The Trip

The Trip

It took Amy forever, to be ready for this trip. It’s been two years, and she still feels empty inside. She needs to come up with a plan. A plan for when she has nothing more to do. Amy has been living in a world that she has wanted to escape from, since the very, beginning.

They quickly left the hotel somewhere in North Carolina. Quite quickly as a matter of fact. With traveling to different places, comes different foods. And those different foods from different places gave Amy a different problem. Every window that could open was open. The boys were being choked, out of the hotel room. But they were ready to go, for once. This is something she hopes they will never forget.

That your mom made the biggest, and the best, stink.

They mainly left early because Amy was obviously up. And when she’s up, she’s up. There’s no going back to sleep. Besides, she wanted to hit the beach as soon as possible. Her eyes were clear and open. Wide, open. Yesterday all she wanted to do was hurry up and get the drive over with. And today all she wants is the sun to never set. For the first time in a great while, Amy saw the beauty in almost everything that was out her window.

Something she’d only seen in the movies.

She wondered what her life would be like if they had put down roots someplace else. In a state where people talked a little odd. A humorous, kind of odd.

When they crossed the state line, Amy felt them getting closer. The air was different. The sky began to remind her of when she was younger. As far out as she could see. She had a sweatshirt on to cover her arms because it was a tad bit freezing cold. But when Amy saw the beach-ware stores lining the streets, relaxation began to sink in.

Until they parked the car and got out.

The, people.

There could have been a lot more people, but still. It was too early, and a little too cold.

When they walked through the doors the people, that oversaw the front counter let them know that there is a deal for them in the waiting.

They could upgrade the one-room suite with two beds and a wall view…

To a two-bedroom suite with a kitchen and two diner-type tables. Three dressers and a sliding glass door that has an ocean view.

If they wanted.

For a small fee.

This was the first resort hotel vacation that she has been on since she was seven-ish or eight-ish.

The Disneyland Hotel.

Anaheim, California. Space Mountain. Wow.

Just wow...

She remembers crying on that rollercoaster.

Anyway, this hotel on the beach was awesome. Just like the thousands of others that filled up the coast as far as the eye could see. Out of a billion places to choose from, it would not have made one bit of difference which one to stay at. They were all, tall. And of course, they were all, not cheap.

And…

They were all, kid friendly. These hotels were full of high school boys, from a thousand different traveling baseball leagues. (Another reason Amy was glad she didn’t have girls). Boys…

Boys. Boys.

Everywhere, there was boys.

They were put all the way up on the eighth floor. Eight floors may not seem high. But it was also eight floors down. With a swimming pool landing. A pool deep enough not, to break your ankles when having to jump from a towering inferno.

The pool was surrounded by few hundred, empty sun chairs. And those sun chairs, sat upon hard cement. She had it scanned and planned. Her way out. If such an occasion were to occur. She knows every angle in which to throw her body on the bone crunching deck. She sees how to land perfectly into the pool below.

The boys were geeked. It had an indoor-outdoor, water park. They were doubly geeked when they realized that this water park was heated. Amy chose the hot tub. No, young kids. Not really any adults, either. Just peace, and bubbles.

Chlorine, peace, and bubbles...

When the kids opened the door to their room they needed to use a key card. And as soon as the door beeped…

It swung open into a regular looking hotel room. With two purple, but reddish-brown double beds. That had no blankets.

There were two exit doors by a table and a lamp.

By a dresser with a bible.

There was also a television that Amy ever-so-quickly thought that it would need to be moved. So it didn’t sit in front of the only window that there was. She has to make a clear path. A reason why she tells the boys to pick up their stuff.

Rigamarole.

She most definitely needed to open the purple-red light-out shades.

So she threw open the curtains and about twenty feet away stood a massive, hotel.

Closed, the drapey shall stay.

There was a door that opened up into a room. A room that seemed to have no end. Amy didn’t glance at the brochures that were all strewn all across the table. The moment she saw the sliding glass door Amy’s eyes were gone. All gone…

There was a balcony that looked down into a pool.

Eight floors down.

Then out...

This was her spot. This was the spot she chose to spend her time. Watching. Along with listening, thinking, and remembering.

And of course, smoking.

Pure …

Heaven.

Her, kind of heaven.

.

Time you enjoy wasting, is not wasted. -John Lennon

It didn’t take long for the adults to find their place(s).

And it didn’t take long for both the boys to be where they wanted to be. A nano-second.

The beach, and the thousands of pools.

Go…

Just, go. Have fun. They told the kids to do whatever, they wanted.

They practically needed to push them. But when the smell of the chlorine hit their noses…

Poof…

All…

Gone.

.

Amy doesn’t get tired of sitting on a balcony eight stories high. But she wasn’t, just sitting.

