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"I'll find a way." I push myself up and nod to the ladies' room. "You're a good friend. I know I never say that stuff, but you are."
"Thanks, Violet." She smiles, but she's got all this excitement in her eyes.
Strange.
Very strange.
My bladder won't allow me to contemplate the matter any further. I make my way through the room—has the light been this purple the whole time?—and find the bathroom, which is also quite purple.
What a weird dive bar in a weird location.
I wash my hands five more times than is necessary. I smooth every stray strand of hair. I touch up my makeup. I only mean to add a little lipstick, but once I get my hands in my mini makeup bag, I can't help myself.
This is a day that requires quite a shield.
But I think I'm tired of screaming fuck off to the world. I'm tired of pushing people away. Yeah, Ethan broke my heart again, but he opened me up to joy too. He helped ease my pain too.
All this agony fucking sucks, but missing out on all the pleasure he brought me would be worse.
I apply extra eyeshadow anyway.
The lights are off in the main room.
All the lights. It's dark.
This really is a weird little dive bar.
Guitar notes fill the air. They're live and they're coming from the stage. They're familiar too.
It's Stupid Girl by Garbage. And it's not just a guitar. There's the bass, the drums, the vocals-
No.
That sounds like Ethan. And it sounds like he's singing a gender swapped version of the song about a stupid boy who doesn't believe in anything, who lied to himself and wasted everything he had.
That must be a coincidence or a loneliness-inspired delusion. Ethan's show is in Baltimore in three hours. That means he's in Baltimore now.
He's not here.
It's just some guy who sounds like Ethan.
Then he's singing the next song, I Think I'm Paranoid, and I'm even more certain that it's Ethan singing. I've heard his voice a million times, a million different ways.
That must be him.
How could it be anyone but him?
The lights are still off. Nobody seems to mind but then I guess there are only a dozen people in this bar.
I know the next song the moment I hear the first note—lord knows I played that note enough times. It's I'm Only Happy When It Rains.
The spotlight turns on.
And there's Ethan, on the stage, in a Garbage t-shirt and jeans, singing his heart out.
I blink a few times.
It's still Ethan.
