vampire sparrow christian

Parking downtown, surrounded by old factories and new curvy steel, is an experience. Space is limited – and valued, as evidenced by all the parking lots and meters along any area large enough for the thought of a car. (I suspect that’s the real reason the cops give tickets for loitering; if you’re taking up space downtown, you will be charged, one way or another.)

Thank God, there’s a parking lot just across the street from where I work, and it’s cheap (because I park overnight). The catch is, there’s no guard. It’s an open, irregularly shaped triangle full of lines with just enough space to back out and pull in, and single tollbooth with a locked door.

The most notable things about the tollbooth is the big red sign with white letters blaring to downtown that there is not now, that there has not been, and that there will not be a parking attend. You pay. Your car’s on its own. Take your stuff.

And the light. It’s angled behind a corner of the booth, and could land the International Space station, if it were just a bit wider. It shows where to pay, attracts bugs.

And that’s all I ever really saw when I looked.

Until last night, when a sparrow got caught inside the booth.

Ok, first off, I’m a vampire. There are certain, finite rules in my world: to do anything with the rest of the world means losing sleep; sun makes me sleepy; and if I hear a bird, it’s either a CD or there’s something askew.

I heard a bird. After good, solid dark. There were no earbuds in my ears.

The small, brown shape raced back and forth, sensing light through the dirty windows. Frantic to be other than it was, but trying what it had tried before over and over while it expected different results.

The door was locked…. ish, because the lock was old, and I jiggled it. Then I yanked. But the door would only open slightly wider than the span of my hand. The bird maybe could possibly fly out, but how do you tell a bird that you’re not scary? How do you talk to a bird at all?

I tried, but there’s not a lot I could do to help the bird. I hate that. It’s bothered me ever since.

This morning, I was driving home, rockin’ to Trent Resnor. The lyrics of a song caught my attention:

Just how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Are you brave enough to see?
Do you wanna change it?

And I… winced. It was if a solemn, low-key Voice slithered under NIN and into my core.

Yeah, I claim a label, and yeah, I go to church. Do these actions, these social expectations, these… things make me a faithful follower? If they do, it’s no wonder I race towards other, lesser gods. It’s no wonder I hide in pride and call it confidence.

Church, going to it, being on time, looking pretty on Easter – didn’t and won’t save my soul. And pretty dresses on pretty people have as much to do with faith as much as mannequins have to do with growing wildflowers.

Just how deep do I believe?

I know I bite the Hand that feeds, and I’m vampire enough to admit, there are times I thoroughly enjoy the taste of blood. But it’s not just enough to say, get off your knees, and expect that to fix anything.

Am I brave enough to see?

I have to re-learn how to fly. There’s this big, scary-because-I-don’t-trust-it Presence waiting, jerking rusted doors, wishing I wanted to change so I could be free. And as my heart races and my brain balks, my soul smells help.

Do I want to change it?

Vampire. Sparrow. Christian. Being human and small, the line between these begins to blur. But more than what I am called, yeah. I want to learn how to fly.