A Win is a Win

 I have to keep reminding myself that a win is a win. A year ago, I would have been happy if any of my writing had been accepted for publication. Now, I have five publications, and I'm getting jaded. I still want an agent to take the memoir seriously.

I still have other short essays that haven't found a home yet, either. Honestly, I am not submitting as much as I should. It goes in waves. Currently, I am working on revisions to my query letter and synopsis for the memoir. I've been working with my instructor from the workshop. After that, I will start another round of queries and see if anything improves. My mentor says summer is not the time to query anyway.

I'm not sure where this is going.

I continue to hear from Violet occasionally. No movement there. She is still trying to move forward with her plan. It's not going well. He seems to be keeping her from making money. I get it. It's hard to get ahead these days when you are starting from nothing. Hopefully, she'll figure it out.

 

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.

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.

Another Night

 So Tinkerbell encouraged me to give Violet some more time. She thinks I am happier when someone is around. I am, but I am also happy focusing on writing right now.  I ended up texting her to see if she was working at the club this weekend. She was, and I decided to go in on Saturday night.

I'm beginning to hate going to those clubs, but the weather hasn't really turned to summer yet here. I spent some time talking to a new dancer I met. A cute twenty-one-year-old who would be nothing but trouble. She was hot, though.

When Violet found me and sat beside me, she was obviously intoxicated. Definitely not the girl I met a few weeks prior. I gave her some money and suggested she skip herself on stage and get something to eat. 

Violet is having issues at home, concerning a bad relationship she is trying to extract herself from, along with some other issues that usually come with being that age. She sobered up a bit after eating some pretzel sticks, and we went into the back, where we continued to talk. 

I like her; she is cute and shares some of the same interests. She seems interested in hanging out more, but she needs to get her shit together for that to happen. For now, she is a long shot. 

I told her I wasn't interested in hanging out, but I wasn't going to spend my summer inside the club, and left it at that. I'd don't think I have seen the last of her. She seems genuinely interested in hanging out. The real question is whether she is willing and able to make the first step.