Violets & Violence by Morgan Parker

of self-pity and self-loathing. Unanswered questions did that to people; I knew I wasn’t alone. But with Violet on my mind and a plan in sight, I barely even slowed down.
    I wandered into Detroit, not speeding because I knew I had plenty of time, but aware of just how ridiculous traffic could get in a town that had been written off as dead by the rest of the world. Where did all of these people come from on a Saturday night?
    Once I reached the Fisher, I drove around to the back and entered the parking garage. I drove up a couple of levels to the first free parking spot, and then sat quietly in my Toyota, closed my eyes and allowed the silence to envelop me as I sought clarity.
    After a healthy half hour of waiting, I opened my eyes and noticed that people were starting to pour into the parking garage, heading to their vehicles. Mostly they were couples holding hands after a great date night of the most spectacular magic they had ever seen. I could tell from the smiles and sparkling eyes that Violet hadn’t disappointed her audience tonight and part of me felt sad that I may have missed her best performance yet.
    Why do I even care? I’ll see the next show, it’ll be even better.
    And all at once, I wondered if this was such a good idea. If coming here had been wrong of me.
    But I stepped out of the car anyway. And I walked around to the Fisher’s front doors, pushing against the flow of attendees, letting myself inside, and then heading deeper into the theater. I surveyed the mostly empty space, aware of the curtains on the stage, protecting whatever it was that the violets were doing to the props and equipment on the other side, the hard work that made the magic possible. As the last stragglers left the theater, I reached for my phone and typed a quick message to Violet.
     
    I’m here. Can I please see you?
     
    I didn’t have to wait too long. Her response came within seconds.
     
    You are? I didn’t see you! I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes, wait in the theater!!
     
    I couldn’t keep the smile from surfacing. All at once, the worry that had haunted me and led me to the batting cages tonight evaporated. It hadn’t taken a few basket of balls, either; a simple text from Violet had a more immediate impact.
    And this worried me, at least a little. Because we were nothing, we meant nothing to one another. We were just two grown adults who had shared a couple of dinners, a kiss or two, a connection that existed. At least, in my head.
    “Hey,” she said, stepping up behind me. She was so quiet, I hadn’t heard her.
    I swung around, noticing the smile on her face. Her greyish-green eyes lacked familiarity, and I wondered if I had already “lost” this woman after one quick trip to New York two nights ago.
    What were you doing there, Violet? Who did you see?
    She was wearing trendy tights and a heavy sweater to keep herself warm; her hair had been drawn back into the same Detroit Tigers ball cap that she had been wearing at Chicago’s O’Hare airport.
    “No suit?” she asked, reaching out and pinching my long sleeve. She stepped closer to me, erasing the distance between us.
    “It’s Saturday,” I told her.
    “Then kiss me,” she answered, tilting her neck so that I could press my lips to hers.
    It felt like I was kissing her for the very first time.
     
     
     
    I drove north on Woodward, not because I thought I might impress Violet with my Toyota Camry, but because I didn’t want to relinquish control to her by taking her vehicle. My logic also suggested that we might be able to enjoy some form of conversation, just the two of us cruising like this.
                  Every few blocks, we came across flashy cars—lowered suspensions, fancy lighting, booming sound systems—and even flashier scenery—people peacocking for attention for the most part, a juggler, a street fight just past Woodlawn Cemetery. All good fun, late on a Saturday night in Motown.
    “Do you like it here?” I asked