Without Me

Chapter One. Emerson

I've always been told how determined I am. And they're right.

My life has been nothing but a tunnel vision of goals, so on evenings like this when my eyes wander away from my trip to point B and I see the sky -  brilliant orange melting into violet and crisscrossed with a pattern of chem trails leading who knows where, I feel shaken.

When was the last time I looked up?

For all the time I spent, head down, determined to achieve my goals where am I now? An (Ivey League) college dropout, living in my childhood home, working at a bar and mothering my tween sisters and my wonderful dad who's too heartbroken to do anything more than drag himself to the foundry every day.

The problem is, no one can really determine how their life is going to turn out.

"Hey beautiful." Tony drops a cigarette on the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of his sneaker as he pulls the back door open for me.

"Hey Tony." I slip past him and he follows me down the two sticky wooden steps into a dimly lit hall. The hall is flanked by an open kitchen on the left and an area for the wait staff on the right, both within view of the dining room... which is packed.

"Has it been like this all day?" I stop at the computer and clock in.

He walks over to the sink and washes his hands before switching a stained chef's jacket for a clean one. "Nah, it was dead most of the day, we just filled up about an hour ago."

Charlie's oyster bar has three levels. A somewhat rowdy dining area and bar on the first floor with an authentic nautical theme; the bar itself was made from an old ship and black and white photos hang along the walls dating back to the beginning of our fishing industry as Michigan's biggest exporter.

The second floor is a quieter dining area with a view of the docks and Round lake across the street.

The third floor is actually on the roof. A night club style, open air bar with the only hip night scene in the city. "What about upstairs?"

Tony winks, "I hear it's picking up."

...

I haven't even stepped out of the employee elevator and I can already tell from the drone-like chatter that we're slammed.

I take a second to re-tie my cocktail apron, adjusting it so I can see the ridiculously short black shorts I'm wearing. If the apron hangs too low, it looks like I'm naked behind it. There's nothing to be done about the tight 'Oyster Bar' t-shirt that clearly shows what little cleavage I have, so I lift the 10-gallon bucket of ice I brought with me and enter the fray.

"Emerson, thank God your here, Crystal called in sick." Jake nods toward the crowd and melts away into the cries of a hundred thirsty patrons.

The sun's nearly set and neon lights take center stage, pulsing to the beat of electronic dance music. I fill my lungs with a deep breath, inhaling the sickly sweet smell of alcohol, sweat and trust-fund. Charlevoix's a summer playground for the rich and now that school's out, it feels like a wilder, dirtier version of a yacht club.

I drop under the bar, coming up on the other side and push my way through. It's a relatively cool night, but you put this many people together and it creates its own tropical climate. A light sheen has already gathered on my forehead and between my breast.

I scan the room for my best friend and see Kate's short black curls bobbing just ahead of me. I wait until she's finished scribbling orders on a pad of hot pink paper and grab her elbow. "Hey!"