The Vending Machine

The wind blew through the open window of my shabby motel room. The window, not by choice, had been ajar due to its age and the cracked seal around it. I hadn’t anticipated being snowed in for three days on my journey back from Chicago. Life had been full of surprises. My stomach growled in protest at the lack of food it had endured during those days of being snowed in. There had been no delivery services in that little town, and there certainly hadn’t been a cab willing to brave two feet of snow to take me to the nearest fast-food restaurant. My stomach grumbled again, begging for something to fill its emptiness.

Upon my arrival a few days ago, I searched each motel floor for food or drinks, but not even a mouse dared to enter the cold. While there had been a noticeable absence of wildlife and other living beings, there had also been no food—nothing containing calories. The only vending machine I found was on the ground floor, filled with ice. Technically speaking, ice was just frozen water, and water was something. My tired mind finally caught up with my hungry feet. Ice would have had to be my dinner for the night

I threw my coat around my shoulders and slipped into my soaked boots. The fabric absorbed every flake that touched its surface, transferring moisture to my last pair of socks. I would dry them with a hairdryer later. I moved to open the door, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal doorknob; it felt as if I was holding a ball of fire—it was that frigid. I pulled once, but the door didn’t budge. Some movement was at the bottom, but the lock was frozen solid. I pulled again, applying more force with my arms. The decrepit wood groaned in protest, unwilling to move in that ice storm. I made one final attempt to open the door before surrendering to my hunger. I placed my foot against the wall beside the door and added more leverage behind my pull. I grasped the icy knob with both hands and yanked. This time, the door did more than moan; it screamed and released a series of...cracks and shrieks before it finally broke loose. The momentum threw me back, forcing my body to collide with the corner of the dresser behind me.

The wood abraded my back, ripping skin as my body sunk to the floor. The wound throbbed and pain spread through every nerve in my back; I tried to pull myself off the floor. All this for a fucking bucket of ice, I thought, revisiting the idea to see if it's even worth the trouble. I staggered to the bathroom mirror; the distorted reflection showed me the gash in my back that was already beginning to bruise. Blood freckled the area of exposed tissue. I had no first aid supplies, let alone a single band-aid. The gash wasn’t nasty enough for me to need to be stitched, but it did hurt like hell. It was as if that godforsaken trip couldn't get any worse. I just wanted to be home. I missed my dogs and my cat. I missed sleeping in my bed. I missed doors that open and dressers without sharp corners. 

I soaked a washcloth in warm water and pressed it against my wound. Unfortunately, it was on my shoulder blade, making it nearly impossible to reach without holding my breath and contorting like a Cirque du Soleil performer. I lathered the soap bar on the cloth, then thoroughly cleaned the area. I could only imagine the germs on those bed sheets, let alone the corner of that dresser. If I had lifted the fitted sheet, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find the mattress stained with bodily fluids. Who knew what else? I left that disturbing image to my imagination; I preferred not to know. After cleaning my shredded back as best as possible, I walked to the slightly ajar door and stepped outside. The wind took my breath away, injecting its frigid air into every pore of my body. Damn, this was miserable. I tried to place my feet in the same footprints I had made the other day, but they had been filled with fresh snowfall. I stomped my foot into the white powder, breaking through the top layer of ice and sinking into the snow. The snow hit just below my knees, instantly soaking my jeans. I waded through the snowdrifts, passing vacant rooms with broken windows, much like mine. Snow blocked a quarter of their doors. 

I wondered if there were people in there who couldn't get out. Little did they know, they just needed to hoist their foot up on the door, pull real hard, and then fly into a dresser corner. Then it would pop right open! I shook my head, disappointed and longing to be home. The trip to Chicago to see my sister went in the exact direction I thought it would. She was mean, tried to embarrass me when I spoke to anyone, and seemed to hate me. It was the first time I had seen her in over four years since she moved from Oregon to Chicago. You might have thought she would have been happy to see me or, at the very least, show me around the new city she called home, but it was the exact opposite.

