This story is totally and utterly true.
In the spring of 1994, I fell in love with an extraordinary woman. She worked in a local coffeehouse owned by the owner of the bar I worked in at the time. The two venues were adjacent, connected by a shared backroom door.
Michelle had brains, beauty, gusto, and grace. She had Newcastle hair and coffee-bean eyes. She also had Hodgkin's, though it had been in remission for two years.
Before each bartending shift, I used to come through the backroom door into the coffeehouse and request her special triple mocha mint masterpiece -- as well as a few moments of her enlightened, enthusiastic conversation. My heart fluttered from espresso and infatuation.
Finally, after a month of courting, she agreed to come over to my side of the door for drinks. To the drone of a lame-ass Wednesday-night band, we sat at a table and chatted. She told me about her war against the cancer, and how it had enlightened her about the important things in life. She said she might be moving to San Francisco to be near her family. She said she loved to surf naked at twilight, and that she had a butterfly tattooed onto her shoulder blade which she would show me later if I was lucky.
I went to the bar, bought another round and returned, of course, to find an enormous, swaggering, intoxicated oaf in a wifebeater hovering around our table, appraising Michelle as though he were Paul Bunyan and she a peach tree that needed axing.
"Let's get out of here," blurted Michelle, wide-eyed.
We guzzled our drinks, warned Tom (the newly hired doorman) about the lumbering, love-sick lumberjack, and walked the 8 or 9 blocks to my apartment. home. When we were about a block away from my pad, a Chevy truck pulled alongside of us. It was Tom, the doorman. He was distraught. Apparently, just after we left the bar, Paul Bunyan flew into a rage and ripped the front door off its hinges. Once the melee was over, the owner of the bar fired Tom for doing nothing to stop it.
"I need to talk," moaned Tom. "Can I come over?"
Greeeeat, I thought. I can't wait to listen to some guy I don't even know mewl over his problems while I'm trying to make time with the enchanting Princess Papillon. Was it not clear to Tom that Michelle and I were about to unravel the quintessence of the cosmos? Couldn't he see that he was about to become the biggest, bulgingest, squeakiest, annoyingest third wheel of all time?
Tom stared at us from the window of his truck. He looked like he was going to cry. So I invited him over.
When we entered my apartment, I took a seat on the far left of the couch. Michelle sat next to me. And Tom -- instead of taking the vacant, super-dooper reclining arm chair --plopped his fat ass on the sofa next to Michelle!
So there we three were on the couch. Tom groused about his miserable existence, scratched his fat belly, and swiftly dispatched four beers while Michelle and I stole fleeting gropes and kisses on the other end of the couch. The truth was that I didn't care about the firing, or about Paul Bunyan and the front door. It all seemed pretty clear cut -- a doorman needs to protect the door, by definition. I cared only about the ticking clock. There was much loving to yet lavish, many toes to very massage, two nipples to much lather.
Just when it seemed things couldn't get any worse, they did. Tom's head tipped back, his mouth dropped open, and he began snoring as though his lungs were gasping the last few droplets of the world's air supply.
I shook him repeatedly until his eyes slowly opened. "Tom, it's very late. You should be going, huh?"
"Yeah," he said, and fell back to sleep.
I woke him three times. Three times he fell asleep.
I wanted to kill.
Defeated, Michelle and I crawled into each other's arms. We sweet-talked, kissed, and fondled to the soundtrack of Tom's baritone snores. She unbuttoned her shirt (though her bewitching black bra remained intact) and showed me the infamous butterfly: a masterpiece of ink, muscle tone, and femininity. But I needed more than that butterfly -- I needed the cocoon. However, with the snoring beast contaminated the air and fouling our mood, she would take things no further.
At 5amish, my sweet Lady Papillon rebuttoned her clothing, scribbled my number on a matchbook, and climbed into a cab. She said she would call me that night.