While she was sitting, she was drinking coffee. She was also smoking while drinking her coffee. Amy loves to smoke. A love-hate relationship. She loves the relief and calmness that a cigarette’s first drag in the morning gives her.

But she doesn’t like the harm in what she is doing to herself and those around her.

She doesn’t like the ugly looks and the ugly words that nonsmokers use when there is a lit cigarette around them. She always asks people if they would mind if she smoked. And if someone says yes, which is everybody, she will wait for a better time, and or, place. Which is never, and nowhere. But still. She knows where to smoke. And where, not to smoke. Without all the signs, even. One right after the other. Like a smoke-stack.

Staring out over the ocean...

Thinking and planning.

And…

Thinking and planning. Trying to sort it all out.

To have an idea.

To make a, plan.

Maybe.

As Amy thought aboutfalling down eight flights of stairs, she wondered why she didn’t take the elevator. Thinking about it, it’s probably because she didn’t have her shoes on. Or her flip flops. If she had those on, she would probably trip on the first step headed down. Or up. She thinks it is going to make her stronger if she takes the stairs.

The road less untraveled.

There are delightful sounds that set off itty-bitty firecrackers in her head.

They can go off at any moment.

Bang, bang, bang...

Amy has a crystal hang-y thing that she has had for as long as she can remember. Her father bought it for her mother at a gift shop in California. It sits on the porch on the only side that gets any, direct sunlight. Through the trees.

Amy has moved that thing I don’t know how many times. Clang-clang-clang.

Ching-Ching….

Chip.

She wants to get it fixed because now all of the crystal pieces are in a box with a lid.

Ugh.

Amy felt too rushed to waste any time.

Every store was the same.

Same clothes, same hats, same magnets.

All of it. Same-same-same. Identical. Each and every store.

She definitely has to get a cup.

Or two.

A coffee cup. Not a mug. A, cup. Not too big, and not too small.

More likely than not, she will get a magnet. A hobby her mom has always had.

Epiphany...

There was a lady who Amy’s mother knew that collected magnets.

So, so many.

She was practically eating her magnets. Amy remembers walking into her kitchen her refrigerator smothered, with magnets. What???

Colors with words and letters and different things, sticking to her eyes. She couldn’t really see anything else. They were everywhere. Amy picked up that habit when she first moved to Michigan. One for every state she has been in. Her fridge was once covered in them. Amy began to throw them away when they began to take up too much refrigerator space. Dishwasher, and stove space too.

Their car was packed, full, of vacation. Wrappers from fast food garbage. With receipts from, who knows where.

With sand.

Two weeks full of sand. And bags. And sand, in bags.

Bags that were ready to be filled with wrappers.

With receipts.

That were stuck…to sand.

The sand was endless.

By now everyone was ready to go. Some sooner than others.

They should have gotten gas and left.

But no.

The jingles, and the jangles. Wind streamers blowing in the breeze. Soft bumps of seashell mobiles stuffing up her ears. Crystals and shiny things hanging from every inch, of the ceiling.

Clinking, and clanking...

Clanging and clinking…

This is the last stop.

Yes.

The last stop.

For a long, long, time.

Amy was ready to drive, the whole way home.

The whole, way.

But.

But there were pretty things all strewn about.

There was every different type of T-shirt with tie-dye colors all over everywhere. Splashes of yellows, blues, purples, and greens. Purple is a funny color. Lol. It’s like a million miniature lightbulbs going off in her head all at once. A sonic boom sort of thing.

It was too much for her this time. She walked out as soon as she walked in. When Jason came in through the out-door, Amy threw him a box of pecans and said she’s ready.

She told the boys to get back in the car as she hurried to get into her spot all belted up, shoes off, and a pillow on her lap. She had everything that she needed within reach. No matter where she sits in the car, there must be a mirror to her left. And a mirror to her, right. And one in front of her looking back. She doesn’t like cars behind her. People, either.

She wishes that she had eyes on the back of her head.

Amy took in a deep breath and thought to herself, let’s go already.

Get me out…

…of this traffic.

She was thinking of all the things that she needs to fix. All the things that they need to fix. The mess that needs to be put away. Or moved from where it is. She calls it rig-a-ma-rolling.

Rig-a-ma-rolling:

Fixing something that is broken, with whatever works.

For that moment.

And for however long, it holds.

In this moment Amy has no idea, how long they have been on the road.

She has been quietly listening to the speakers. Boom-BA-Boom.

BOOM.

BOOMBOOM.

Boom...

Anger has been seeping through of her mind. She must have been out of her mind. She still had a long drive home and she wasn’t going to let anything bring her down. They would never get home if Jason were driving. Putt-putt.

SWERVE-SWERVE.

I’m…awake!

She just wanted to get lost, so she turned the music up. All it took was the first track and her head was in the clouds.