With every trudging step, my blood grew hot with anger, embarrassment, and sadness. My sister, who was supposed to be closest to me, didn't care about me and my happiness or success. She only cared how I made her look. My parents were much the same. No matter how much I accomplished or tried, I just couldn't catch a moment of acknowledgment from them. I came across an alcove I had encountered the previous night while looking for food. If I remembered correctly, this one should have had an ice machine. I climbed out of the snow onto the covered awning and stomped as much snow as possible off my lower half, soiled clothing left in its wI took a breath. Two doors occupied the alcove. To my left was a door that read ‘maintenance,’ and to my right was the door labeled ‘ice.’ I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that my unprecedented exploration had come to an end. I opened the door to the ice room; it opened quickly. There was no huffing or puffing this time: no slammed body and unnatural force. Stepping into the surprisingly warm room, my eyes watched a box of glorious light hidden in the corner. In the corner, a large rectangle emitted glowing incandescent light, rows and rows of items occupied the space, and a number pad was on the left: my sweet lord, a vending machine.

It took only two more significant steps to reach the vending machine. I pressed both palms against the glass, eager to rip the metal box apart, screw by tedious screw, to get to the food it held. I hoped to buy chips, cookies, or perhaps seven Snickers bars. However, when my rose-colored glasses faded, I no longer saw the bright packaging that promised a slick, oily residue, leaving behind a chemically sweet aftertaste after devouring the entire pack. Instead, I found glowing, circular orbs with etched writing on the front. They looked almost like pearls, similar in size to a billiard ball or a softball. The presence of these orbs was captivating, pulling my gaze closer to the machine, my face pressed against the glass. My eyes traced over the rows of ethereal light, attempting to make out the words etched on the surface.

I read the row, bulbs by delicate, glowing bulb. Each row had a different prompt. The top row of the starlit ball read ‘Your funniest laugh’. The second was ‘Your Happiest Memory’. The third was ‘Your Most Peaceful State’. The fourth was ‘The Time You Almost Fell in Love’. And finally, in the last row, read ‘What You Always Wanted to Say but Didn't’. I didn't know what kind of joke this was, but my hopes were up with the impression that these were snacks, not toys. I pulled my face from the glass, leaving an oil smudge where my forehead had rested. I rolled my eyes at the joke of a machine and turned towards the ice dispenser. I pressed the nozzle to release some ice but was met with the sound of metal grinding until it came to a stop. You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. Not only was I faced with a stupid kid's toy of a vending machine, but the ice dispenser, the only thing I had come for, was broken. This couldn't get any worse. My voice rang in my head. I turned my back to the machines and opened the door.

Using minimal force, I swung the door open. The frustration that coursed through my veins had added a bit of aggression to my movement, causing the door to slam into the wall behind it. I sighed, embarrassed that my anger had revealed itself. I quickly checked the wall to make sure I hadn't caused any damage, though I was sure it would go unnoticed in that place. As I turned to walk out the door, I felt a warmth on my back, like there had been a fire behind me, providing a heat I hadn't experienced in days. I turned to see what had been causing this comforting warmth. My eyes fell on the vending machine behind me, its metal surface shining so brightly that it was like staring at the gates of heaven. I squinted in defense, raising my hand to block the light, but in an instant, it dimmed, returning to the regular brightness it projected before. I gave the machine my full attention, positioning my body in front of it. Taking in the mechanism entirely, it seemed to pulse, emitting an energy that enveloped me, drawing me closer. The number pad on the right lit up, each digit blinking one by one, beckoning to be pressed. I took a step forward, then another, until I was just a breath away from the glass. My eyes focused on the third row that read ‘Your Most Peaceful State’. My fingers moved to press the button labeled C2 on the pad, and the machine beeped softly at the touch of the plastic key.

