Yearn | Hannigram

heart shaped bed

Will dreams of something rotten and warm. Somewhere he'd been in his youth, an old abandoned motel off a now closed interstate in Louisiana. It had sat vacant since the seventies, hidden in a shroud of Spanish moss coated oak trees. Completely invisible from the street, forgotten in time. A monument to the old romantics, to shotgun weddings and cheap champagne. A holy grail scarred by razor blades that sculpted the fine white lines that lay across the edges of those valentine cherry tubs. Crystalline powder licked up by the soft wet tongue of newlyweds.

Now, its rose wallpaper is peeling and the glittering chandeliers that lay broken like a thousand diamonds on top of the red shag carpets. Will found it one day when he was around seventeen. He was driving up a road he'd never been on. He'd seen a stray mutt run up the hill and stopped his truck to chase after it. He hopped out, his blue jeans falling over his boots, baggy as always. Tattered at the bottom, muddy from the rain the night before. He sighed as he trudged up towards where the dog ran off. He locked the truck and lit up a cigarette. One of his dad's friends had been buying his smokes for a few years at that point. Grant, a guy who varnished ships down by the dock Will worked at. They were always reds. Will's dad never seemed to notice that his son reeked of tobacco now as well. The smell of smoke had clung to his clothes since he'd been born.

He realized as he got halfway up that there was an old paved road hiding beneath the foliage and trash thrown from the highway above. Will followed it up, flicking his ash on the ground, noticing empty bottles of vodka and rusted cans of spray paint. It was autumn, but fall in the south was barely a season. More of a blip where the heat came and went, the nights began to chill but you still sweat your ass of at work the next day. The green of the forests had begun to fade, the mosquitos stayed. Will always hated how dead everything became, how grey and lifeless the world looked as winter neared. The heat wasn't as draining that day, but he was still wearing a t-shirt in the middle of November. He nearly tripped over the cracked asphalt as he made a turn around a huge tangled bramble. Then he saw it.

Nestled in the dead ivy, a baby pink building, tattooed with graffiti with smashed windows. A huge sign stood in front, shattered lightbulbs like a drained halo around 'LOVER'S MOTEL' in a sickeningly sweet cursive font. Two cherubs with blushing cheeks nestled in the corner.

A little bark came from far away, and Will ran up to the entrance. Two glass doors, no glass. He stepped through and felt the shards snap underneath his boots. The smashing sound followed his steps far through the labyrinth of decay. Inside the check in desk has been beat in with bats or something, cracked granite split in two. As he walks further, into the lobby where the building divides into two long hallways with red doors lining the walls. In the middle there's an empty pool, filled with beer cans and spray painted to death. Broken beach chairs and tipped plant pots are scattered across the floor. A couch sits by the edge of the pool, cigarette butts and cheap bottles surround the couch that was clearly not from the original motel. The ridge of the old pool seems to be covered in wax, probably for some skateboarders who use the bowl. The lingering smell of burnt tobacco wraps and weed pretty much solidified that hunch.

      Will whistled, trying to call for the dog. He turns to head into the open motel rooms, trying to guess where the mutt would run off to. It smells like paint, damp moldy wood and beer. The stench is clinging to the floor all dusty with cotton candy pink insulation that sticks to the carpet.

      Between the torn, lace trimmed sheets and the red shag carpet, the vomiting valentine's day theme was evident. There's a mural of phone numbers, names, and crude drawings on the walls. All the sinks were cheaply lacquered with fake gold, a half broken mirror makes up the part of the ceiling that hangs overtop the heart shaped bed. Each room is the same really, framed pictures fallen to the ground of beaches or gardens. Discarded bras hang over the curtain racks, the walls are covered with lip prints in colors ranging from neon pink to dark purple, but most of them are the same shade of blood red.