One. . . two. . . three days passed and no call. Had I done something wrong? Was our love not meant to be? Was the great snoring beast to blame?
On the fourth day, I sat dejectedly in my living room, watching the news. The coroner was hauling an apparent shark attack victim out of the water in Ocean Beach. The victim -- a woman in her 20s -- was naked and unidentifiable, except for one distinguishing physical characteristic: a tattoo on her shoulder blade of a radiant Monarch butterfly.
Later that day, a mutual friend confirmed the horrible truth: Michelle had gone late-night surfing and encountered, unbelievably, a Great White shark.
There's a moral in there somewhere. Perhaps "Just when you beat the cancer, they send in the sharks." Perhaps something more.
I don't work at that bar anymore. And the coffeehouse is gone. The mellow scent of percolating java has been replaced by the stench of mildew. All that remains on the other side of that backroom door is a vacant, grimy building where bums panhandle for Popov and nothing good ever happens anymore.
In warm memory of Michelle Von Emster
Click here to read about a shocking update regarding the death of Michelle von Emster
Wikipedia entry about Michelle's fate:
Michelle von Emster, 25, April 16, 1994: Killed while swimming off Pt. Loma, California. The San Diego County medical examiners office ruled that she was killed in a [great white] shark attack; however, some in the law enforcement community have questioned this conclusion and feel that she may have been murdered and dumped in the Pacific Ocean. Her leg was bitten off by a great white shark. [13]
EJD
circa 2001
Comments (7)
Hello, Ed - You may remember me from the Who concert in Indio - we put up signs together before the show. I apologize for not being in touch before this; it's definitely been a bone of contention for me because I had so much to say about many of your columns in City Beat that I didn't know where to start... That hasn't changed, but after reading "Send In the Sharks", I couldn't in all good conscience not respond. Astounding story. Brilliant, engaging writing. Amazingly tragic experience - and, equally amazing yin to the yang of today's CB column! I haven't been able to discern how to take the concepts you define there, but I guarantee I'll be cogitating on them for a long time! But what I find most rewarding about your political streams-of-consciences is not so much what I, somewhat of a free-thinker myself, get from them; it's more of the sick thrill realizing how many drones who read your wordsmithing may actually be shocked into thinking for a change! My best to you, and I hope our paths cross again, Edwin Decker - and, I hope you continue to be a thorn in the "establishment's" side -
Posted by David Frazier | July 11, 2007 7:50 PM
Posted on July 11, 2007 19:50
I knew Michelle. She was a walking miracle.
I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright, and when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice, but still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they're gone. I guess I just miss my friend.
-The Shawshank Redemption
Posted by Alisa | August 4, 2007 2:11 PM
Posted on August 4, 2007 14:11
Does anyone have a pic of Michelle von Emster? This story was tragic & intriguing to me.
Posted by Inga D'Ambrosia | June 30, 2008 10:50 AM
Posted on June 30, 2008 10:50
I went to high school with Michelle, and I always felt that her death was mysterious, and am glad to have read your article. We had been close friends our last year of high school, and subsequently lost touch. I was also close with her sister, Kirsten, and had visited her home many times. It still makes me sad, and feel a loss thinking of her. This year, 21 years after graduating, I am sad that we can't get together and have a drink and laugh about old times.
Posted by Tanya Waissman | October 16, 2008 5:13 PM
Posted on October 16, 2008 17:13
Edwin, I have spoken to you once or twice since my sisters death. I did not know that there had been as much circumstantial evidence surrounding her death. Being the youngest my parents always wanted to protect me. I really appreciate you gathering the information and attempting to re-open the case. It is something I have personally considered. It has been almost fifteen years since her death and i still miss her vivacious personality as i did the day she passed. It heartens me to know she had met someone who could truly care about her because I know she had been through a lot previous to that. Keep up the good work.
