The Excess Road

  Chapter Thirty-eight: A break with…

  Time passed in chunks.

  The weeks strewn about and the midterms came. Snapshots of people came in and out of my isolation and then they faded.

  Spring break was an event broken to me and I was not looking towards it with any plans. I was offered a vacation package to Jamaica but smoking herb was out of the question. George, James and Cyrus were going to Daytona Beach. Tim and Erin were going to some island in the Gulf of Mexico off of Texas.

  I hatched a scheme of my own.

  My mother wired me cash for a fake trip to Florida. If I could, I would have stayed in the dorms but they were closing. I needed to finance a hotel room in town for six days. The time came when everyone left but me.

  I packed a bag and called a taxi. The day outside was closer to summer than spring. The humidity hung and the overcast above lowered as I stood at the main entrance. The cab was late and I heard what sounded like a small car without an exhaust pipe. It revved and sputtered on the side of the building. I went to see.

  A team of green jumpsuit clad men hidden by goggles and yellow ear protectors steadied chainsaws in their hands. The young trees that lined the dorm were systematically removed by mechanized threshers.

  The small trunks gave no resistance and fell as soon as the metal teeth ripped through them. One man hauled them into a cart attached to a gas powered golf cart.

  I watched them destroyed my elm.

  The chainsaw stalled twice but the gas-powered monster tore its flesh to chips and compost. I asked the guy who just threw my tree into the cart, “Why are you chopping the trees down? The man uncapped his ear protection, plastic ear muffs, and asked me to repeat.

  “Why?”

  “They’re diseased. A blight and have to save the old growth. Cutting down seven more,” he replied.

  My cab pulled into the parking lot. My ears rang as I told the driver which hotel-motel to take me to with credit card and cash in hand. The fake ID sat behind my real driver’s license.

  The hotel-motel was just a few miles away and visible from the highway. The brown building looked like a prefabricated barn. I paid the driver and I yanked my bags out just as he took off. A tall, bespectacled man in the front office watched me through the oversized rectangular window. He came out as I struggled to the curb and he asked, “Can I help you?”

  “No I got it.”

  The scent of rubbing alcohol burned as I entered the office with a flat chime. He slipped back around the cheap wood counter. The burl veneer was peeling at the corners.

  “Do you have reservations?” the tall man asked.

  “No, will that be a problem?” I asked.

  “Oh no, there are plenty of rooms left, actually it’s somewhat slow.”

  I fingered through my wallet, pulled out my credit card, fake ID and counted the cash.

  “How much for six nights?” I asked.

  “Three hundred and twenty dollars with tax.”

  “Could I pay for it now in cash?” I asked.

  “That would be fine sir,” the man said and straightened his glasses.

  “All right, I will take it,” I said.

  He started typing on his computer and asked, “May I see your credit card and another form of identification proving you are twenty-one, preferably a driver’s license.”

  They spun to a stop on the counter after a weak toss.

  I stepped back and crossed my arms.

  “I have a little problem. This is an out of state license and I can’t verify it so I will have to call the police.”

  My chest clenched and sweat dripped down my sides. I put my hand up to interrupt his phone call.

  “I have other identification like my school ID and another credit card, so that is enough back up, you think?”

  I grabbed them out of my wallet and gave them to him.

  “Oh, you go to the college. I thought you were just passing through,” he said.

  “My plans for spring break fell through so I was forced to stay in town.”

  He looked at me and said, “That’s why the traffic around your school was so busy the other day. Vacation, how wonderful! My cousin went to your school, but she graduated ten years ago so you wouldn’t know her.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  Identification and credit cards went back in the wallet without resistance and I was escorted to my room above the alley that separated the two main buildings. We climbed the stairs and he warned me the hand railings were just painted. They were shiny black. Up to the second floor and he handed me a key.

  “If there’s anything you need just ask,” he said and left me alone.

  As I entered, the air conditioning unit was cranking out heat below the window and I turned it off. One bed, one dresser, one table, a phone and TV waited in the dark.

  I put my bag at the foot of the bed made up with a quilted eggshell comforter and devised my plan. There was a grocery store two blocks away where I could obtain supplies and there were a few fast food places around if I became ambitious enough to hike. I went to assess the bathroom and it was polished clean. The toilet wasn’t stained and the stooped shower wasn’t filled with mold. Chlorine emanated from the towels. Soap and shampoo lined the mirror above the sink.

  On the slick nylon comforter, I began to read and my eyes failed.

  Sleep couldn’t be denied.

  In what seemed like moments, I was awakened by screeching tires on the main road just a few feet from my room. It was later than I expected.

  The night had jumped upon me and I needed supplies. My fear of going down the street and grabbing a case of decent beer beverage was eliminated by the potential of boredom. I checked to see if the television worked and then turned it off as I stuffed the bulk of my cash under the back leg of the bureau.

  I strolled on the shoulder of the six lane main road up the hill. Every car and truck that went by honked. The grocery store was crowded, kids and moms everywhere, as I stepped through the electronic door. I meandered down the aisle and crammed the cart with enough junk food to last me the duration of my stay. I was not eating much anyway.

  Looking both ways, I grabbed three cases of mid-priced potables and grape soda. No way was I going to drink the tap water.

  The wait in line was annoying and I the pressures mounted. A girl in pig tails was rang me up. She never asked for my ID.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Come again,” she said.

  I figured my scruffiness ploy worked as I slung the two plastic bags around my shoulders, took one case under my armpit and the others by the handles. The cardboard handles began to cut into my hands half way to my quiet room. The perishables went in the bathtub and I took a plastic bag down next to office where the vending and ice machines sat. The ice machine was coin/cash operated. Each grind of ice spit out just enough to cover the bottom of the bag. I went back four times and spent over two buck in quarters.

  A gust of car exhaust coughed in and gave the room a hint of truck stop ambience as I entered. The television clicked on and I opened up a drink. I ended up watching the local news while munching on a bag of Funions. I drank and smoked.

  Sleep couldn’t be denied.

  The cleaning lady in a white uniform came each day. She never smiled.

  Neither did I.