Getting Lost

 

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           I was a long, very long way from home. Out of the rain.           
            Sunlight beat into the Greyhound window, creating a strange effect. AC behind and heat under the glass.
            Outside, along the freeway, was a low, dry looking landscape, loosely covered with harsh vegetation. Desert tan and blackish green. I didn’t see a single building. Good. I liked it that way. The words of A Horse With No Name were unspooling in my sleepy mind. It had been a long journey.
            The sign said “Luminous”, and the bus turned off onto the two lane asphalt road, with a lurch, like entering another world. Five more miles. Population: 3211.
            This node on the ganglion of the American highway system didn’t even have a one room Greyhound station.  It had a bus stop.
            The bus stopped and a cloud of dust kept on going the same way without us. Auspicious. What did the dust know?
            I was the lone rider getting off in Luminous. I stood, yawned, grabbed my smaller bag and bumped my way down the aisle, excusing myself sotto voce to the shoulders of the passengers I would never see again.
            Outside, the driver, small, dark, Hispanic, opened the hatch on the bottom of the bus and handed me my larger bag. He nodded, said “Ma’am,” and re-boarded his bus. As I stood there, the bus rolled on through town and vanished around a turn in the road.
            I had researched this place. I knew there was a small motel one block off the highway. Shady Rest maybe, or Desert Rose, it didn’t matter. I hoped they weren’t full up. Didn’t seem too likely.
            I wasn’t really dressed for September in Texas at noon. Nights in the bus had actually been cold. So here I was in long sleeves and jeans, starting to feel the heat. I took a quick break to pin my hair up. I hoisted the smaller bag, strap over my shoulder, grabbed the handle of the rolling case and went looking for the motel. Desert Rest? “We’ll see,” I said to myself.

            There are no sidewalks in Luminous. I saw no one on the street as I headed down 1^st, the first side street after the bus stop. It was comprised of packed earth and some gravel with a dusty verge. I pressed on, feeling the heat. Nothing like this temp happened where I was from.
            The next street over was called Minor Ave. OK. Looking to my left, I could see the Shady Rose, shining adobe painted a pinkish tan color in the next block. Onward.
            Cacti plantings crowded the soil in front of the office building. In the large window facing the street, such as it was, was a neon sign blinking “vacancy.” It was the old courtyard style of motel with ten units spaced out in a row. Some deciduous trees which I didn’t recognize cast some shade on most of the units. Hence, Shady Rest.
            I think I frightened the girl behind the desk when I opened the door. Maybe it didn’t happen much. Her nose had been pointed at her phone as she thumbed through shorts. She was Anglo, about 20 years, give or take, and in charge here. A natural blond, but not a beauty.
            “Hello,” I said, “Nice to get in out of the heat!” I parked my bags on the floor beside me.
            “Hi, can I help you,” she delivered her line well enough.
            “I’m looking for a room, maybe for a couple of weeks,” I said.
            “I have five open. I can put you in one under the trees,” said Toni. Her badge said Antonia. She claimed to be Toni.
            “$50.00 per night. We’re not fancy. Just clean. I clean them myself. Your name?” asked Toni.
            “Jenae Renton," I said. I paid in advance for a week in cash. She didn’t know a thing about Renton. She made no comment.
            So, I followed Toni out to number 7, under the tree. She said it was a locust tree, when I asked about it. She handed me one of those old style keys with a plastic doohickey on it with the number 7 stamped in. She opened the door and stood back, letting me pull my case in before she followed.
She marched in and switched on the air.
            I looked around. “It’s perfect Ms. Antonia,” I said. And it was perfect. Very clean obviously. A double bed, Navajo print on the spread. A little Formica table with a phone, two diner style chairs. A little apt size fridge. A TV, just like the old days. Through an open door in the opposite wall I saw a small bathroom with a plain shower, sink and so on. There was a nice desert landscape print over the bed. It smelled dry, with a hint of Fabuloso lavender cleaning liquid. Good girl, Toni.
            She said, “Bye, Mrs. Renton,” and took off.
            I closed the door after her and said out loud, “what a swell place to vanish!” And I meant it!