Passerine

Chapter Two

"You did good, Irvin'." My dad's hand clasped my shoulder as he walked in front of me. "Thank
you, sir," I was packing up my stuff on the edge of the raised stage. "I tried." I stated. Gloria the
Guitar went into her leather harnesbackpackgadget along with the songbook. Dad took a long
look at the state of the saloon now. It was empty now; not a man or full cup in the place. It was
about 11:30 pm., the chairs were on the tables and the sink at the bar was now wiped clean. It
reminded me of walking home late, when everything is closed, and the only light is that of the
moon.
The door to the saloon swung open, showing that the sign out front had been turned off and
didn't give off the same celestine feeling anymore. Instead, my sister stood in front, looking as
exasperated as ever.
"Irving," She grimaced. "I need your help with Bill. He was about as drunk as Cooter Brown, then
he passed out on the grass.
"Can't you get Dad to do it?"
"Irving, please. Just help me.
I took off my backpack and started toward the door. Dad glared at me with a farfetched look in his
eye, like he couldn't believe I would bestow him with such a duty.

When Ida and I reached Bill, he was out cold. I could smell the whiskey without even having to
breathe. Ida looked at me, the look in her eyes saying "Well?" I swooped down and grabbed his
arm. I groaned and tried to lift him up with all my might. His arms felt like iron in my grasp, like I
was trying to lift the pipes out of the ground. His arm went around my shoulders, but no matter
how hard I pulled, he wouldn't budge.
"Oh, please." Ida crouched down and grabbed his other arm, swung it over her shoulder, and
pulled him up. It took a few moment, to steady him, but soon he was sitting upright. Ida started
walking with him and I followed, carfying the right half of Bill with me. I thought about how long
Ida had been doing this without the help of anyone; how many nights she had walked down this
road alone and scared.
No one said a word. It was like the night threatened us with silence. But after a few minutes
walking in the humid darkness, lda spoke.
"Isn't it embarrassing for a lady to be stronger than you?"
"Isn't it embarrassin' to have a drunk for a husband?"
"Irving."
What? You said it, so I said it. It's a tie."
"You-Well-It's of no importance." Ida shook her head.

"Don't seem like it until you're hauling a 200-pound man down a dark road." I replied to her. The darkness engulfed our path, leaving us with nothing but blind faith and memory.

"Why can't you just help me out?" Ida asked, with a hint of sadness in her voice, but mainly just irritation.

"Because we both know Dad's much more fit for this job. If you're gonna complain about my strength, y'know he's stronger."

"Well, that's not exactly the only reason why I wanted to be alone with you."
"What do you mean?"

"Irving, when I say this, I need you to think of it with an open mind. Listen to me, alright?"

"Alright." It was not alright. Ida and I had this conversation monthly, and my answer had never changed. And it never would.

"And I need you to really listen. Don't just say you are." Hey eyes got wide and she commanded what she expected in this next conversation. "I need you to listen, because you know Dad won't let me even suggest this anymore." It was true. Dad had told her to stop her prodding months ago, but she never did. "So, a few weeks ago, I was in church."

Then I realized something about this conversation was different. It wasn't just a suggestion, she had something more under her belt. I wanted to let go of her no-good husband and run the rest of the way home screaming that I loved whoever I loved, and no laws, men, or older sisters could change that. But I didn't. I buried my fury and answered, "Yeah?"

"And, we'll, we got a new preacher." Ida said every beat to her sentence like it was a bomb waited to be exploded.

"Yeah? And what'd he say?" I asked, staring at the rocks on the dirt road as we passed. "I met his daughter. Now, she's your age-"

"I ain't marrying your preacher's daughter, Ida."

"But...Irving, just...why not?"

"I'd be miserable. Me, married, to a woman. Not just any woman; a preacher's daughter." I explained as Bill almost slipped down my shoulder. "There is nothing wrong with my preacher's pedigree." She whispered.

"Ida, I just can't do it. I'm sorry. It would be like living in someone else's body." Ida scoffed at my statement as I said it.

"It's be better than sitting in some grimy jail cell because you got caught." She spoke with caution, but somehow without any at all.

"But I won't. I won't get daughter. We both know I'm busting out of the Delta the first chance I get. There's a whole world out there and no one knows me. I'll be okay."

"Irving, you don't think. About your future, your reputation, or anything about you. You will get caught. And a better chance than not, the one who catches you will be a man of God and tell the church about you and whatever man you choose to fraternize with."

There it was. There was the rare time she would acknowledge that being a homosexual means that you actually love other men and you don't just sit there and pray to Satan.

She always talked about me and my future partner like we were two notes that sounded like a fire alarm when you tried to harmonize them. It was never "lover" or "partner", it was always "some man".

"Don't tell me about men of God when you're married to a drunk."

"Don't tell me about men of God when you lie with men the way you're supposed to lie with women." Ida rolled her eyes as she spoke. "You're gonna get left behind when the Lord comes back."

"Have you only read the parts of the Bible that tells you which parts will take you down to Hell?"

Ida started on a retort, but she just sighed of exasperation. "Just, start thinking, alright?"  There was a silence except for the rocks on the ground trudging underneath our feet. The night had begun to come together, the sun far away by now. And the quiet floated us all the way home.

And I started thinking.