Fade to Black

Saturday, I went to the club.

I didn't expect Violet to be there, but I hoped Sugar might.

When you look down on the stage from the railing near the upstairs bar, you can see where the glossy white surface has worn into a dull circle around the front pole—years of high heels tracing the same path.

I arrived around nine. The place wasn't busy. I'd been sitting at the upstairs bar for about ten minutes when the DJ announced Sugar would be on stage in five songs.

When she came up, I walked down to the rail.

"Hey, have you heard from Violet?"

"No. She's not here tonight." She grinned. "Does that mean I get to take you to the back?" Always the salesman, Sugar is.

I slipped a twenty into her G-string. "I guess. I got a story for you."

After she finished making her rounds on stage, she found me upstairs and sat beside me at the bar.

She told me she'd texted Violet a few days earlier but never got a reply.

I told her everything—what happened that night, my theory about the SUV, and showed her the text exchange.

"Now I'm worried," she said.

"Me too."

She said she'd try calling her the next day. Before she went back to work, we exchanged numbers.

"If you hear from her," I said, "just let me know."

She nodded.

It was obvious Sugar had heard more stories about Violet's boyfriend than I had, but she didn't elaborate.

For now, that seems to be the end of the story.

At least the part I know.

Eos

Why I don't bother looking for women anymore. This is a recent exchange on a mutually beneficial dating site.

Christine: If your still looking for something steady let me know I’d definitely be interested in seeing if we are compatible and looking for the same thing ☺️

Me: Yes, I am. Would you like to get together for a coffee?

Christine: I could do that.  In person is so much easier than on here. I’m over in Grosse Pointe Woods area.  Where are you? Maybe find a place in the middle.

Me: I agree. You don't know until you meet.  I live in Chesterfield. There is Eos Cafe & Coffee House on Jefferson between 12 and 13. I have not been there, but it looks okay.

Christine: Next week I will have way more free time and flexibility.  Would it be ok if we schedule meeting? I have been to EOS before and isn’t too far from me.

Me: Yes, next week would be good for me. I'm looking forward to. Give me some days that work well for you. Tuesday is my only busy day. Wednesdays and Sundays are good.

Christine: I can do next Wednesday if you’d like?

Me: Yes, I can do Wed. Eos closes at 4 p.m. Can you do sometime between noon and 3? If not, I can pick somewhere else.

Christine: How does 1pm sound?

I don’t think I got your name yet? I’m Christine ☺️

Me: Nice to meet you, Christine. My name is Bathwater.  Wednesday at 1 p.m. at Eos on Jefferson sounds great.

At this point, her potential for showing has dropped to fifty percent.

Me: I'm looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. Let me know if your plans change. I'll DM you here when I am on my way.

Wednesday

Me: I'll be heading out in a few. See you there. I'm wearing a green shirt.

I made my way down to Eos. She didn't show. Technically, she could say she never saw the messages, but the app did show her online, and I did boost the message to the top of her inbox.

On the plus side, I still clean up nicely for my age, and I did get to see an attractive girl behind the coffee counter with a nice smile, long torso, and tight tee.

Difference

 Max did take me to lunch for Father's Day. It was just him and me. His fiancé did not go. The three of us did go to Finn's in New Baltimore the week before.

Max was updating me on his tangles with the neighbors at his mom's condo. Something that didn't occur when his brothers were living there. I said he should expect it; he's living in an old folks community. He swears he is not the problem. I suspect it is a little of both going on.

Currently, I'm writing a fiction story. The opening line came to me as I was waking up one morning. "There is no such thing as cane sugar," she assured me. It's about the friendship between two 8/ 9-year-old kids.

It is called The Eiffel Tower is in Cincinnati. It began as an essay piece that evolved into a 7,000-word story, but I felt there was more to it. I'm currently writing a second half that will be approximately another 5,000 words. The second half flashes forward to when they are adults. I like the story. It is my most ambitious work of fiction in a long time.

I'm not sure what I will do with it when it is done. It will be an awkward length for publishing, but creating the story is more important to me right now than where it belongs. It has been a good distraction while the memoir is out for consideration.

Rings

I don't have any updates on Violet. Saturday rolled around, but she didn't reach out, and I didn't feel like making the drive out to the club to talk to Sugar or see if Violet was there. I hope she is alright, but I don't feel like being drawn into the middle of something when she doesn't seem to have made up her own mind.

As for the ring and Max's engagement. Yes, Max got the ring. Yes, I financed it for him. By financed, I mean I bought it with the understanding he would be paying me back. There was no talking him out of it. I know, I'm as bad as his mother.

He talked about giving her the ring as part of an elaborate plan, but when it came, it didn't take long for him to just hand it over.

They want to get married in Sicily. A wedding honeymoon combination. I wouldn't mind going to Sicily, probably one of the few places in Europe I would travel to. We'll see, though. Lately, I don't feel like leaving the house.

Personally, I still think getting married is just one of those life mistakes people make, especially if they don't plan on having children.

I don't see their plans as being realistic. Young people don't seem to be burdened by an abundance of common sense. Or maybe I'm just burdened by too much these days.

What We Say With Words

The last time I saw Violet was a week before her I think I need help texted. It was my third time seeing her at the club. 

We were behind the curtains, and she wanted to read me a poem she wrote on her phone. She said I had to hear it in her voice. She has a slight southern drawl that you don't usually expect from a person from Indiana. 

I tilted my head close to hers so I could hear her over the music. It was a poem about being in a troubled relationship and knowing the right choice, but not knowing why she stays.

