All I Want Is Everything

Back on the road

Ooga-chaka, ooga-ooga
Ooga-chaka, ooga-ooga
Ooga-chaka, ooga-ooga
Ooga-chaka, ooga-ooga

Blue Swede, Hooked on a Feeling

His merry smile dropped away. "Shit. I was not expecting that." He licked his lips. "I do love you, Ella, but like a sister. We grew up together, in and out of each other's homes, it was like all our parents belonged to all of us. You're Steve's sister. I-I'm sorry, Ella. I love you, but not the way you want me to." Her face fell, and her heart plummeted halfway to China. Or was China on the other side of the world from Memphis? It was probably somewhere out in the ocean. The Pacific was huge, she thought wildly, trying to find something to hang onto. It didn't matter anyway.  Halfway to anywhere would put it in the molten core of the Earth.

She blew out a breath, glad that it was only slightly shaky. "Ok," she said quietly.

"You ok?" he asked gently, looking concerned.

"Yeah," she lied. "At least I know now. Onward, right?" She smiled slightly at him. "See you tomorrow." She turned as he mumbled something, proud that she was keeping her shit together, and went back to her room, digging the key fob out of her pocket, and shoved the key into the lock. What a mercy that they all had their own rooms. She couldn't imagine having to face Nat now, what with the distance between them and her gently crushed heart all pathetic and stupid on the ground. She set the ginger ale on the nightstand, turned the tv on to something that made noise, and lay on the bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, tears leaking out over her temples and running into her hair until she fell asleep.

She woke up far too early the next morning with a pressing need to pee, a pounding headache, an upset stomach, emotional turmoil, and no aspirin. She dragged out to a nearby grocery store that had fortunately just opened for the day, picked up a bottle of aspirin as well as the newly-available over the counter Advil, and started up to the counter. She paused, reconsidered, then went back. She didn't have anything beyond aspirin for self-care, and this disaster made her cognizant of the unpleasantness of shopping when you're not feeling right. She picked up a basket and added imodium, Pepto Bismol, cold remedies, cough drops, motion sickness pills, travel packs of Kleenex, a thermometer, little alcohol wipes since she didn't want to cart a whole bottle of the stuff with her, bandaids, medical salve. In the absence of barf bags, a box of Ziploc bags. They were handy for a lot of things. Some snacks for the road--she didn't want to eat now, but someday she would. Some candy, too. Fuck the label, rejection from the guy you've loved for more than a decade deserved sugar. Personal grooming products she was running low on too, might as well, she was right there, then a box of laundry powder. She could put those into ziplocs too, and backtracked for sandwich baggies to contain individual measures of the detergent. She cruised the magazine racks and picked up new issues as well as a few paperbacks as well as a new spiral notebook. She worked through her feelings by writing, and when she filled up the notebook, she was going to find a place where she could burn it and be done. A big glass bottle of Perrier--she didn't really like the taste but could refill it with tap water. She got thirsty on the bus.

Back at the hotel, she emptied the two paper bags on the bed and started the process of putting her little pharmacy into a big Ziploc--after downing some of the aspirin with the warm ginger ale--taking things out of space-hogging boxes, and dividing the laundry detergent. Not all hotels were good about keeping their vending machines in their laundry rooms stocked--not all of them had one either--and this way she had her preferred brand. She had to hurry to shower, hastily placing the trash in the can and leaving a tip for the maid.

She still looked like hell, though, bags and circles under her eyes and a wan complexion. The eyedrops did very little about the red in her eyes. She debated about slapping some makeup on but couldn't summon the interest. Couldn't hide the bags, anyway. And if she slept in makeup she'd break out. She'd heard that models used Preparation H to ease the bags, but she hadn't gotten any and wasn't about to tear down to the store again for something that might or might not work. She quickly put her damp hair into a braid and grabbed her stuff. At the bus outside the hotel, she gave her suitcase to their roadie and turned to the door.