Kind of.

She needed to put her mind aside. In that moment she was, out of her mind. She wants to do something with the energy that she feels from the noise that is quietly screaming, through the speakers.

She can hear it…

She can feel it...

But she can’t move.

Everything was sinking in.

Sinking in deep.

Amy has no recollection of what she was listening to.

She just knows it was something heavy. BOOM.

BOOM-BOOM.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

Boom.

She doesn't know how long, nor how far, she has been driving. Not, a clue. A safe driver that does not, make. All she wanted to do was write down the words that were going through her head.

As not to forget.

Things seemed to be whizzing by. Her mind in a conundrum. Absolutely nothing, looked familiar.

She was just here last week on the other side, but still. It looked the same. And it felt absolutely, no different. The feelings that she wants to go away, are still there. Just in a different spot. Some things shifted, and some things went away. Most things stay the same.

But the more things are changing, the more Amy gets behind. She is still a wife. She is still a mother, and a daughter. And a sister.

She does feel somewhat different, though.

She thinks it may be the altitude.

Whatever the reason being, she did not feel like herself. She was white knuckle nervous the whole, time she was moving.

Up the hills…

…and down, the hills.

They went up, and up. And they went down and down. Slipping through tunnels and going over mountains. On top of mountains. It seemed like a video game. Amy was going up. And Amy was going down. She was speeding around people that were driving too slow, in the fast lane.

The right lane too.

All while swerving around the trucks that were gasping for air to get up the hills. Going downhill her gas pedal was nearly to the floor. They were flying down the lanes trying to escape the eighteen-wheeler headlights from coming through the mirrors.

While they were speeding through the narrow tunnels, practically scratching the paint off the car. She was holding her breath and closing one eye thinking OMG, through each and every hole in the mountain. La-la la…

For what seemed like hours, they went up, and down. Up, down. The tunnels were so narrow, Amy would shut her eyes at the beginning of the hole and open them up when she knew that they fit through okay. When she saw a light, at the end of the tunnel.

The right lane was full of trucks struggling to make up the steep inclines. The only reason Amy ever drives in the slow lane is when she needs to get around the putt putts in the left lane. Going downhill she did not want to be in the right lane. The trucks with their loud squeaky brakes were in that lane. Impatiently barreling down the Holler. Sticking their big bright-white eyes right smack dab, in the rear-view mirror. And her right mirror. The left one, too.

The middle mirror, all headlights.

All the way, through the Appalachian Mountain range.

She felt the breath of sleepless truckers breathing down the back, of her neck.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Go-go go.

Move-move.

MOVE…

At first, the loud voices were drowned out.

Amy.

…Amy.

AMY!!!

Mom??

MommmMOMMM!!!

Amy’s head snapped back to reality.

Literally.

She extinguished out the air that she had been holding in for what seemed like days.

As she was soaring off the off ramp her St. Christopher swinging and dinging off of her windshield. He’s been there ever since…

He has also been with her on every up down, and side to side motion.

Tink-Tink…

Tink.

She now heard the boys loud, and clear.

“MOOOM, YOU ARE SCARING US!"

That was all she heard besides the screeching sound that the tires made when the Focus came to a stop. A tire-burning stop. Amy did not slam on the breaks.

She had to first slow down.

Pick a spot.

And then step firmly, onto the brakes.

REALLY HARD.

Hard enough for everybody's seatbelts to give an uncomfortable tug to their necks.

She couldn’t tell if the boys were screaming at her, or if they were crying because they were terrified. Trevor and Logan, they were both white as ghosts. Jason…

He was super perturbed. He was beet, red.

As Amy hobbled out of the car, she was flying to the other side.

Open, shut...

Open….

Shut-really-hard.

Choking over her words she instantly caught her surroundings. When she looked up, she took a long, long pause. As she wasn't, listening to the muffled screams coming from inside of the Focus. She immediately saw it...

Out of all the homes in this itty-bitty town, Amy landed them in front of a mortuary slash police station slash funeral home.

Slash, lube oil and filter, stop.

Was this a sign?

Her brain actually hurt.

The only part that Jason drove was a blur. She must’ve been tired. Amy is normally awake when Jason drives, any-where. That became a habit early on. To be alert when he is driving. There are a lot more mailboxes in Tucson, but the ones that are still standing tall in Michigan are very few and very far between. Jason never missed those.

She needs to keep her eyes on the road, so they don’t end up in a ditch.

Or off a mountain into a yard of broken-down cars.

EPIPHAMY.

One day Amy fell down a rabbit hole.

So, to speak.

Or maybe, she was born there. Because for as long as she can remember, she has always been trying to climb, her way out.

… am I, or the other ones crazy?

Edward R. Murrow

To be continued…