The next morning, Victoria decided to leave town. She had lived in this little West Michigan mill town all of her life, but felt the need to say just a few goodbyes. She went over to the mill as the third shift was ending to tell a few work friends that she was heading out for parts unknown. She had worked in the mill for over ten years, first in scheduling, and then in quality control. She had turned the Q.C. Lab into a highly-efficient inspection and testing department--she enjoyed the chemistry of making paperboard, and became an expert on such things as basis weight, tensile strength, porosity, and moisture content.
Victoria was not a fan of the fancy new slogan-based quality programs with big banners that said, “The One Right Way,” “Quality Means Working Together,” “Quality or Else.” Her approach was to make sure that the paperboard manufacturing processes conformed to established standards and customer requirements, nothing more or less. She methodically sampled production runs, and made sure that all the instruments in the lab were calibrated and maintained. She hardly ever requested new equipment, because she liked to use the traditional instruments, many of them dating from the 1930’s when the mill was first built. When she had worked in scheduling, she actually built a customized slide rule that trimmed the paperboard machine with different-sized orders, and this hand-made device still out-performed the best computer software in the industry.
Victoria had finally purchased a MacBook laptop a few years earlier, instead of taking a vacation. She saw the computer more as a way of helping her organize her life, than as a form of social connection or entertainment. With online banking, and her neat folders and files, she had a sense of control that was pleasing to her. She did not own a TV.
The folks at the mill arranged an impromptu going away party for Victoria in the break room. The mill manager came down, and presented her with one of her favorite vintage measurement devices--an early Rockwell Hardness Tester. No one would have used it after her departure. Someone passed around home-made cookies and lemonade that had been intended for someone else’s birthday, so all-in-all she had a nice sendoff. The mill superintendent said, “Victoria, things won’t be the same here without you. You were honest, reliable, and you never missed a day of work in ten years.” So Victoria had served much the same role at the mill as she had as a family member: she was steadfast, conscientious, and predictable, just like one of her lab instruments.
She drove out of the fenced-in parking lot, and turned back towards town for one last breakfast with Marge. When she told Marge of her plans to leave, Marge managed not to break down. “I’m glad you checked in before you disappeared,” she said. “Don’t just go to some other time zone and fall in love--remember, all men are pigs.” Marge did not base her conclusion on any awful or dramatic personal experience, but rather on everyday observations. It had become a favorite greeting and farewell between the two women, like “Ciao.”
“All men are pigs!” Victoria replied. Marge then told Victoria that she would not fix her the usual feta omelet, but instead, serve her poached eggs over home-made corned beef hash with blueberry pancakes on the side, slathered with butter and maple syrup. “Eat all of it--you need more meat on your bones, and God knows, when you’ll get a proper meal again.” After securing a promise from Victoria to return someday, Marge seemed okay. She was used to people coming in and out of her life. Her departing words, “You might be a damned fool to leave this town, and probably won’t get everything you want by leaving, but you might find a place where you’re less disappointed.” Victoria thought this to be a wonderful valedictory address, better than anything she had ever heard at a high school graduation. Marge agreed to receive her meager stream of forwarded mail for awhile.
Last stop, the nursing home. The staff at the nursing home were truly sorry that they would be missing their “bright light” every day, but not sorry enough to offer her a full-time job. She said goodbye to Tom and Cal. Tom reached for his wallet to give Victoria some cash, but he had no wallet and no money. He asked Victoria to take him with her, but she simply gave him a kiss on the forehead. Tom strained against the electronic tether around his waist, and whispered, “watch out for submarines.” Cal smiled.
Since her lease was up the next day, she simply turned her keys in to the landlord, and arranged for Two Men and a Truck to move her few pieces of furniture into a local storage locker. She left town with her burnt orange Honda Element, her carbon fiber bike, a pillow, a few family snapshots, some street art, a flat-head screwdriver, a tack hammer, a duffle bag of clothes, a folding camp chair, her books, her MacBook, a reading light with an extension cord attached, a cast iron frying pan, her North Face pup tent, a sleeping bag, her Rockwell Hardness Tester, and Gracie, her cat. She left a coffee cup on the kitchen shelf as a gift to any future renter, then latched down the factory windows. She wore a navy blue hoodie over a red plaid shirt, jeans, and some old walking shoes. Her hair was pulled back in a straggly bun.
At 31, her father was still the most important person in her life, and she thought that a visit to see him would help her figure out what to do next. Other than her older sister who lived on a cattle ranch two hours outside of Austin, he was her only family. Her mother had died of breast cancer when she was 18, and her younger brother had been killed by a rocket attack in Afghanistan.
Always methodical and disciplined about her personal affairs, she had saved $75 a week for ten years, so she received a cashier’s check for about $40,000 when she closed her bank account. Along with $500 in cash, she felt she had enough to fund her travels until she could settle somewhere.
As she drove down Main Street, she passed a woman sitting on a stoop with three children playing at her feet, passed the local bar with its neon light flickering, passed the masonic lodge, a weathered building with white peeling paint, where her father and grandfather had attended their secret meetings once a month. “What did they measure with the compass and square placed over the entrance?” she wondered. Three young boys sat on a park bench with their tawny legs dangling, their bikes leaning on trees behind them. She passed some old brick buildings as she came to the edge of town. She saw the black smokestack of the mill in her rearview mirror. A freight train, full from the mill, made its way through the switches on its way out of town. A flock of fast food wrappers flapped across the road. Her childhood had been painted on this gritty canvas. “I want to go somewhere pretty, where it’s easier to live,” she said to herself.
It was midsummer in Michigan, and the highway was full of weekenders and vacationers driving cars, motorhomes, trucks with campers, trailers with boats, inflatables, personal watercraft, and ATV’s. Occasionally, there would be a pickup truck or trailer with mattresses, sofas, and other household goods on there way Up North, perhaps some laid off people like herself aiming to find seasonal work or a new home.
Victoria listed to the Juno Soundtrack on her CD player, and sang along with her favorite lyrics:
I am a vampire
I am a vampire
I am a vampire
I have lost my fangs
So I’m sad and I feel lonely...
Driving north on Route 131, she thought about all the advantages of turning around, and went through a complete rainbow of feelings--from reddish pink elation to dark violet anger, and the darker fear behind her anger--venturous, resentful, homeless at the same time. She stopped the car when she came to the Muskegon River, and looked down into its black, rapid current, and at that moment, she took a deep breath, and softly said, “I lost the feeling of home when my mother died.” She let herself sink in to this thought until Gracie meowed her back to the car.
South of Cadillac, she decided to take Route 115 over towards Lake Michigan. It wasn’t the most direct route to her father’s place, but she wanted to see the colossal shoreline, shorebirds, and perhaps an eagle or two. Gracie was in a funk for having been unceremoniously removed from her kingdom. She curled up tightly in the passenger seat like a hair ball.
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