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It was a nice enough motel. A ushaped motor inn built,probably, in the fifties. Recently renovated, from outside the rooms appeared to be clean neatly painted doors lined the u, a bland white and khaki. Benches dotted in between several rooms. A decent patch of green grass grew in the middle of the u, a tree provides shade for hot summer days, a picnic table and a bbq offered warm nights to be spent drinking beer and eating burgers. The sign offered weekly rates at 200 dollars. “Yes, this will do nicely until we can find an apartment.” My boyfriend offered with a smile. I smiled back at him as he parked. I placed my beer on the floor and went into the lobby. I was greeted by a massive, hairy, dopey, slobbering dog. He came up to just over my waist but he wasn’t the kind you would be afraid of he was the kind that lacked any aggressive bone in his body. I pet him and then gave my attention to the receptionist, she was early forties with a head of short tight curls. I offered to pay for a month, she had me sign some papers, and explained the rules of the motel then gave me my key. I walked over to the car grabbed my beer and had my boyfriend park.
Our room was small but bigger than some others we had stayed in before. It offer all the basic amenities, a queen sized bed took up most of the living area, a large tv stand stood in the corner at the foot of the bed, it had drawers for our clothes. Nightstands with lamps sat on both sides of the beds also with drawers but only a top one. A bland desk, no keyboard tray or drawers, just flat on top with some legs sat up against the wall behind the door. This was very pleasing, a place to sit that wasn’t a bed to listen to youtube videos! Awesome. Through a small entry way led to a dining area almost as big as the living, cold spotted linoleum covered the floor and a haphazard shelf, counter ejected from the wall. The area could have easily held a full size fridge but instead a mini fringe had been shoved under this counter and it beared the weight of a microwave. To the left was a decent sized closet for all the things we lacked, and to the right of the closet was the bathroom. It held a bathtub! Finally I could take bubble baths and drink wine after my long graveyard shifts at the factory! A small sink, with no counter space was where we would do our dishes. I had gotten this set of ugly dishes from the goodwill, cream with brown speckles and brown flowers. One couldn’t complain too much they were dishes.
It was here in this nice little motel where I started to feel at home, where I started to dare to dream, of better places, of better days, of better things. This was the first place I felt at home, I suppose I had felt at home in my childhood home before we moved to idaho. I never fit in and I had always felt left out, overlooked, out of place. I’d started drinking and smoking at fourteen looking more to stand out so I would fit in and be accepted. Acceptance through rebellion, never try that. It doesn’t work, it just pulls you down a dangerous path of reckless abandon. It was always a romantic notion, to be a complete fuck up. The kind of person who is so far gone that you can’t help but stare and wonder how they came to be such scum, the kind of person who you want to get to know and help but you don’t even try because they will just spit in your face and laugh off your help. A complete trainwreck.
It was here in this little motor inn, my place of firsts, firsts of being an adult. That this romantic notion began to fade away. I began to realize as I lovingly cared for my ficus from my grandmothers wake, as I precisely folded paper into origami ornaments for our christmas tree,
and I cooked many dinners in our electric skillet. That I wanted more! I loved our little motel room, it was home but I wanted a living room and a full sized fridge and a real kitchen. I didn’t want to drink the beer we drank every night any more. I dreamt of saving all that money for a beautiful place to live.