Same plexiglass, Different Box

At the petco near where my cousin lived, 

Before she slept the big sleep, 

there was a bird.

I had had two dreams.

One: we were driving and the car split as she said goodbye. 

Then I was shaken awake by my mom, “Diane died last night.”

Two: I climbed up to a treehouse and sang, “Two birds on a wire.”

I convinced my husband I needed this bird. 

Because I had been waiting for a bird to poop on me for good luck.

Which happened to me, for the first time, 

the day we lost our business to a fire, 

six days before our wedding. 

I needed this bird because I saw him in a plexiglass box

where he was not supposed to be. We never called him Spencer.

Larry did not solve all of my problems.

He did not hold it against me when I came back from inpatient. 

Just missed me a lot. And I was not there very long. Less than a week.

Because, of course, I was not welcome. 

Not many of us were. Because many of us were, are, queer. 

And besides the microaggressions, we were all dehydrated.

I tapped on the plexiglass and politely asked, please, may I have some water. 

I got wise and started refilling my cup from my bathroom sink. 

But I really wanted the ice-cold water 

that was kept behind the plexiglass panopticon.

So did my friends. All of my new friends. They would not let us have that water, 

so we called the patient advocate number that was posted. There were no rings. No sound.

We were so scared. The nurses were so pissed. 

They liked my sketchbook when I was drawing their portraits.

Until I used it to take down the patient advocate number to read to my husband, 

who then called the number from his phone, and asked 

why his spouse was being denied access to water,

why his spouse was not being allowed on the porch for fresh air, 

why they took away our TV time.

Why all of it happened when we started asking for a pitcher. 

The glee that we felt when they put that pitcher out.

The ice, little crunchy balls of freedom, cooling us down.

When we got out, we compared notes. 

We had been correcting the nurses when they misgendered us. 

And it showed, but not in a good way. 

My nurse used “He” for one half of my notes, and “She” for the other. 

It hurt to read. There were a lot of hurts that year. 

But I have this new friend who also happens to know my bird.

Yes, we had a mutual friend before we met at the mental hospital.

Before my new friend got sick, she volunteered at local Petcos to visit with the birds.

She would play with Larry, getting him some time out of that plexiglass, before he got a forever home. 

Sure enough, Larry was absolutely thrilled the first time she visited our apartment.

—

Larry passed away shortly after I wrote this.

He is wrapped in Diane’s silk scarf, with an amethyst vogel wand, 

in a beautiful wooden box. We will bury him when the ground thaws.

He was loved by so many. And he loved them all back. 

One day I will join Diane, two birds of a feather, on a wire.

But it’s not up to me when that happens. Is what I learned. 

I am here. 

I am queer. 

And I am not going anywhere.