Not Mr. Right

 

Let's talk about something other than politics. Sometimes I need to step back. We all need to take a time out once in awhile.

Mr. Anonymous left a comment in a previous blog asking if I had ever dated the Victory Auto Wreckers dude. I'm not sure who's telling Mr. Anonymous these false accusations, but I did not.

I mentioned I had dated someone who looked like him, and there were things to say...

My guy was tall, thin, had a sandy hair mullet and goatee. I was working as a server in a bar in Old Town, in Chicago, the kind of place run by mobsters where no naive girl from the suburbs should be working. He walked in the bar the same time another man walked in. At first I thought they were together until they walked in opposite directions. I was heading towards the older man but my feet had another idea and I found myself standing in front of, "Mike." Under that shaggy hair was a cute face and he smelled of English Leather.

 I didn't take this job to meet men. I took it to make a lot of money in a short amount of time to eventually take off for a summer adventure. But... he was cute. We flirted a bit, then he wrote down his number and said to call him anytime. I nearly forgot about him until later that night when I was counting my tips and found the "note." He had scribbled his number on a rolling paper, which should have given me pause. But, I was young, stupid and bored. 

On a rare night off I decided to call him. Another man answered the phone then put Mike on. He never mentioned who had answered the phone and shy me never asked questions. Ever. My brain cells completely left me for the next five months.

I never questioned why he always had a joint burning, rolling or smoking that was always in easy reach. I never asked about the large bag of weed in his glove compartment. I never questioned late night forays into storage facilities or why he would walk around the building, leaving me alone for ten to twenty minutes. 

I meekly went along because I ignored the little voice in my head who kept asking, "What's he doing in these storage facilities late at night? Why does he have so many bags of marijuana and packages of little black rocks? When I was with Mike I smoked, too. I had always liked the smell of pot, but not the out of control feeling I got from it. I only smoked because I wanted him to like me. I sat silent in the car as he disappeared around another corner. 

Eventually that little voice started getting louder. Mike began coming to my work. He would sit at the bar and watch me. At first I didn't mind. I liked the attention. After a few weeks of him coming in every single night I told him he didn't have to do that. He didn't say anything in response. He just got up and walked out the door. 

For a few days of not hearing from him I felt relief, but I also missed him. Weeks went by and I finally adjusted to life without him. I was even beginning to admit it was a weird relationship. In the months we had dated, I never met any friends or family. I never saw where he lived or found out who had answered the phone from that first call.

Then one night, he came into the bar and sat in the same spot, but this time kept his head down and nursed a beer. After closing he approached me as I walked to my car. I didn't feel afraid because he had never been violent in any way with me or anyone. He said he was sorry for not calling me but felt hurt that I didn't want him around. I said ok, we'll talk another time. It was late and I was exhausted. I didn't want to engage right now. I turned towards my car and heard him stomp towards me. He grabbed my arm and wheeled me around to face a seething, red faced stranger. Was this the real Mike? Of course it was. In my need to be with him, I chose ignorance over reality. I knew he was selling drugs and stealing other people's stored possessions. I never pushed back when he wouldn't answer questions about his family. I just wanted those few hours to be with him.

Now, I was in trouble because of being "Meek Maggie." I was absolutely terrified as I started to back away from him. He started screaming in my face as he seized hold of my chin, telling me we will talk right now. In sheer panic and perhaps in survivor mode I placed my hands on his face and dug into his skin with my nails. I screamed as loud as I could, then I pushed him away from me. He was in complete shock as he stared at me, blood running down his cheeks.

I don't know what he would have done if not for a patron of the bar who had fallen asleep in his car. He came running towards Mike with something in his hand. Mike put up both hands, backed away, then got in his car, burning rubber as he roared away. 

As I trembled and shook, I thanked the man profusely. After what seemed like an eternity I was calm enough to drive home. Before I got in the car I noticed the weapon he still held in his hand. It was an orange. He shrugged and said he just grabbed the first thing he found. He waved as I left. I turned towards home and never looked back.

I never heard from Mike. I found a safer job which paid minimum wage, but I was happy. I also learned to ask questions after that. Many, many questions.