Bad things happen to a bad boy
like Seth when he drinks
dark beer at a dive bar.
A late Friday night in May
blended his intoxication with fate.
Seth finished his third Heineken
and set the bottle on the oak bar.
The pine walls held artwork
and dark framed pictures positioned
with nails.
A small dancefloor had people
dancing like no one was watching.
He drummed his fingers
along the bar’s edge
and turned his head,
moving his eyes around
to slip out a back exit.
Pop hits shook the speakers.
The dim lights weakened through
a haze of cigarette smoke.
People leaned in to chat to friends
and over the music’s beat,
finding strangers, they’d take
home to meet their bedsheets.
The bartenders served drinks
and flirted with engaging gazes
and lip bites for extra tips.
Seth stumbled off the stool,
without paying his tab,
and pushed through crowds
as he mazed to slip out the fire escape
door, setting off the alarm.
The siren echoed between the evenly
lit strip mall and a coffee shop steam warm milk
and hissed to brew coffee.
Shadows dance across the ground,
playing hide-and-seek among the complex
white lines that partition the vast expanse.
Lights filtered through a cycle
of steady red and white.
A ripped bouncer wearing a black t-shirt pushed through the exit.
He looked around and saw Seth.
“Hey!” he said as he gave chase for a few blocks. “Come back here!”
Cars with bright headlights hummed by without acknowledging Seth’s existence.
Seth waved down a car.
A woman blinkered and moved to the shoulder.
“Someone’s after me,” Seth said. “Can you give me a ride?” His voice dripped with desperation.
His big brown puppy dog eyes calmed her nerves.
She unlocked the door. “Get in,”
she said as if she’d encountered many Seths
who needed a getaway driver
for a liquor thief.
Seth pulled the door handle and slid
into the passenger seat.
The bouncer stopped at a sign and doubled over to catch his breath.
She glanced at him. “I’m Violet,” she said as she glanced in her rearview mirror and blinkered into traffic.
“I’m Seth,” he said, shifting in his seat and moving his eyes toward the bouncer.
Violet chuckled.
Soft rock played low on the stereo.
Seth twisted forward. “What’s so funny?”
“Where do you live?” Violet said.
Seth had it in his head for her to drop him off at a street corner.
“40th Avenue near the new Starbucks will do,” Seth said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Trouble?” Violet said. “My middle name is Trouble.”
“Funny,” Seth said, cracking a grin.
“No.” Violet briefly gazed at him and returned her eyes to the road. “Violet Trouble Hanson.”
“Your parents were…”
“Awesome,” Violet said. “I loved them.”
“Loved?” Seth said. “Did they pass away?”
Seth observed her hard face soften. “It’s been three years this May since they died.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Do you want to know how they died?”
“Not really,” Seth said. “But I’m all ears.”
“It was late, and Dad drank too much.” Violet paused, still driving. “He always drank too much.”
“And?”
“And he hit a car, killing a family of four and himself and Mom.”
The news sobers Seth. “I’m—”
“I don’t want sympathy.”
“What was a woman like you doing on that sketchy side of town?”
“I should be asking you,” Violet said, slowing at a stop sign and blinkered to turn left.
Violet pulled up to Seth’s home and parked the car.
“How’d you know where I lived?”
“After my parents died, I wondered what I could do to atone for their sins.”
“But it wasn’t your fault,” Seth said.
“I bought that bar, and my goal was to make sure people got home safe and that we cut people off after three beers.”
“Only three?” Seth arched a brow and smiled.
“But how’d you know my address?”
“I know your sister, and she told me that you’ve been coming here.”
“I told her I’d look out for you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I could use help to give rides in the evenings.”
“I’m not a drunk,” Seth said. “I’ve just fallen into a rut.”
“Your sister told me.”
“Would you like to come in and chat over coffee?”
“Only if you let me kiss you,” Violet said.
Seth narrowed one eye. “You were my sister’s childhood friend!”
“That’s me.” Violet batted her long lashes.
“What’s it been?” Seth said. “Thirty years?”
“Twenty-eight,” Violet said. “But who’s counting.”
Violet moved closer.
And Seth went in for his last first kiss.