Summer Haze

Sunday, Max and I went to New Baltimore for lunch. I watched the young girls eyeing Max. He probably doesn't even notice. The kid would be dangerous if he developed his conversation skills. I get my share of looks from the geriatric crowd, but the young, cute ones get all nervous around Max's blue eyes. 

Max is working as a carpentry apprentice-- yes, another new job. Although the smoke has forced him to stay home for a few days. There will be more of that coming next week as well. It will be another night of keeping the air conditioner on and the windows closed, even though the temperatures we are having (lows in the high 50s) would usually allow me to turn off the air and open the windows for the night.

Just another glorious summer.

Quitting, again.

I have eight spent Breeze vapes lined up on my desk. Occasionally, you can still get a hit off one, but that will come to an end by tomorrow. I have vowed not to buy any more— again. 

Mine are all Yellow, Lemon Mint. I'm debating whether I will replace the nicotine with ZYNs for a few days.  They are a nicotine pouch that you place in your lip. I don't really like them, though. Max uses them.

The problem is, I like vaping. I guess that is what every smoker says. I can feel the effect it is having on my lungs, though. If there is one way I don't want to die, it is suffocating. Not being able to breathe is triggering for me. Ironic, I know. 

I've managed to weave vaping into every aspect of my life over the past few years, driving, writing, and at work. The fidget spinner is just not a replacement.  

I'm already picturing the added weight struggle that this is going to bring with it. I haven't lost all the weight I gained over the winter. I'm going to need some serious focus. I quit vaping over Christmas. I was three months into it when I decided to start again. I really wish I could do it occasionally, but that is not how I am wired anymore.

Smoke

 Like other areas of the country, the Canadian wildfires have gifted us with a thick haze of smoke. It's like a grey fog. The smell is everywhere. Not the pleasant smell of a fire in the fireplace. It's the smell of old chemicals that only vaguely reminds you of smoke. The smell seeps into the office, your clothes, your home.

The temperatures are dipping into the 60s at night, but you can't open the windows. My lungs are already rebelling from my vaping (I know, I have to quit). This just adds to it.

Otherwise, Max got him an apprentice job on a framing crew. If you ask me, that is the lowest of the skilled trades. He should have waited for a plumbing, electrical, or HVAC opening to come up.

Nothing says don't work outside like 100-degree weather and toxic smoke.

On the Fringe

Sugar: Hey, you should come in tonight. Violet is here. She wants to see you.

Bathwater: Did you find out what happened to her?

Sugar: I did. Come talk to her. It's for her to say. It's not my place to spread her stuff. I don't want to do that.

She sends a picture of the two of them in the dressing room getting ready.

Bathwater: I take it she can't text me.

Sugar: Yeah, she wishes she could. That's why I said don't worry, I got you. She really wants to talk. She always feels better when she does.

Bathwater: I got plans. I wouldn't get there till late.

Because I can't resist a good story, I went. 

I'm not a fan of Friday nights at the club. The crowd is just different. Some familiar faces always seem to be there. The pair of German brothers in their mid-seventies, who like to stare over the rail and compare dancers. Same bartenders and a couple of familiar dancers.

The crowd was thin, and there were a lot of dancers working. They were really hustling. I had to fend off more than usual.

I saw Sugar first. I chipped away at her defenses during our conversation. She didn't say much about Violet.

Familiar names get called on stage. I find myself thinking about the dancers I used to know with those same ones.

I excused myself to the bathroom. I saw Violet sitting in the center of a booth filled with a group of guys and a couple of other dancers. We locked eyes for a second as I walked past.

Violet came up to the upstairs bar where I usually hang out about twenty minutes later. She settled into the high-back stool next to where I was standing.

Her eyes were glassy. 

"I'm glad to see you're alive," I said.

She didn't want to get into her story at the bar in front of others. 

"Let's go into the back, then," I suggested. "Let me order another beer first. I have a feeling this is going to be a long one."

We went to the back. Violet plopped herself into the corner of the couch and rested her legs on my lap. She slid the triangles of her purple bikini top off her breasts out of habit and started unloading.

First, let me gloat.

Ninety percent of my suspicions were correct. She did get to Loves before I arrived, but he started creating a scene. He took her phone. It was he who sent those last few text messages. It was him in that grey midsize SUV.

The SUV was actually paid for by Violet, but it is in his name. His truck is not running. He threatened to call the cops and take it from her. Violet does not want to be without a car. She did get kicked out of where she was staying (which was not with him). He caused a scene outside, and her roommate said she can't have that.

Violet was forced to move in with him. She stopped texting with me because she doesn't want to put me in the middle. I don't want to be in the middle. She is afraid of him. Her current plan is to save enough money to get another car and leave. I suggested that when that time comes, she should call the cops. She is still reluctant to do that. She'd rather make a clean escape. I don't really see that happening, given the control he has over her. 

I gave her my Google number just in case, before we parted.

When I returned to the upstairs bar area, it was freezing. I was shivering. Sugar passed, and I pulled her in. "Come here. Keep me warm for a sec."

"I figured you two would still be in the back."

"I didn't come here planning to spend a bunch of money. Do me a favor. Keep an eye out for her."

"Will do."

I think Violet will leave him. It's there in the detached way she talks. In the layered plans she's already making. The note she plans to leave behind will basically say, "You're an asshole." The question is when and at what cost.

Why I'm still hanging around the fringes. I like her. She wants to hang out, and she wants to do it soon. I do too.

"You don't have to come in," was one of the last things Violet said to me.

I think that tells me two things.

She wants to figure this out on her own.

And whatever this friendship has become, it isn't dependent on me walking through the doors of the club.

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.