The hotel where the music gig got us a room was being rebuilt. Our door was sanded down to the metal. The elevator didn’t work, so we carried our bags to the second floor. The beds and bedding were new, the carpet old, the toilet new and not attached to the floor. And too tall. People have changed shape, and I suppose it’s difficult for overweight people to stand up from a lower seat. I hope this isn’t a trend that catches on everywhere. I’m short.
The past and present merged best in the old phone which had not yet been removed. It sat next to a lamp with outlets on the base, and it was a big flat yellowed dusty thing, with numbers listed for a wake-up call, front desk, even someone named Howard Johnson. I think room service too, all leftovers of the era when I was first in Gatlinburg and a hotel a block from the main drag would have been the lap of luxury. Now, it was $58/night, although that would likely change once it stopped being a construction site.
When I got between the clean sheets next to the husband I hadn’t yet met back then, I thought about a campground a mile or so away where two young people huddled in a tent with too much light on a ground meant for RVs, feeling like fish out of water. I got up in the night and pulled the heavy drapes completely closed against the outdoor lights, got a cup of water, placed it on the nightstand near the ancient phone. Thinking about those kids, I curled up and went to sleep.
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