Another Night, Another Song

After Bayou City, beyond midnight, the last stop of the evening is a place called Michael J's. Sandra tiptoes across the gravel parking lot. Inside, the bar is lighted by beer signs and populated by one old boy playing the songs of yesteryear, two old girls singing them and one tattered old drunk leaning on the bar, listening.

Sandra gives the emcee the number of her song and scurries off to check her makeup. The music fades. The drunk babbles, "Why's it so damn quiet in here?"

"That's what happens," the emcee blares, "when your singer's in the bathroom."

To that introduction, Sandra emerges and steps before the crowd. The song she sings is the only one whose words matter to her: Patty Loveless's "You Don't Even Know Who I Am." She is more than she appears, more than anyone has ever known. Her voice grows raspy. The drunk grows calm. By the time Sandra puts down the microphone, tears are streaming down her cheek, and the drunk has laid his head upon the bar.