I rode at night to avoid people following me. I slept during the day and made it home in seventy-two hours.
Home.
What a strange word. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived in a hotel. They’re easy, peaceful with top notch security. I never have to leave if I don’t want to. I have someone that does my grocery shopping and laundry. When something breaks, someone's there to fix it and my guests are screened.
The weather is colder than I remember. I hope my maid packed me the appropriate clothes. Sam is having a new suit sent to my hotel. She wanted to come with me for moral support, but I declined. I don’t need her. I don’t want her here. Just in and out I told her. Except I left a few days earlier than scheduled because I need time to see her.
Even if it’s just to look at her from across the street, I need the extra time to remind myself why I gave up college and her dreams to spend countless days in a cramped studio and sleepless nights traveling in a bus across the country. I need the vision of her to drive the point home that I made the right decision for me, regardless of how much I hurt her.
I need to know if she’s moved on, I hope that she has. How many kids does she have and what does her husband do for a living? I only hope he treats her better than I ever did because she deserves it and so much more.
Pulling into the Holiday Inn just outside of Beaumont, I shut off my bike before the manager comes out to tell me I’m disturbing the peace. With the kickstand down and my helmet off, I slip on a pair of fake eyeglasses and pull a baseball cap down low. I know word will spread once I step foot into Beaumont, but for a few days I’d like to be anonymous. I slide my arms into my weather proof guitar case and unhook my bag from the back of my bike.
The walk to the lobby is painstakingly long. This hotel isn’t far off the highway and the noise is very present. This is most unassuming hotel and one people wouldn’t think to look for me. I remember when I told Sam to book my room here I thought I killed her with just the words of a three star Notel Motel. Yet here I am walking into a commoner lobby with the TV blaring and stale coffee sitting in the pot next to this morning’s donuts.
“How can I help you?” The clerk is speaking even before I’m in the door. Her voice is high-pitched and annoying; a sharp and painful reminder of nails across the blackboard. Her hair is pulled back so tight that her face has no option but to smile. Her lips are painted Hollywood red. I want to hand her a Kleenex and tell her that guys in Hollywood really don’t go for the whole lipstick thing because it’s evidence.
But I don’t. I don’t say hi or even smile at her. I just want to get to my room and maybe sleep a little. “I need to check in,” I tell her. I hand her my driver’s license and wait. My fingers start tapping on the counter as she types my name into the computer. Each time she looks up at me and smiles, I want to step back. Someone ought to tell her that she wears too much make-up and if she pulls her hair any tighter she’ll be bald.
“Is Mr. Westbury your dad? He’s the professor for my poli-sci class,” she asks with a hopeful gleam in her eye. I shake my head no even though the answer is probably yes. I wouldn’t know since he hasn’t spoken to me since I dropped out of college.
“Oh, well that’s too bad. He’s a really great professor.”
“Lucky you,” I say. Her face deadpans at my lack of enthusiasm.
“If there's anything I can do for you just let me know,” she says back in her high-pitched annoying and very childish voice. She sets the keycards down on the counter and asks me to fill out the car registration slip. I write down only the pertinent information, avoiding the make and model of my bike. They don’t need to know.
I pick up the key cards and head to the elevator. When I step in, I look at the card and sigh. I’m on the sixth floor, the highest one they have, but not high enough for me. This will have to do and it’s only short term. I’m just here to say goodbye to Mason and stare at her for a bit before returning to my life.
The hallway reeks. That is the first thing I notice when I step out of the elevator. That and the ugly ass carpet lining the halls. I despise the smell of stale smoke. I push into my room, dropping my bag onto one of the double beds. I walk over to the sliding glass door, throw open the thick dark curtains and stare out at the lights of Beaumont. I flick the latch and open the door, stepping out into the chilled air.
The sound of breaking glass causes me to look left. Immediately, I wish I hadn’t because just off in the distance is the water tower Mason and I, along with a few others, used to climb after our games. We’d take a case of beer up there, leave the girls down at the bottom and see who could hit the bed of my truck with their empty bottles.