He put on his high heels after he arrived, buckling the ankle straps in his truck. The front porchlight off, like before, the street mostly dark, with some lights on at other houses, movement behind windows.

After tugging up his thigh-highs one last time, adjusting his padded bra, and checking his lipstick, he took out his phone and texted. Here

The reply came. Come on in baby

He put his keys and phone in his purse, opened his door and stepped out, wobbling a little. He’d parked one house away, and walked the pavement to the driveway, pulling his skirt down and smoothing it. The air cool. Overcast. City light reflecting orange on the stratus cloud layer.

A car turned onto the street a block away, passing as he reached the porch. He looked away, tensing. The car kept going.

He opened the door without knocking and stepped inside, locking it behind him. The home dark except for the glow of a tv in the living room straight ahead. Garlic smell from the kitchen.

He made his voice higher. —Hey Daddy.

The man’s voice came from the living room. —Brittney. Come on in, baby.

He walked into the living room. The man was seated on one end of the couch, half empty bottle of Budweiser and a pipe on the end table. Dark jeans and a grey t-shirt, barefoot, phone in left hand, glow lighting his face. The man smiled at him. —Hey baby. Turn around, Brittney. Let Daddy see you again.

He put his purse on a chair and walked a little closer, lifting his hands behind his head and turning around.

—Bend over.

He put his hands on his knees, bending his legs slightly.

—I do like that white ass. Remember what I said last time?

—Yes Daddy.

—Come over here.

He walked closer and knelt in front of the man. On the tv two white women in pantyhose were kissing on a bed, rubbing their legs together. The sound on low, their sighs soft.

The man put his phone on the end table and grabbed the pipe and a lighter, looking at him. —You want some?

—No thanks, Daddy. I’d just get unmotivated.

The man smiled. —Ok Brittney. We don’t want that.

The man hit the lighter and put the pipe to his lips, leaning forward, holding his left thumb on the side hole and inhaling, pulling the flame into the pipe. He took a short breath, holding it in, spreading his legs.

He moved closer into the man, on his knees. The man’s phone lit up and buzzed. The man exhaled and picked up the phone, looking at the number. —Shit. Hold on. Let me get this.

He knelt back, the high-heel straps digging into his ankles.

The man touched the phone screen, leaning back. —Yo sis, what’s up?

The man immediately sat back up. —What? Now? Shit.

The man looked at him, still speaking into the phone. —Yeah. I’ll be right over.

The man put his phone down and looked at him again. —Look, can I ask you a favor? I need a ride.

—Now?

—Yeah. I know that’s not what you expected, but one of my boys has my car and the other one’s at his mom’s down in Salem. I wasn’t expecting to go anywhere but… I need to get to my sister’s. It’s not far.

—Um, ok. Sure.

The man stood and walked around him to the closet for a jacket, slipping on shoes.

He stood up using the couch, grabbing his purse and keys. The man held the door open and he walked out on the porch, checking up and down the street. —Do you want me to go first?

—Why?

—So people won’t see you with me?

The man waved a hand in the dark towards the neighborhood. —Nah. We’re not doing anything.

They walked to his truck and he unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for the man, who grinned at him. —I didn’t know you drove a truck. Doesn’t seem like you.

—Lots of women drive trucks.

—Not the sissy kind.

—Well, I mean, I don’t do this all the time.

He walked around to the driver side and got in, having trouble working the clutch and gas with the heels.

—Head up 82nd. You know where the Monticello neighborhood is?

—Yeah I’ve been there.

—Go up to that main street with all the stores and take a left.

—Ok.

The man looked out the side window at the passing stores and cars in the right lane. Heavy traffic. They stopped at a red light and cars pulled up on both sides. He stared straight ahead. The light turned green and he drove. —Can I ask you a question? Um, sir?

The man waved his hand again. —You don’t have to say that shit now.

—What’s your real name?

The man laughed. —Isaiah. Like from the Bible.

He nodded. —I know. Vox clamante in deserto.

—What’s that?

—Latin. A voice crying out in the wilderness.

—Oh yeah. I always liked that line.

—Me too.

—So what’s your real name, Brittney?

—Um, Brian.

—Brian. Brittney. Ok.

He turned left and looked at Isaiah. —So what’s going on?

—Little brother’s there. We haven’t seen him in a year. He can get a little out of control. I need to calm him down. Turn right and go down a block. It’s that white house on the right. That’s his Escort in the driveway. Pull up by the curb.

He did, putting the truck in neutral and pulling the emergency brake. Turning off the lights.

The man got out and looked back at him. —You don’t have to stay. Not sure how long this will be.

—Oh. Ok. Well, I might hang out a little and change then.

—Ok Brittney. Or, Brian. Sorry about this.

—No worries.

He watched Isaiah cross the grass lawn, blocking the porch light briefly, going through the front door. He turned off the truck and checked the street: No traffic or movement. He reached down and unbuckled the shoes, pulling them off and massaging his nylonned feet.

He put the shoes in the back of the cab and reached for his ‘emergency bag,’ setting it in the passenger seat. He pulled out a grey hoodie and pulled it on, zipping it up.

