions.
Sheโ€™s tough as boots, straight out of Monty Pythonโ€™s Life of Brian.
Whenever someone tries to lift Joe up on a pedestal, she shouts,

“He is NOT the Messiah! Heโ€™s just a very naughty boy!”
She says it with a cigarette in one hand and a mop in the other.
Sheโ€™s the kind of woman who doesnโ€™t trust praise, especially for her own son.

Joe once tried to explain the shoe to herโ€”the one that fell during the protest,
the one he held up like a sacred sign, the way the disciples misunderstood Brian.
She said,

“Put your damn shoe back on, it’s cold outside.”

And Joe thinks of Kanye.

Kanyeโ€™s mother told him he was Yeezus, the chosen one, a prophet with beats.
She wrapped him in affirmation like a holy shroud,
told the world he was sent by God with a mic in his hand and a vision in his eye.

But Joe? Joe got the KIBOSH.

His mother clipped his wings before he could fly too close to the sun.

โ€œMessiah? No. Wash the dishes, clean your room, stop quoting the Bible like a lunatic.โ€

Joe loves her for it.

Because if Heavenโ€™s Mary keeps him humble through grace,
his earthbound mother keeps him grounded through sass.
One saves his soul. The other saves his pride from swelling.

And in the middle of those two mothersโ€”between prayer and sarcasm, prophecy and potato stewโ€”
stands Joe Jukic.

Not the Messiah.

Just a naughty boy with a destiny no one quite believes in yet.

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Safe in Croatia

INT. EAST VAN – OUR LADY OF FATIMA CHURCH – EVENING

The sun sets behind the stained glass windows. Inside the quiet sanctuary, candles flicker. NELLY sits in the front pew, her head bowed. JOE walks in quietly and sits beside her.

JOE
(softly)
Do you want to be off the pharma drugs, Nelly?

She doesn’t answer right away. The silence hums between them like an unanswered prayer.

JOE (contโ€™d)
I know people think it’s crazyโ€ฆ talking to someone who isnโ€™t โ€œthere.โ€ But itโ€™s not craziness. Not here. Not in this place.

NELLY
(whispers)
This is where I cameโ€ฆ when I felt lost. I didn’t tell anyone.

JOE
This is Our Lady of Fatima. Sheโ€™s more than just a statue. In Croatia, sheโ€™s the Queen. The Queen of the whole country. Sheโ€™s real to us. You can talk to her, Nelly. She listens.

NELLY
(tears welling)
I just wanted someone to see me. Not the fame. Not the brokenness. Justโ€ฆ me.

JOE
She sees you. And I do too. The real you. Not the diagnosis. Not the prescription. Youโ€™re more than what they label you.

NELLY
(pause)
And if I say yes? If I want off? What happens?

JOE
Then we walk. One step at a time. With Her. With music. With miracles. But not the pill kind. The real kind.

Nelly looks up at the statue of the Virgin Mary, her face bathed in golden candlelight.

NELLY
(quietly)
Okay. Yes. Please.

Joe gently takes her hand. A bell tolls in the distance. Something shifts in the air โ€” not a hallucination, but a presence.

FADE OUT.

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Some Chivalry That’s Dead

Joe:
โ€œI still remember that day in Grade 7, at the square dance. You were the last girl coming down the stairs, and I was the last boy picked. When I bowed and asked, โ€˜Would you like to dance?โ€™ What did you say?โ€

Nelly:
โ€œI said, โ€˜Yes, please.โ€™ Even though I was scared and my heart was heavy, your kindness was the light I needed.โ€

Joe:
โ€œYou looked so quiet, almost like you were carrying something more than just the teasing โ€” โ€˜Smelly Nellyโ€™ and all that.โ€

Nelly:
โ€œI was. I was sick โ€” not just in my body, but inside. After that day, I went to Our Lady of Fatima Church in East Van, near your house. I was searching for a miracle, for hope, for healing.โ€

Joe:
โ€œRight there, close to home? I never knew.โ€

Nelly:
โ€œYes. It was a place where I could sit in silence, pray, and try to find strength. That church became a refuge for me when everything felt like it was falling apart.โ€

Joe:
โ€œWhen I held your hand in that dance circle, did it help?โ€

Nelly:
โ€œFor a moment, yes. Your hand was real and warm. It reminded me I wasnโ€™t alone. But miracles take time โ€” sometimes they come through years of healing and songs like Legend.โ€

Joe:
โ€œThatโ€™s why you wrote Legend โ€” to capture that moment?โ€

Nelly:
โ€œExactly. To hold onto the hope I found, and to remind others that even in the darkest times, kindness can light the way.โ€

Joe:
โ€œI want to see you again in Munich. Maybe ask Nena โ€” the singer of โ€˜99 Red Balloonsโ€™ โ€” to join you on stage. Her song reminds me how small things can change the world.โ€

Nelly:
โ€œJoe, that sounds like the miracle weโ€™ve both been waiting for โ€” to face the past, sing together, and finally heal.โ€

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