The sound of machinery came to life within the vessel. It shook and rumbled as a mechanical arm on the other side of the glass raised, stopping at the third row before moving to the right. It halted and gently plucked an orb from its designated spot. The orb was lowered into a tube, rolling through it until it came to a stop before me. The automatic door opened, granting me access to the glowing sphere. Hesitantly, I approached the open door and picked up the orb. It was surprisingly warm, the soft glow radiating through my hands and calming the shivers that coursed through my body. I cupped the ball securely in both hands, ensuring it was stable. I rotated it to face me, and I read the etched sentence: "Your Most Peaceful State." Suddenly, my body froze, and my world went black.

**September 25th, 2017**

I was walking with my big dog along a path in a small forest. My pants were long, and the breeze carried mist from the river beyond, signaling the start of a fall chill. It was quiet, except for the sound of my boots and my dog’s rough padded paws hitting the near-frozen ground. Autumn birds were singing in the trees, and woodpeckers were rattling away in search of food. As we walked, the leaves rustled beside us, causing my big dog’s ears to perk up and halt her steps. I felt no fear, only excitement about what might emerge from the bushes. After a few moments, a squirrel, apparently well-fed, jumped into the path and paused to look at me and my dog. I instructed my big dog to sit, and she complied. The squirrel seemed to acknowledge me, as if thanking me because if I hadn’t asked her to sit, my big dog would have caught that squirrel in less than ten seconds. A smile crept across my lips at this small, natural interaction between man and animal, and I continued on our way with my big dog. I found myself reminiscing about that day—a day without cancer, anxiety, fear of the future, separation, college, graduation, sickness, doubt, or regret. There was nothing but a pure sense of peace, and it’s a feeling I longed to experience again. My big dog and I continued down the path, passing fallen trees, trash (which we picked up), squirrels, insects, fishermen, and the occasional four-person family going for a Sunday afternoon walk. The trees had begun to turn, reminding me and all of humanity that nothing lasts forever. Even the leaves on the trees changed, died, and fell to the ground. We came across a break in the trees, revealing a small beach created by the thinning of the river. My big dog led me down the path, ultimately taking a second to mark her territory on a nearby tree, then wading out into the water. I removed my backpack, set it down, and lowered myself into the rough sand. The water flowed at a steady speed, creating a light white noise that filled the empty thoughts in my head. I reach into my bag and pull a copy of “Of Mice and Men” by John Steinbeck. 

I had read the novella many times, but I always carried it in case of times like this. Quiet moments where I could escape for a minute. My big dog finished splashing in the water, came over to me, and shook the river water from her coat. I laughed at her, and she nudged my arm with her wet nose, inviting me to pet her. I stroked her wet fur gently, then tossed a nearby stick into the river for her to retrieve. Instead of fetching it like a typical dog, she walked to the edge of the beach, entered the river, and laid down in the current. She turned her head to look back at me, and I laughed at the carefree, beautiful creature in front of me. I reached into my bag to grab my phone, but it wasn’t there. I had intentionally left it in my car to force myself to stay in the moment. Shaking my head with a smile at my soaking wet dog, I flipped open to the first page of my book. I let the world fall silent, allowing it to disappear around me. There was nowhere to be, nobody to impress, and nothing—absolutely nothing—except pure, authentic peace.

I took a deep breath, my hands felt numb and empty from the energy the bulb had held and had just transported into my body. My eyes opened, my body instinctively lunged to press another button to get another memory, but the vending machine was gone. There was no radiant light warming my body. No pulsating energy pulling me closer. No more rows and rows of what I had known then as memories. 

My memories. 

  My body turned around, frantically searching for the machine. I just wanted one more memory—just one more. I looked down at the mass in my hand and realized it was no longer glowing. It had lost its warmth, and the etched writing on the front had vanished. It was just a cold glass ball now. I reflected on the transportation this little glass ball had provided me. I thought about the peace I had felt—the stillness, the serenity. Amid the chaos I had endured over the past few days—the family conflicts, canceled flights, and the lack of food, water, and warmth—I felt calm. I knew I would soon be home with my big dog. My cat would quickly rub against my legs, meowing at me to fill her food bowl for the third time that day, and soon, my peace would be restored. 

All my anger, fear, and hostility melted away because of that mysterious vending machine.