He pulled up his skirt a little and pulled down his stockings, rolling them off and putting them into the bag. He pulled out sweat pants and got them over his feet with some bending and stretching. He checked the street again. No one. He opened the door and stepped out, standing and quickly pulling the pants up.

From out of the bag he pulled a pair of moccasins, dropping them on the pavement and stepping into them.

The house front door slammed open and a man ran out, followed by Isaiah. The first man held a gun in his left hand, pointed in the air.

—Oh shit!

He dove back in his truck and shut the door, locking it. He leaned over and locked the passenger door, then thought about it and unlocked it. He peered over the dashboard.

The two men faced each other in the grass, the one waving the gun and Isaiah holding up his hands. —Zeke man, be cool! It’s alright! Ain’t no one gonna hurt you!

A woman appeared in the doorway. —Isaiah! Run!

Zeke pointed the gun at Isaiah. —You’re not taking me again!

Isaiah remained still. —I don’t want to, brother. I just need to know you’re not going to hurt Tanisha or our nieces.

—Why does everyone think I’m gonna hurt them?! I ain’t hurt nobody!

—I know, brother, but you’re scaring people with that gun. I love you, you know that. And so does Tanisha. But please don’t scare her.

Zeke lowered the gun and covered his face with his right hand. —I just wanted some money. I just need some money.

—I know, brother. Why don’t you give me that gun? We’ll talk about it.

—No!

Zeke turned and ran to his car, hopping in. Isaiah walked over to the passenger door and looked in. —Zeke, brother. Just stay.

But Zeke started the car, backed out, almost hitting the truck, squealing away down the street.

He let out his breath, looking around. A couple porch lights had come on, with some people looking out of doors and windows.

Isaiah walked over. He rolled down the passenger window. —Are you ok?!

Isaiah nodded. —I’m cool. We cool. Everybody’s cool.

—Are we going after him?

Isaiah shook his head. —No. Hell no. I wouldn’t know where he’s going anyways. I need to get out of here though, in case the cops come. Can you give me a ride back?

—Sure. I mean, I don’t want to be here when the cops come either.

—Let me just say something to my sister. If they come, just take off. Not fast. Just go.

—I’ll wait.

—Thank you, Brittney. Or, Brian.

Isaiah walked back to the house, opening the door and hugging his sister. They went inside.

He moved the bag in back, started the truck and checked the rearview mirror. The people looking from other houses had shut their shades and doors. Just another night in Portland.

Isaiah came back out and got in the truck. —Ok, let’s go. I’m so sorry about this. Not what I was expecting.

He pulled away from the curve, going up to the first street and taking a right, and another right, circling back to the main street. —Has he done this before?

—I mean, a while back. But I thought he was on his meds and fine. Or, I mean, I haven’t seen him in a year. Then bam, he just shows up. If he’s asking for money, things can’t be good.

He turned the truck right, back onto 82nd, heading back south. —Is he…what’s wrong with him?

—He’s bi-polar. Maybe more. And I’m just… scared he’s gonna end up… shot… and dead sometime. Somewhere.

Isaiah bent over and put his face in his hands, sobbing.

He hesitated, then put his right hand on Isaiah’s shoulder. —Hey. It’s ok. You did good. You’re a good brother. You protected your sister.

He pulled his hand away as Isaiah sat up, wiping his face on his sleeves. —Sorry about that. You ever had a gun pulled on you?

—Actually, yes.

—Yeah?

—I had this girlfriend, this is back in Michigan, and her friend got this new boyfriend, Joe, who was just a bad person. Like, beat her and stuff. He didn’t like me and one time at a show, I was in a band, he pulled a gun on me in the parking lot.

—What’d you do?

—I froze. The girls talked him down. I’m amazed you stayed so calm and could even talk to him.

—Yeah, well, not my first time. He’s my brother though, so I was hoping that would count for something, even in that haze of his. But he just vanishes and appears. I want to help him, but he don’t want the help when he gets like this. I mean, there’s a reason he didn’t come to my house.

—That would have been really weird.

—Yeah, I guess so. Not like this has been normal, though.

They both laughed.

—Can I ask you another question?

—Sure, man.

—What do you do? What’s your job?

Isaiah smiled. —I’m the principal at Wilson High School.

—Oh. Wow.

—What do you do, Brittney?

—I teach at Portland Community College.

—No shit? What do you teach?

—History.

—No shit.

—So you’re divorced?

—Yeah. My boys live with me.

—You know, I wondered if they were like roommates or something. I could tell there were some other guys living there, but no women.

Isaiah laughed. —Nah.

They reached Isaiah’s house and he pulled into the driveway and put the truck in neutral, pulling the parking brake. —We made it.

Isaiah held out his right hand. —Hey man, thank you so much. Again, I did not mean to put you in danger like that.

He smiled. —I guess I don’t mind. It was at least interesting.

They shook hands.

Isaiah opened the door and got out, turning back to face him. —Not the night either of us expected.

—Yeah. No.

—Alright, man. I’ll see you.

—I hope your brother’s ok.

Isaiah pressed his lips together. —Thanks, my man. I appreciate it. We’ll see.

Isaiah closed the door and walked to the house, letting himself in and giving a last wave.

He sat there, staring at the front door. Then he popped the brake and put the truck in reverse, easing out onto the street.