Jimmy told me to stop singing
That way
He sat beside me in the church choir
Not because he wanted to
But because he promised his momma
That he’d give church a try
He sang bass
Predictably
I sang tenor
Sometimes alto
I was 11
Jimmy was 18 maybe 19
Jimmy needed to be named Jimmy
Needed his truck
Needed his girlfriend
Needed to be handsome
Needed to be a good ole boy
Needed a great Friday night
Needed a great Sunday morning forgiveness
Every Jimmy in our town
Promised momma
They’d be in church come Sunday
As in every South Carolina town

Once I told Jimmy
That I admired him
I lied
I didn’t
But since I knew he didn’t care for me
I thought I’d let him know
That I didn’t think he was so bad
In my own way
He laughed and said
Oh you don’t want to be like me
He was right
I didn’t
He said
If anything, I want to be like you
He also lied
Southern gentlemen are so charming
I turned and walked away
Knowing that
I didn’t care that he didn’t like my voice
He didn’t care if I admired him or not
He and I were not destined to be friends
He and I sang in different sections of the choir
After all