Her poem reminded me of the Silverstein song Massachusetts—about knowing the right choice and still not being able to make it.

Violet is friendly with Sugar, another dancer at the club. She said Sugar was only eighteen, but she lies and tells customers she is twenty. But what was really concerning to both of us was Sugar's actions.

I think Violet doesn't want Sugar to go down the wrong road. Something Violet has had experience with. 

I still haven't heard from Violet, although I have a feeling at some point I will. I'm not reaching out. I'm thinking about going to the club on Friday or Saturday. I don't expect to see Violet there, but I can check to see if Sugar has heard from her and exchange numbers.

 

Bumfuck Michigan

I threw on some clothes and got into the Buick. Driving up North Ave and Capac roads at night this time of year is like flirting with death. Not your own, although that could happen too, but more likely the death of a deer.

I remember a few years back, Sam and I were driving up North Avenue during the middle of a summer day to get to our favorite biking trail and countering nine deer carcasses along the side of the road.

Why was I driving up these rural roads at 12:30 a.m. on a Saturday night? It started with a text I received much earlier in the day. 

Violet: Missing talking to you...I've had a busy, overwhelming week; hopefully, yours has been okay. I'm going to be at the club tonight if you want to pop in and talk for a little bit. I know it sucks spending time together there, but I do miss you...I completely understand if you can't, though.

I saw her the week before. She knows I like seeing her, but she also knows I don't like going all that way to the club. I texted her back a few hours later when I saw her text.

Me: I'm going out with Max and his girlfriend tonight so they can gush over their engagement. (eyeroll emoji) You can call me later, though.

Yes, Max got engaged, but that is a story for a different post.

At eleven, I received another text from Violet.

Violet: I didn't end up going into work. I'm actually having maybe the worst night of my life so far. I think I need help.

I replied immediately.

Me: What's wrong? Do you need to talk?

Violet: I'm not alone. I can't talk yet. I'm about to be stranded and have no place to live though.

I'm on my way to get my belongings and then I don't know what I'm doing because I won't have transportation. i might be able to get an Uber, I don't know.

Me: I have a spare room. Do you need a ride or would that just cause more problems?

Violet: I might have no other choice. but to get a ride because I'm out in bumfuck and I don't know if Uber is going to accept late where I am at. I'm going to get packed and try to figure out if I can get a cab or something. Where do you live again?

I gave her my general location.

Violet: Okay, I'm going to get off here and save my battery until I get back and get my stuff packed. I'm on 19%. I'll let you know soon.

Then, a few minutes later.

Violet: I'm going to Loves in Capac right now.

Me: Call me when you can and let me know what you want to do.

Violet: Can u pick me up?

Me: Yes, 45 minutes.

That was what sent me out drive north in the middle of the night--dodging deer (I saw at least four, one in the middle of the road), and wishing I had taken the truck.

I texted her one more time, saying I was ten minutes out. She responded okay. Loves sits off I-69 in rural Michigan, a twenty-four-hour truck stop with a convenience store and an attached McDonald's. There is nothing else worth noting around it.

I parked in front beneath the neon red heart and yellow Loves sign. There was no sign of Violet. I went inside the bright-lit store and checked all around. There was no sign of her. I got back in my car.

Me: I'm here, but I don't see you.

Violet: I'm by the McDonald's. Where are you at?

I got out and walked around the side of the closed McDonald's. There was a black truck parked further back in the lot. There was no way I was going to go up to that. I got back in my car.

Me: I'm in front of Loves. Red car.

Imagine this at night

She didn't respond, but shortly after, a young kid in a silver or grey mid-size SUV pulled up next to me. I glanced over while sitting in my car and smoking my vape. He didn't get out of his car. He stayed for a few moments and then pulled out.

I didn't hear anything else from Violet. I waited another twenty minutes. Then tried calling her. Her phone went to voicemail. After that, I drove back home, thinking I'm too old to be rescuing girls in the middle of the night.

I have a few theories of what happened. You'll probably come to the same conclusions. Still, I can't answer everything.

It's Sunday, and I haven't heard from her. I'm a bit concerned for her safety. This is a kid she has a restraining order against, but there is not much I can do. If she wants to contact me, she can. She has my phone number (if he didn't delete and block it), she has my email, and CashApp. Where there is a will, there is a way.

Flight

Friday, Violet reached out to me over text.

Violet: I'm at Flight Club if you wanna stop and talk for a minute.

Violet: (The) Past couple weeks have been crazy for me, can't really dive into it all on the phone, but it would be nice to see you...I know you don't like coming in here, though.

Me: Are you working tomorrow?

I went in to see her Saturday. I can't resist the promise of a good story.

Violet is taking steps toward getting herself out of her current situation. It's not going to be anytime soon, though. 

We do enjoy talking with each other. We talked for a long time, and I continue to learn more about her. 

Violet still struggles with giving up her daughter for adoption. She knows she picked a good couple, a lawyer and a judge. She gets to see blog posts. Still, she wishes she could be her mom.

I don't know how hard that can be. I couldn't tell her she made the right choice. What I did know was that her time in her daughter's life was not necessarily over. "One day, your daughter is going to be eighteen, and might want to know her birth mom. That's very likely."

"I know thirteen years. I'm counting them down," she says.

"Focus on becoming the woman you want your daughter to meet."

She wants to continue our connection. "I always feel better after talking to you." She tells me.

She suggested calling me.

"Sure, just call me on your way to or from work."

I like that idea. Hopefully, she does. It would be a step in the right direction.