Atonement

{Two} Continued Discussion

“And maybe I’ll find out a way to make it back some day.”

-Wherever You Will Go,

The Calling

 

 

   I’d woken up long enough to drag myself out of the car and into the motel room—not even bothering to shed my heavy reenactment clothes. At some point I woke up in the middle of the night choking to death on my collar, so I stripped down to my skivvies and went right back to sleeping. It felt like I hadn’t slept in forever.

  It wasn’t until I woke up, the digital clock on the nightstand informing me it was 1:30, that I realized the extent of my exhaustion; mental and physical.

  When I finally dragged myself out of bed—and, believe me, it took a lot of effort—I noticed Russ and Mom talking quietly at the end of the motel room. I was going to join in on their conversation before remembering I was in a chemise and bloomers. Very quietly, I snuck into the bathroom—grabbing the duffel bag with my regular clothes in them Mom had been kind enough to bring inside.

  But first…..a shower.

  I swear to God, I had dirt in places I didn’t even know existed on my body. It’d only been a week and yet I was trashed. As I watched the bathtub fill with brown water, leaves, and clumps of mud, I couldn’t imagine how my mother hadn’t freaked over my appearance. It took two washings with shampoo and conditioner to get my hair back to normal. For the first time I was grateful for my short cut. Can you imagine the hassle if it was longer? Lord!

  When I got out I felt refreshed. And then I looked in the mirror. My poor face was in a desperate need for deep cleansing scrub. Unfortunately, this motel only had soap and we hadn’t prepared for a night’s stay. A good ol’ bar of soap would have to do.

  Literally, I was in that bathroom for an hour. Mostly I just kept staring at myself in the mirror. There were hollow black circles beneath my eyes and I’d dropped quite a bit of weight—actually, that part was kind of a plus. That damn corset on a daily basis had done a number on my ribs, though. I hadn’t even realized how sore they were until I prodded my reddened sides. Now I knew why ladies didn’t indulge themselves in excursive activities back then. It would literally kill them; I was sure of it. Besides, I’d taken quite the beating; as my poor reddened cheek and cut temple showed.

  One week. One week in the past and I looked like an abused child. Seriously, it was like I’d just been kicked off Survivor or something—only I had it worse than them because at least they could wear normal clothes. I would pay to see the contenders of Survivor do what they do in a hoop skirt at the end of summer.

  When I finally pulled myself away from the heavenly bathroom, I found Russ and Mom waiting for me. Mom sat in a chair, one leg crossed daintily over the other. Uh-oh. She had her psychiatrist composure. Nothing good ever came with that too-calm look on her face.

  Warily, I looked to where Zach had stationed himself on the bed; headphones purposefully on blasting. He, clearly, was not a part of this discussion.

  “Sit down, Josie,” Mom instructed, gesturing to the seat next to her.

  I plopped down on the seat, absent mindedly curling my hands beneath my knees as if to straighten a skirt. Yeah; as if my jeans needed to be properly straightened. One week. How could one week do this to a person? Already I felt out of place in this too clean, too brightly lit motel room—and it was really saying something when a motel room looked too clean.