I stood there underneath the old welcome sign, avoiding the shard of decayed wood that wedged threateningly from between the "M" and the "E." As always, I watched -- never asked any questions -- happy to see him happy, pensive, kneeling before me with repentance on his face and quiet rebellion in his eyes. I was once his muse; fascinated with my godless purity, he knows that my contradictory nature is transparently his.
There is another one now, more than one if you want to know. A jezebel from Sodom, South Georgia, wicked and cunning, a bloodred velvet kiss haunting and lingering, hungry temptress who knew her place long before anyone else could. A... woman king. He hates her reason for being: to morally inform, but loves her tragedy because it's so singable. There's also the other one, my sister, weird and adoring. She sees him the way he wants to be seen, the way I see him. It is with her that he takes off his shoes, unafraid to love or cherish the way her body moves against his, puzzlelike.
We abandoned the tourist spot in favor of the country dine-in framed by purple Bougainvillea blooms. The greener grass waitress was the one he'd been telling me about -- I knew it by looking at him looking at her -- he wouldn't leave my sister for her but he'd fantasize about it. Sitting on a barstool was another regular, a new friend he met who used to be a circus star. The old man with a southern black man's accent was a trapeze artist when we were born; he got famous when he trademarked his own act. He's gotten to know my friend well by being in the diner with him, smoking his cigarettes and buying him 25 cent Pepsi refills to make up for it. He turned around to greet us: "Hey, man, you brought a friend!" His lips drew back to reveal a toothy smile with a severe overbite.
"This is Jesus; Jesus, Carl."
"Hi Ca-"
"Boy's got grit, don't he? Don't he?" he interrupted me, laughing. "Nowadays he does, anyway. Ah reckon Ah didn't know 'im before."
"He did before, it's just never been so... pronounced. The appearance didn't much go with the words or the bite like they do now." I looked over at my friend's new haircut and the American Spirits peeking out of his shirt pocket.
"Grit, boy's got grit! Say, you gotta extra Spirit?" As my friend proffered his pack, Carl grabbed one and walked off toward the restroom.
"I can tell he does that alot," I said slowly.
"It's not so bad. I guess we were all born to fuck each other one way or another. Right?" He poked my sister in the ribs and kissed her nose, his eyes following the waitress as she passed by.
Later that afternoon he hugged my neck warmly and walked me up to the bus door. As he and my sister disappeared in the distance I watched them fade away, thinking about him and those old calliope songs. He's changed quite a bit since our broken-bottle days; just as profound but growing bolder and more complex by the minute. I guess Carl would call that "grit."
1. Woman King
2. Jezebel
3. Gray Stables
4. Freedom Hangs Like Heaven
5. My Lady's House
6. Evening On The Ground (Lilith's Song)
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