Here is another of those two-sentence stories with poetry added. I’m thinking of them as “Minuscule” and quick to read.
Read the first Minuscule, the explanation of why I wrote it and got started on this idea, and search under the category Fiction/Poetry Combination for others in the series.
Ah, that memory: the motel with the bright green carpet and the glamorous sweeping staircase in the lobby – the anticipation of stepping up to the front desk and registering for one of the rooms – the thrill of ascending the staircase, opening the heavy glass door to the open-air second floor walkway, running along the line of identical doors and checking numbers until we shouted out, Here’s our room!
This haven was all ours for the night, a rest stop for our family of four kids and two highway-tired parents, the air-freshener smell wafting out of the pin-neat room as we opened the door and tumbled in – but the next morning, I also remembered, just like every other morning and every other room on this road trip, the place would smell like fried chicken, shoes, shampoo, and vomit (carsickness can keep right on going even after you exit the car, apparently, especially if you eat fried chicken), and Dad would have to check out in a hurry and get us on the road again, wayfarers looking for that next swath of green carpet and curving staircase…
The car. The highways.
Miles and miles
No towns. The blue motel pool
A gleam in our eyes.