      Will can practically see the intended audience. Young couples who ran to the courthouse to get hitched, an impulsive drunken night where they felt they'd never die. Ran off to the cheapest place they could find and somehow found themselves at Lover's doors. They'd tear into each other on the bed, surrounded with roses and off brand perfume. Lingerie clad and painted in love bites. They share a cigarette in bed, feed each other breakfast and ignore the leaky showerhead and the pounding from the room next door.

      Will felt an odd pang in his chest. Love was not something he understood at the time. All he'd known of it had been stained with whisky and blood. This fever dream of romance had been exposed for what it really is, a dream. Time had burnt, broken-hearted, and beaten this trashy haven to hedonism. Will's visions immediately turned to the couple's future, one full of infidelity and addiction. She'd take pills, he'd cheat and drink. Those cigarettes they shared pile up outside on the back porch, the red lipstick shade is discontinued and now she wears a dull mauve. Something more mature. Her blonde would bloom gray, his once thick dark hair disappearing as his hairline retreats.

Or, more accurately, a place where those same husbands came to visit women hauled up in the honeymoon suites for months. Sniffing snow off those gold sinks, hiding heat in the bedside table drawers. No one would ever find them here, tucked away into the hill. Their beautiful eyes bloodshot and hidden with thick false lashes, piano hands painted red and pink at the tips. Taking midnight dips in the pool, letting the chlorine strip their skin of the feeling of their hands.

      Looking back, Will now imagines him and Hannibal in the throws of puppy love. Smelling like Newport's and sweat from the beating southern sun. Though they had more decadence than that, thanks to Hannibal, their engulfing obsession was fit for this rosy stage. If they had met where Will grew up- Perhaps when they were younger, in a world where Hannibal was not a globetrotting doctor and Will still worked at the docks. Lecter could've been a boy next door in southern Louisiana, fishing by the delta and tossing his bodies to the gators. When he was young he often dreamed of someone like Hannibal, someone to swoop into his life and take care of him. Tear him from the trailer park. But maybe it wouldn't have been so bad there if he shared his space with Hannibal. Will was certain they'd have ended up somewhere like this. Proudly wearing knockoff rings from the local pawn shop, sharing Tennessee whisky, chocolate covered strawberries, and matching tattoos on their hips. They could soak those pink sheets red with gore and scrub each other off in the bath. The thought makes Will smile.

      Will was so lost in the ghosts he created in his mind that he'd barely registered the wet nose pressing against the back of his hand. He looks over and sees the dog he chased in here. He's sniffing Will cautiously, so he stays still. Smiling at the stray, offering his palm to smell more. The dog accepted and gave him a friendly lick. Will leaned down and was excited the dog let him pet his neck.

      "Hey buddy, you all alone... no tags?" He asked. The mutt was without a collar, he seemed skinny and easily startled. Will's heart swelled when he looked up at him with watering brown eyes. "How could I say no to that face?" Will joked. "Wanna come home with me?"

      The dog barked, nuzzling into Will's side.

      Will looked around for something he could use as a makeshift leash, just to get him back to the truck. He saw the tassel meant for the thick curtains that lay in piles on the floor. He steps away slowly and pulls it out. The dog is looking at him, head tilted a bit in confusion.

      Will leaned down, opening his arms. The mutt was hesitant as he stepped closer, Will scrunched his fingers hoping to illustrate a petting motion. Luckily, he seemed to understand and walked into Will's arms. He pet him for awhile, just brushing some of the leaves and things off his fur. Then slowly he made a loose knot around his neck and held the other end with his hand.

      They walked out the door, Will staying close despite that the stray seemed surprisingly okay with being on a leash. Will was thinking over how to explain the new dog to his dad as they headed back to the truck. He wished he could've carried him through the broken glass but he seemed to tread carefully and Will doubted he'd allow to be picked up. He was a big dog regardless. Something like a german shepherd mix, but his coat was all a dark, auburn brown and he had floppy downturned ears. He trotted happily by Will's side as they followed the pavement back down to the road, avoiding the bramble and bottles along the way.

      Will helped him into the passenger side of the single-cab and drove off to go home with his first stray, Bud.