***
I lock the door and gently lay my forehead flat against the cool wood. I can't get a read on Nash or his relationship with my brother. If I hadn't overheard their conversation last night I wouldn't even think twice about it, but something still feels off even though I have no proof.
I've always been a bit overprotective of James, a majority of that anxiety stemming from the trauma we experienced as kids and his recent less-than-spectacular behavior. Even my being away for four years has done little to quell the gnawing worry that resides in the back of my mind. I know I definitely should go to therapy, but the thought of spilling my guts to anyone has me nauseous.
I take a deep breath and push away from the door. I might as well use this time to water the houseplants like promised.
I pull off my boots and shrug my jacket off, throwing it on the couch, before padding into the kitchen. If I remember correctly, my mother keeps the watering can under the sink and I crouch down there to check. The cabinet is cluttered with cleaning products, but I spy the green can in the back and pull it out.
"Alexa, play oldies on Spotify," I command the device located on the kitchen island. A few seconds later, Stevie Nicks' smooth voice sounds over the speakers. I fill the watering can up with water from the sink and hum along.
As kids, our parents would always play music from the 70's-80's. Hearing it in this house again is extremely nostalgic and brings back memories of childhood—family vacations over summer break... spending all day running around the neighborhood, always trailing behind James as our parents let him go wherever he wanted as long as he towed me along... birthdays with always more than a dozen kids packed into our backyard... sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, James quietly slipping me a five to finish his math worksheets.
I slowly make my way around the house, watering all the plants that look dry, as the playlist continues.
It's not until I hear the first few bars of "Lyin' Eyes" by the Eagles that I realize I'm crying, tears streaming down my cheeks and dripping off my chin onto the floor.
I place the watering can down on the hall table and wipe at my face with my sleeves. Several emotions swirl in my chest and I struggle to discern which is responsible for my sudden change in mood.
Maybe it's the nostalgia of a time when everything felt so light and easy. Maybe it's the pressure of being back home after four years and realizing everything is the same, but somehow drastically different...
No. I'm what's different.
I'm not the same person who packed all her belongings into her tiny sedan and up and left home on that random day in February. I'm not the same person who drove South and just kept going, with no plan or idea of where to go, just knowing I had to get out.
Starting completely from scratch, no friends, no family, no job or place to call home, irreversibly changed me. With this persistent, ever-tightening knot in my stomach four years later, I'm unsure if that change was for the better.
I crumple to the floor, tears continuing to stream freely down my face, and I remember my first night in Portland.
***Four Years Prior***
I'd been driving for four hours before the reality of what I was doing hit me like a ton of bricks. My vision begins to swim with un-shed tears and I grip the steering wheel as if it’s all I have left, and in a way it is.
I’ve never felt as truly alone as I do in this moment.
I contemplate taking the next exit, turning around, and returning home, but my heart adamantly refuses. I can't go back after this. I can't face them and admit the events that transpired over the past year. I will do anything to guarantee that I never see the disappointment in their faces when they find out, because they they eventually will.
So, I keep driving.
Some time later, I cross the bridge leading me out of Washington and stare blankly at the "Welcome to Oregon" sign. An unsettling calm, a nothingness, has blanketed my emotions and I'm grateful for the reprieve. In the back of my mind I know this feeling isn't a good sign, but I'm too mentally and emotionally drained to care.
I drive on autopilot until my brain snaps back into awareness and I see that I've made it into Portland. I consciously exhale for what feels like the first time in hours and slowly start to notice the heaviness in my limbs, the gnawing in my stomach, and the headache accumulating behind my eyes.
I catch a motel sign out of the corner of my eye and take the next exit, the price or cleanliness of a room not even a concern in my mind. I just need somewhere to be still.
I follow the exit signs until they lead me to a dingy motel. I can hear the crunch of gravel (or maybe it's glass) under my tires as I pull into a vacant parking spot.
Taking a moment to gather myself, I flip down the visor and look into the mirror. My face looks strange, the features unrecognizable, though when I frown I can see the expression replicated and know it must be me.
I keep my mind blank as I throw open the door and cross the parking lot over to the entrance of the motel.
The building is a large concrete rectangle that has two floors and could use a fresh coat of paint. I can see a few rooms with open curtains, showing random snatches of activity from their patrons. As I pull open the door to the lobby and step in, I can smell cigarette smoke and windex.
"Be there in a sec," a voice calls from somewhere behind the front desk.
I don't bother with an answer and just shuffle over to stand by the desk.
A few moments later a lanky, older man in a faded Hawaiian shirt and a newsboy cap appears in the doorway leading from the front desk to a back room. He has an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear and I can't tell if he's closer to forty or sixty based on his face.
"Heya. What can I do you for?" He tilts his head and gives me a slight smile as he walks over to the computer on the desk.
"Just a room for tonight," I manage. Then, as more of an afterthought, I add "please".
Hawaiian shirt nods his head and momentarily gives me a look as if he's trying to figure something out before jiggling the mouse and focusing his attention on the computer screen.
"As luck would have it, we have one room available tonight. It'll be $78 for the total. Can I have your ID and a credit card?" I slide the items out of my wallet and place them on the desk. He picks them up and grabs a paper off of a stack to his left.
"Thanks. I'll also need you to fill this out. Make sure to include your signature at the bottom."
I nod and grab a pen out of the cup in front of me, quickly filling out the required information.
"Eh," the man grunts as he studies my ID. I look up. "We don't rent to minors. You have to be at least 21."
I give him a blank stare for a few seconds as the words register in my head. Shit, I'm only 18. "I—"
He cuts me off. "I'll make an exception. But, just for tonight."
I nod. "Thank you. I plan to be out of here pretty early."
He hands me my ID and credit card back and takes the paper from in front of me.
"You'll be in 2D. Up the stairs outside, fourth door down." He grabs a plastic room key and swipes it before handing it to me.
I thank him and walk out the door, back to my car. For tonight I'll just need a change of clothes and I randomly dig through boxes until I find something suitable. Once I have them in my hands I lock the car and head to my room.
Once inside, I give the room a once over. It's dark with the curtains drawn, two queen beds are side-by-side, cramped into the space. The room smells like oranges and stale cigarette smoke, though I didn't expect anything else. I flick the light on and throw my clothes onto the bed nearest me.
My eyes flutter closed and I feel the wall I built to keep my emotions at bay start to tremble. It'll fall soon, but not yet.
I guess this is home for tonight.
***
