Greenline

16

Thursday, June 9th. 12:37 am.

We pulled up to the motel in the dead of night. The two-story building was long and flat with those big rectangle windows marking each room right next to the slim, sandy doors. Only a few were hiding light behind the glass. The rays of old yellow lamps slipped through the thin curtains and scattered the sidewalk and the blue second-story railing.

I had tried to get Isaac to stay in the car, but he was so jittery, it was impossible to cut through his comments about the unbeatable price for a night's stay. His eyes widened when we walked past a few dim vending machines, the red, green, and orange hues hardly illuminated enough to read the names on the bottles and bags. Most of my attention was spent on kindly corralling him towards the main office's flickering "OPEN 24/7" sign.

A bell jangled loudly upon our entry into the musty space and seemed to jolt the old woman that ran the front desk. The green carpet held water stains that explained the dampness in the air, stamped down by a wooden pedestal that must've been in place for years before an oddly-flat countertop was fixed onto each side. It was cluttered with pamphlets and postcards that were lined with thick layers of grime. The obvious lack of interest others had found in them couldn't deter Isaac, who had sauntered over to spin the rack and knocked dust bunnies free as he scanned every promised adventure in front of him.

The desk lady had fixed me with a stare that I knew meant "tell me what you need and stop wasting my time to myself." I got it a lot from my mom when I accidentally interrupted her work. I tried to brush my nerves off and speak like an assured adult, though my young round face was less than convincing.

When I asked for a single room, her wrinkled eyes tilted and she peered at Isaac out of the corners. That was one of the first times I had been smacked with the reality of our enormous country. Our hometown was safe because it was small, which on its own was a situation that most people didn't have the privilege of. Isaac and I had hopped onto the highway and run south as two boys in reckless love, two boys that didn't even share the same skin color. I had experienced loud bigotry online from strangers and in person from older relatives. This was different, the desk-lady's silence almost an uncomfortable trap to steal more information from us than we ever owed her.

I hadn't found her unappealing before, but now the thick neck and the folds against her face had turned hideous. My throat wanted to close as I forced my voice to come out strong. "How much is it going to be?" I tried to get to the point, unwilling to dilly-dally any longer within that gaze.

The woman's eyes still didn't sweep off of Isaac - who remained oblivious to this all within the stack of pamphlets - until she had to move the top half of her body to bend underneath the counter and she slid open a cabinet. My back already pounded with an intense ache from how long I had been driving, and the newfound fear of what she might retrieve with those suspecting eyes clenched it even worse. Thoughts went through my head that I had never entertained before: Did I have to jump in front of Isaac? Should I shove him out of that office? Did we need to run to my car and abandon this attempt to rest entirely? I was horrified.

The cabinet jangled and she rose back up, eyes only making contact with mine. "$240 a night. What are you here for?" Her voice twanged at me as her thick wrist lifted and brass glinted in her grip - a metal ring dropped down to the tip of her thumb, where the key hung, swinging between us. I don't think I succeeded in stifling my flinch.

I had to lie to this woman. I knew we wouldn't be left alone if I hadn't. "We've been driving down to stay with my family in Arizona. We have some college visits lined up this week, we just needed to rest for the night before we keep on our way tomorrow." The tale dripped out of me as I feigned what I hoped was a good match to the smiles I'd watched high-school seniors drop every time they talked about doing the same.