We were there for a peanut butter convention or whatever it
is people go to convention places for; I have no idea anymore. I was there to
accompany my lovely companion on some adventure she had concocted as a fun
getaway. All seemed well, until we arrived at the hotel. It was a unique
formation of a lodging that sat on the side of a hill nestled between the
mountains. It was a long time forgotten mining site. I think they used to get
coal from the top of the mountains and bring it down this hill. They had
converted old mining cars that went up to the top of the hill into hotel rooms.
Every room sat stationary on the old tracks at a five percent incline. At the
base of the hill the hotel’s main body stood with tennis courts, pool, and a workout
facility. It was connected to the quaint convention center, which reached out further
and touched the forest. The forest was filled almost entirely with evergreens;
it must have looked impressive year round. Luckily, it was late spring and the
skies were clear; the temperature was just perfect and the pine aroma filtered
around the place beautifully.
My lady and I were the first to arrive to the hotel room. It
had a sickly mothball and honeysuckle smell permeating every corner of the main
room. We entered from the top of the car and took stock of our surroundings. Down
the right side there was a bedroom, followed by a bathroom, and then another
bedroom. Along the left wall one could find two more bedrooms. Each door leading
from the main room was intricate and different. It gave an air of mystery as to
what could be behind each door. The width of the main room couldn’t have been
more than ten feet across, but was incredibly deep. At the far end sat the
kitchen area, which was adjusted so that it was level and nothing would fall
off the counters. I’m not much of one to be too close to the main door, so we
chose the room on the far right, just past the bathroom that was closest to the
kitchen.
We pulled our belongings into the room and felt the immediate
horror. It was a room done entirely in leopard prints and other African motifs,
but not authentic in any way (more like how a tourist would believe a room like
this should look). There were plastic masks screwed into the wall, spray-painted
with reds and blacks to make them look older and more authentic. In the center
of the room sat a four-poster bed with a horribly fake looking white tiger
pelt. There was mosquito netting draped over the frame; overall it just looked
cheap. We unpacked and went back into the main room to drudge up some cups of
coffee.
The coffee was percolating nicely. The java smell was
starting to overcome the odd natural odor of the room. Then she walked in the
main door, my ex, looking crestfallen and harried. My current sweetheart had no
idea who this girl was and I was not about to enlighten her. My ex and I hadn’t
ended on the best of terms but we were willing to let bygones be gone.
Essentially, the current relationship with my ex was a masterful dance of
avoidance and pretending the other did not exist. Of course, there were times
where it was too obvious to people around us, in which case we would pass
simple cursory greetings through gritted teeth or an empty compliment with a
crocodile smiles.
-V-
No comments:
Post a Comment