Posted by Andrea von Emster | January 16, 2009 12:47 PM
Posted on January 16, 2009 12:47
Hi Edwin, my name is Kim. We probably knew each other because I too worked at Rumors and sometimes at Winston's for crazy Bill (may he rest in peace). I used to hang out with my best friend Eamon (beautiful tall blond with very long legs) and I was a local OB chick for a few years and knew most people, so although I can't picture you now, I'm sure our paths most certainly crossed on many occasions. And my boyfriend back then was big tall Guy, the main bouncer at Winston's (who is now married and a successful actor here in L.A. where I now live). I fried some brain cells back then so my memory isn't the best but I have a strong feeling you can relate. ; )
Anyway, I felt compelled to write to you when I came across your beautiful story about my good friend Michelle, who had one of the most beautiful and kind spirits of anyone I have ever known. She was so sweet and loving and REAL, and was just so different from anyone I've ever known. She had an endearing childlike innocence about her, although she was not naive, just trusting with a huge heart. She always went out of her way to make me feel better no matter what she was going through...and she had gone through a lot and handled it with dignity and grace without feeling victimized.
She was even held up at knife-point one night when closing alone at Rumors. The slimeball stuck her in the broom closet and tried to force himself on her and she was not having any of it! I don't remember what exactly happened, but she got out of it unharmed and fiercely defended herself and I think even made the loser cry! He messed with the wrong girl.
I have been thinking about her lately because my sister is leaving tomorrow to go on a surf trip in Mexico to a town where 3 people were attacked, some fatally, by sharks 8 months ago at the very spot where she will be paddling out. So I started to look for articles about what really happened to Michelle because at the time there was a bit of controversy. There were several reporters who seemed dead set on proving foul play, insinuating that Michelle was involved with shady people and was leading some sort of tawdry and immoral lifestyle that got her killed. She was not. I was so offended by the tones these ignorant paparazzi took when questioning me, trying so hard to create a scandalous, "juicy" story that people would want to read. It wasn't enough to just say that it was a terrible tragedy and a freak thing that almost never happens in San Diego. Yes, Michelle enjoyed swimming nude...who doesn't? When we would lie out on my deck to get sun, she was always the first to strip down when it was just us girls because she was a free spirit who loved nature and was proud of her body. She didn't dance around showing off, and there was nothing tawdry or sexual about it; she was just a fun, sweet girl who wanted an all over tan! We didn't do this when guys or kids were around...we were just girls being girls. She swam naked all the time in the early evening because she could do it unobserved. She valued her time alone and her swims were very spiritual for her.
I remember that night so clearly because it was the night of the Pink Floyd concert, and she was the only one of our group not going. Of course we all wanted her to join us, but she needed to work through some issues she was having and specifically said she needed to swim THAT NIGHT. It was just something she felt she had to do. We really tried to discourage her because we didn't want our girl going swimming by herself so late in the dark, but she insisted. For years I wished I had been more forceful and done more to convince her that it was a bad idea. I had a bad feeling from the start, something just didn't feel right. But Michelle always did what she wanted to do, and I was powerless. It was as if she too knew that something was going to happen. She said a few strange things about having to go that night. Perhaps it was just her time. She was a strong believer in fate and destiny. And so I can only find solace in my belief that everything happens for a reason, and that reason is not always meant for us to understand.
I hope and believe that she was needed more elsewhere, and is watching over me now, happy, serene and protective as my guardian angel.
So THANK YOU for writing those nice things about her and preserving her memory the way she should be remembered. Anyone who was blessed to know Michelle should take comfort in remembering her as she really and truly was...a kind and loving spirit who is watching over all of us.
I hope you are enjoying life and living it to the fullest.
Posted by kim | March 2, 2009 10:29 PM
Posted on March 2, 2009 22:29
Wow! Very touching. I stumbled over this information and felt extremly compelled to read all that was written about a lovley life like hers.
Posted by Dzzzy | March 6, 2009 11:24 AM
Posted on March 6, 2009 11:24