Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Going South: The Traveler



Standing outside the shelter, staring at the door, I contemplate going in. What I envision on the other side scares me – beggars, homeless people in rags in layers, eying me up, encircling me to attack and take all I have. It doesn’t matter if it’s real or just my imagination. I’ll never be able to sleep. I must find some other solution.
I walk on, wandering, hoping my eye will catch on an answer. And then it does. My bank. How stupid could I be? The withdrawal limit is only on the ATM. Why didn’t I just go inside?
Relief! I grab the shiny metal handle on the glass door and walk in with confidence. Maybe I can get enough cash to last a few weeks. How much would I need? A thousand? Two? I go for three just to be safe, handing my withdrawal slip over the counter to the teller with red-orange hair and strong perfume.
Her well manicured nails click against the keys as she begins the transaction. I almost want to laugh, I was so stupid. A smile creeps onto my face instead. How I would love to see Bosley’s face when he realizes I’ve gone.
My confidence is stolen away as the teller says, “I’m sorry, ma’am. This account is frozen.”
I gasp and step back. Already? I look over my shoulder as if Bosley might be right behind me. Leaving my card behind, I head for the exit, the teller yelling after me, “Are you okay, ma’am?”
Does Bosley know I’m in Boston. Has he been following me? Is he here now? I have to get out of here. I pick up my pace and keep checking over my shoulder for him, afraid he’s waiting around every corner or sneaking up on me from behind.
A train station! I duck in and hurry to the ticket booth.
“How much to Hartford?” I ask.
“$31.50 with one stop in Springfield.”
“I’ll take it.” I hand over two twenties. She returns change and a train pass.
I fall into the seat on the train, spent on stress. With the duffel bag snug between my feet and the laptop bag on my lap, I lean my head against the window and fall fast asleep.
Nearly three hours later, in Hartford, I find a bus out of the city going ...anywhere.
“Wethersfield,” the driver tells me and I feed my money into the machine.
Another twenty minutes and I'm left standing alone on a busy street, stores, gas stations and fast food lined up as far as I can see in either direction. I choose the slightly downhill direction, no goal in mind, and begin to calculate my possibilities. One night in a hotel – a cheap hotel – could be about... $50. What will I do tomorrow? I'll need to find a job. Who will hire me without asking any questions … and who will pay me in cash? I can't open a bank account. Where will I keep the cash? No place seems safe. No option reasonable. Panic builds again.
Motel 6 comes into view as I emerge from an underpass. It's got to be the cheapest stay around.
The man behind the counter speaks broken English, though I can understand him just fine. $45.99, one night, one adult, cash.
“Need your credit card for security, ma'am,” he says with a big smile.
I hesitate. “I don't have one.”
His smile fades a bit but not entirely. “Don't have one, ma'am?” Now he's scowling, confused.
“No, sir. Please let me stay. I'll clean for you.” Good God, did I really just say that? “I mean, I need a job.” Shut up. Just shut up.
He seems unsure what to do with me. His smile is gone. “You want to clean?”
Well no I don't want to. “Yes.”
“We not hiring, ma'am. So sorry.”
My eyes water up out of nowhere. He's not my last resort. He just feels like it. “Okay,” I say, mad at myself for giving up so easily. I drop my head, shoulders sunken. “Can I just stay the night?”
He keeps his eyes on me as he obviously contemplates. “Okay. Yes, ma'am. No credit card but you can stay. Tonight.”
“Thank you.” My face contorts as I let the tears fall.
He averts his eyes, concentrating on the computer, or the key register, or the front door. I've made him uncomfortable and for some reason I feel bad about that.
“Room 132, ma'am. Enjoy your stay.” His smile is back but I can tell he can't get rid of me fast enough.
The room is cleaner than I expected for $45.99 although the stench of carpet shampoo is overwhelming. I close the door behind me and lock the dead bolt then head straight for the glass doors on the other side, facing the pool and courtyard. How odd to have sliding glass doors in a hotel room. I pull on it to check the lock and it slides open. No matter what I do with the handle, it won't lock. Nice. Just what I need. I'm about to go back to the service desk when I spot a stick leaning against the wall. I suppose it's better than nothing. I drop it into the track of the door and try opening it again. This time it stays.
With the drapes pulled closed and everything locked down, I begin to feel safe. It's dinner time. I have approximately 18 hours to figure out what to do next.
Pulling the covers back on the bed reveals some unsightly stains near the edge of the cover sheet. My instinct tells me to go complain, ask for another room or just leave. But that was before my options were so slim. Now I just live with it. It's a bed, and I'm safe.
After a restless night, I emerge from my room in search of food. I locate the continental breakfast bar and begin to collect fruit, a bagel, a small box of cereal... I stop by the coffee machine, place my breakfast down on the table and pour myself some hot coffee.
“Ana?” I hear from behind me, in a clear no-accent voice and my heart jumps into my throat.
~~ Should Ana throw her hot coffee at the person behind her or make a run for it? ~~


<a href="http://www.buzzdash.com/polls/should-ana-throw-hot-coffee-on-the-person-or-make-a-run-for-it-199118/">Should Ana throw hot coffee on the person or make a run for it?</a> | <a href="http://www.buzzdash.com">BuzzDash polls</a>


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6 comments:

Modo B said...

Ha ha! I just want to see her throw coffee and have it be someone she really respects or something. Could be very entertaining!

Anonymous said...

Of course she throws the coffee!!!! This is just too random. She didn't know where she was going how could anyone else? She has been followed! Hurl the coffee girl lol!

Louise is said...

hiya
throwing coffe might make her situation worse! That person might be able to help

i need a third option... talking?

Anonymous said...

Oh Louise! I really appreciate the optimism in your comment but come on girl make that Greta work lol.

Greta Stone said...

Thanks, emma!

Sybil Nelson said...

No throwing of coffee. I think that would be overreacting until she knows who it is. I don't see how Bosley could have found her yet.

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