Motel room

The cold air attacks my face as I fumble with the card, finally thrusting it into the slot. The red light berates my mistake as I retrieve the card and closely examine it. I slowly turn it in my hand before trying again. I fall back on my Christian roots as the card disappears in the slot. I am embarrassed at the joy the green light brings me. I turn the handle and thrust my head inside the dark unknown. I pad absently on the wall with my right hand when I finally discover the prize - a light switch. The darkness explodes with light as I press the switch. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but the surroundings are surprisingly familiar. The bright white, much too clean bathroom, closet area, double bed, dresser, night stand, and the television - standard motel decorations. I study the bedspread while thinking of the news show featuring black lights. My bag drops to the floor with a thud and I stretch as the door slams behind me. Instinctively, I move to the window and part the flimsy curtains while mumbling "room with a view." The cars streak by on the adjacent highway. My eyes lock on a FedEx truck as the smell of the room permeates my body. I inhale deeply and I am jettisoned away. I turn and watch dad close the door. I survey the oddly familiar room with the scattered blankets on the bed and overflowing ashtray on the small table near the window. The table is too small to be useful, but it is better than nothing (as dad likes to say). The accompanying chair faces the television - revealing his perch. I wonder if that is where he sits when he calls. He motions toward the chips and candy on the dresser - like it is a party. I smile, because it is better than home. I watch the maid as she pushes her cart by the window - the wheels scraping the concrete floor - and the highway behind her as dad talks. The puignant smoke has infiltrated everything in its path. I shake my head while returning to the moment. I grab my bag and swing open the door, after all, I requested a non-smoking room.