Rushing through the front lobby of an American hotel, I finally reach the desk, "Excuse me? Did you find any sunglasses? I think I may have left them here."
The clerk shakes his head and ends our conversation with, "Sorry, kid."
I still look considerably young for my age. Some say it's lucky, but adults constantly thinking you're not one can get old fairly quick.
Imagine trying to get into an R-rated film only to be ID'd by an 18 year old.
Ignoring him, I turn around and try to look in every direction humanly possible. I suppose I'll have to buy new glasses. There's certainly no way around hiding my face today. Which wasn't particularly my ultimate goal, but I had thought of it a few times. Maybe if I hid my face enough and wore a hat, Oliver wouldn't recognize me. One could dream, I guess. I maneuver my way back through the lobby to reach the stairs, still thinking about my unrealistic disguise. How would I even fit my hair under a hat? I'd look insane. I'd look-
My words fumble faster than my feet can plant themselves, and my momentum carries me backwards. I watch my vision tilt from the stairs to the ceiling, and a sharp pain shoots through the back of my head. "Mmm," I say begrudgingly. "That hurt."
"Are you alright?" The man from the counter is standing over me now. How did he get here so fast? Did I get knocked out? I then realize that everyone in the room is staring at me.
"I think so, although I'm not so sure my first impression is all too graceful," I laugh off the embarrassment and wave to the onlookers that were trying their best not to worry. For the first few steps toward the stairs, I couldn't remember why I had been so put off guard to have my thoughts interrupted and suddenly forced backwards by my own consciousness. Then, as my focus came over the landing to the second floor, I was quickly reminded.
A sign that read out what I've been waiting for for seven years stood in front of me.
Today's Presentations in the
Maxwell Lounge:
The Period of Mourn
with Carol Stoop
11 AM
The Felicity of Taunt
with Jason Brewner
1 PM
The Natural Instinct of Vacation
with Oliver Holloway
3 PM
I feel as if my spirit attempts to leave my body, but the lasting feeling of my head hitting tile pushes my body to resist. My palms are sweating, and my heart is racing. Without think my feet take themselves away from the lobby and into the conference room hallway. A tall door at the end is labeled "Maxwell Lounge". I knew it was a relatively large room, easy to sneak into. My father had shown me pictures previous to my decision to come. That was nearly a year ago. If I had known it'd lead me here-
"Excuse me?"
I turn and see the woman from earlier. She's easier to focus on now thanks to the natural light coming in. Her smile is absolutely radiant, and I'm almost convinced she'd light up the room if the sun decided to give up. I only fumble a couple words, "Yes? Hello."
"Hi, were you planning on attending?" She points a ringed forefinger past my shoulder, to the door I had been staring so intently at.
"Oh, um. I-" before I can finish, she grabs my arm and leads me down the hall.
"I'm sure you'll love it. It's my brother's presentation, you know. He'll want to meet you," she keeps talking but her words begin to evaporate from my ears. A pit hits my stomach all at once, and my feet anchor me to that explicit carpet. Staring at it now, I see the chaos in the artist's eyes. But maybe he just wanted his paycheck.
