That Night

THAT NIGHT

The weather couldn’t have been more inclement. The Midwest was famous for these sudden summer afternoon Thunderstorms. The temperature had dropped more than fifteen degrees in less than twenty minutes. Thunderheads loomed large on the eastern horizon and lightening sparked often enough to make thunderclaps sound continuous. Maureen Talbot pulled off the road as soon as she could. The Paradise Park Motor Lodge looked a bit too seedy for her upper middle class sensibilities but with the impending storm she couldn’t be too picky. A delay would make her late to the attorney’s office for the deposition but she had to think about her child’s safety first. Once the rain started, the roads would be slippery and although she was confident of her own driving ability, she wisely distrusted the stranger on the road unaware of how to avoid hydroplaning. It hadn’t begun raining yet but her apprehension ballooned with every wind-blown minute.

She pulled off the road into the motor lodge nearly empty parking lot. She stopped the car as close to the office as she could get and put it in park. The engine stuttered to a stop when she turned it off. She made a mental note to tell Phil about that. Phil, ha. She shook her head in wonder that he would come to mind at a time like this. She hurried to unbuckle her four year old son, Graham from the child seat secured in the back of her 1995 Pontiac Station wagon. “It isn’t our car any more, Phil,” she thought to herself. “It’s mine now, I’ll insist on it, you damn two-timing weasel.” Grahams’ innocent giggle brought her train of thought back to the station wagon. She bundled the boy into a blanket to shelter him from the cold wind and dashed into the motel’s office.

A rotund man with a salt and pepper beard sat behind the counter smoking a cigarette. She stopped in her tracks and asked the man to put that out. She indicated concern about second hand smoke for the child. The man grunted and stamped the butt into the ashtray. The man spoke gruffly as if he’d been rudely interrupted and announced they had no vacancies. Maureen felt that sting of irrational intolerance again. She jerked as if he had slapped her across the face. The way he looked at her; his dismissive manor; she knew he was lying. This wasn’t her first time at the racist dance. She looked out the window at the empty parking lot. As she mentally counted only three cars other than hers, the NO VACANCY light was suddenly turned on. The man grinned to expose his rotting heart and missing teeth. Sardonically he suggested she “just go back to where you come from.”

A massive clap of thunder announced a lightning strike in close proximity and the start of a deluge of rain falling as if God himself had smashed an enormous water balloon on the roof. The lights flickered and then went out. The ceiling fan, spinning at high speed, began to slow down. The t.v. in the next room went silent. The man exploded an f-bomb and dashed out of the room. Maureen was keenly aware of suddenly finding herself in a sticky situation. She looked out the window again. The rain fell in sheets and nearly blocked the view of the roadside sign. No lights were visible. This was a power outage beyond the building in which she sheltered. “This rain is going to continue for a while,” she assured herself. “And this cracker is denying me safe harbor.” She challenged herself to reason with him. “Please help me!” She was shocked to hear her own voice mouthing the words.

An older woman appeared in the doorway yelling at back at the man. “You heard me, you racist bigot. Go to your room. I’ll handle this. What were you thinking? We need all the customers we can get.” She turned back to smile at Maureen and offered apologies for his unacceptable behavior. “You need a room? Cash only. Just over night?”

I don’t have any cash. But I do have collateral. See this diamond ring? I’m going to pawn it as soon as I get into town. She worked the ring off her finger with some difficulty. A tear in her eye, she handed it to the woman. The older woman looked at the ring and then back at Maureen. She smiled at Graham and he smiled back and waved at her. He giggled again. “I’ll just hold on to this for now,” clucked the old woman. The woman put the ring in the pocket of her apron and pushed the registry book across the counter.

That night, as Maureen filled out the form, she felt an odd relief at having taken the ring off her finger. She felt free. Yes, that’s it. Free. The jealousy that had prompted her to file for divorce seemed suddenly unimportant. Without a diamond tying her to Phil; she thought, “keep the rock, I’ll move through this hard place.”