With one hand securing the towel closed around my waist, I continue to pace.
"Calm down... Take a deep breath. Think, Phil. Think about what you want to say. You're a professional communicator."
Finding some hotel stationery in the desk drawer, I drop into the wobbly chair. As I write, I mumble, "Carl, you murderous bastard."
I crumple the paper and toss it to the floor and begin again. "Think about what you're doing, Carl. Just think about it. What are you doing?... What am I doing?"
Another ball of crinkled paper is added to the herd.
"C'mon, Philip. Focus."
It isn't long before the floor is littered with balled-up drafts and I'm out of paper. Searching through each drawer, I realize that I've exhausted my supply.
The digital clock flips from 11:49 to 11:50.
Like a mongoose stalking a cobra, I approach my briefcase, which stands like a soldier beside the bed. The thought of confronting work-related artifacts makes my stomach burn.
I toss my briefcase onto the plaid bedspread and snap open the latches, turning my head away from the interior. I don't want to see anything that is remotely connected with Trollamex. Blindly, I reach for the inside pocket and retrieve a folder containing sheets of Dunning and Brannigan stationery. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something tumble to the floor. It's a familiar folded piece of paper.
I'm struck by a thunderous blow as though an arrow has hit me between the shoulder blades, its tip lodged in my heart. The folder drops from my grasp, paper spilling onto the cheap, carpeted floor. For a moment, my lungs refuse to inflate. Without moving my head, my eyes go to the digital clock.
The numbers flip in slow motion from 11:52 to 11:53.
As the blood once again courses through my veins, I retrieve the paper from the floor and unfold it as I sink onto the bed. Through my tear-filled eyes, I see the monkey with its leashed pet dog looking back at me.
#######
In the morning, I stand at the counter watching the woman with the two-tone bangs typing, using only her index fingers on the keyboard of an ancient computer.
"Breakfast bar is open," she says. "Help yourself."
There's not another living soul in the lobby. Arranged on the counter across the room are stacks of styrofoam cups and bowls. An old coffeemaker with a blinking orange light emits an odor more akin to soup than coffee. Beside a toaster is a package of off-brand bagels. An open container of margarine lies on its side on the floor beside a scattering of plastic knives. A few feet away is a man's slip-on shoe. Not a pair of shoes, one, singular shoe. I don't even want to speculate how that got there.
"Not very hungry," I reply.
Tap. Tap. She continues typing.
"How many nights?" she asks.
"Just one." I don't know why I spent the night. I got zero sleep.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"How was your stay?" she says, her eyes glued to the computer screen.
"I couldn't get any hot water. And the water pressure is..." It's pointless for me to finish the sentence. She isn't listening.
Tap. Tap.
"The kids use the pool?"
"What kids? I'm here by myself."
Tap.
Tap. Tap.
"You're only charging me for single occupancy, right?"
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"I checked in by myself. There was only me in the room overnight. And now I'm checking out by myself. Just one. Me."
I can't imagine what all the typing is about.
I lean closer. "Do you hear what I'm saying?"
She steams, "Damn it. The stupid thing crashed. I don't know why they don't buy a new computer."
I call an Uber.
#######
7:38 AM. I push through the front door of the motel. Three paces down the sidewalk I stop and look up at the crystal blue sky. I take a deep breath. Somehow this day is trying to tell me that there is magic going on. I feel like I'm buzzing. It's probably the Trollamex chemicals eating my brain.
My Uber pulls up. I get in. The driver glances into the rearview mirror. "Airport?" he asks.
"Pittsburgh."
"I can't take you to Pittsburgh."
"How close can you get me?"
"The bus station."
We pull out of the parking lot and onto the highway. A saccharine ballad playing on the radio has a powerful, emotional effect on me. I look out the window, fighting back tears.
The driver studies me in the mirror. "Dude. You okay?"
A tear spills down my cheek. He hands me a tissue. "Girl troubles?"
I burst into sobs.
He shakes his head. "Damn women."
#######
Six hours later, I stride down the sidewalk approaching my home. On the front lawn, Jillian leaps up and down shouting, "Daddy's home! Daddy's home!" and scampers into the house.
My pulse quickens. I start up the driveway.
Megan bursts out of the house her arms wide open. I rush her and drop my briefcase. We meet on the lawn in a long embrace. With a shaky voice she asks, "Are you alright?"
I hold her so tightly, I'm crushing her boobs. Jilly-bean hugs my leg.
"I'm okay, Megs."
"Where were you? Where's your car?"
I can't stop hugging her.
"I called you a million times."
"Lost my phone."
"I called work. I called-- Where were you? My God, look at you!"
I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her delicious scent.
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine."
"You're squeezing me too hard."
"Sorry." I release her.
"What happened?"
"Oh, boy... I was trying to..." Unexpectedly, my sigh of relief bursts out in the form of laughter. I clear my throat and shake off the inappropriate guffaw.
"What's funny?" She studies me with sad eyes.
"Nothing."
Megs is upset. I wipe the stupid grin off my face.
"This sounds so cliche." I shake my head. "I was trying to find myself."
"What?"
"Yeah... I was on my way back to work and I...I just..."
"You just what?"
"I don't know what I thought I was doing. Pretty stupid, huh?"
Her face reddens. She glowers at me for a moment and then slaps me.
"You inconsiderate idiot!" Megs turns and hustles toward the house.
She's right. I am an idiot.
I watch her slam the door. I look down to see Jillian with a puzzled expression on her face, her mournful eyes locked on her dad. She follows her mother into the house.
So that's how my adventure ended. Right back where it started. I confirmed that my family means the world to me. But I already knew that. So, my journey of discovery only succeeded in scaring the hell out of my wife and upsetting my daughter. Way to go, Phil.