2025.02.18

The bar is half-empty,  bathed in the glow of amber light. Outside, the city hums, indifferent, pressing in but never quite touching. She leans forward, fingers tracing the rim of her glass, staring at the liquid like it holds a silent answer.

“You ever listen to Cowboy Carter ?” She asks, tilting her head, her voice’s like just open up.

An abrupt and seemingly irrelevant opening, throw out like a test.  To start a conversation that demanded even a sliver of vulnerability, you had to start with something random, something that didn’t immediately expose too much. People weren’t sure if  the person across from them might, at any given moment, throw out a remark sharp enough to wound.

I answered slowly, swirling my drink to watch how the light bent through the liquid. That’s the beauty of conversation――not just the words themselves, but the spaces between them, the weight you assign to them. “Beyoncé’s album? ”

Let’s follow the rules of engagement. Bit by bit.

Her test went further, “I started with 16 Carriages. At first, I wasn’t what to think. But now――now I get it. Someone told me this album isn’t just about the music, but also opened Black artists space in Country music. Do you believe that?”

“Believe it? It’s fact. Country music has always been gatekept.  And this album? She was kicking the damn door open.” I scoffed, taking a slow sip. She exhaled, almost relieved, like we had reached some common ground, something resembling a unified front. Even though I spoke like I had lit a fuse, sharp, almost combative. But maybe that’s what she wanted. There was something else in her eyes――some restless, clawing thing.

“That’s what I admire――the fight. Not just hers. I’ve been listening to Chappell Roan lately. Do you know her?” She was preparing to reveal more.

I glanced at her. “I know everything. You’re not the first person in this bar to bring her up to me.”

Her mouth twitched, nearly laughing but reining herself in, looking suddenly self-conscious. “People call gays and lesbians clowns. And she throws it right back at them, fearless. That kind of strength――the ability to say ‘fuck you’ and mean it――I respect that. ”

“My lady, I’m sorry. You do not just respect it, you envy it, and you admire it.  There’s this fire in you, but you can’t find the words for it, so you’re here. Let’s claim: Like you want raise your middle finger to the people you don’t even know the names of. The ones who do nothing, say nothing.  And that’s the worst part, ‘nothing’ means ‘nothing at all.’ And then you start wondering if you’re overreacting.”

“Yes, Yes. That’s what silence does.” I said, stretching an arm along the bar, letting the words settle in the space between us. “It makes you question yourself. Silence isn’t neutral. It takes a side.  And this world? It’s full of  people who’ve never had to question anything. The’ve marinated in their own comfort since birth, like fish unaware of the water they swim in. Then you show up, saying, ‘Hey, do you see this? Do you feel this?’ And they act like you’re asking some ridiculous, pointless questions. ”