Expectations

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She knew the road well, though she’d never driven this end of it before. She had to drive further down the road than she normally did. I had no idea there were so many hotels down this road. Doubt started filling her mind as she drove on toward her destination.

Pulling into the parking lot she sighed. I booked this place? She drove around the whole building hoping it would start to improve. All of these rooms have outside doors. I don’t see an elevator either. The hotel only had two floors and narrow, steep looking stairwells at each end of its four wings.

Having circumnavigated the whole building, not finding any redeeming quality, she pulled into a parking spot near the front entrance. This is not what I saw in the pictures on the website. She sighed and sat for a long moment eyeing the building in her rearview mirror. Maybe it’s better on the inside.

She gathered her purse and her resolve and walked up to the front entrance. To her surprise the double glass doors automatically opened like fancier hotels. Her smile faded, though, as she stepped inside the reception area.

Two couches and two plush chairs, all occupied, to the right of the door were oriented to provide the best view of the flat screen TV that was hung on the wall like a portrait. Lavishly topped with marble, the reception desk belied the very evident lack of opulence. On the back wall she noted a very small set up for the complimentary breakfast bar. One waffle iron, one double sided chafing stand and one pastry case, all empty at this late morning hour, spoke volumes of the meager offerings that would await them in the morning. So room service is out then.

Taking a deep breath she inched forward. Dread, regret even, at the less than romantic setting she had picked for their rendezvous made her legs feel weighted down with anvils. Slowly she made her way to the reception desk, trying to think of a way to get out of the reservation.

She was early for check in, at least two hours or more. There were no rooms available yet, but if she wouldn’t mind waiting one could be available in about thirty minutes the manager told her. Accepting her poor choice of venues she made small talk with the manager as he confirmed her reservation in the computer.

“How are the tubs?” she asked. “The last hotel I was in said there was a tub in the room, but it was barely six inches! Not near deep enough for a proper soak.”

“This hotel was built in 1988. The tubs are the ones that were standard at that time. They should be deep enough.”

A smile broadened across her face. Her eyes filled with the brightest starlight. The anvils lifted from her legs and her feet grew wings as she floated to one of the minute dining tables in front of the small breakfast bar to wait for a room to become available.

Grand though the hotel was not, romantic it certainly had become within the span of a brief casual conversation.

Perfect, absolutely perfect. She now acknowledged this unpretentious hotel was indeed the perfect place after all for a secret rendezvous with the man she married that same year.

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5 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. TheOthers1
    Feb 24, 2012 @ 08:56:01

    secret rendezvous. ow ow. πŸ™‚

    Reply

  2. Mom & Dad
    Mar 04, 2012 @ 00:07:05

    Great story!!! I can see in my minds eye that motel on HWY 51 in, or rather near, Millington, TN. You tell you life’s experiences very well. Really enjoyed reading your publishing of “Deleting is Painful…” Was this the 1,300 word story you trimmed?

    Reply

  3. makergoddess
    Mar 04, 2012 @ 07:57:23

    The one where we had the uninvited guest (the kitten) on our special night, curtesy of his mother because she wanted to sleep, but still wanted to keep us up all night as you suggested? I don’t recall it having two floors, then again I don’t remember much of that hotel at all, just the company. πŸ˜‰

    The one I describe here is one just down the street from his workplace. Ask Mom to tell you about our recent escape from reality.

    I haven’t yet posted on here the story I trimmed for the contest, though now that it’s been a month and I didn’t win I suppose it would be ok for me to do so.

    You know writing has been my thing since third grade. πŸ™‚ I’ll try to do you two proud. BSYLY πŸ™‚

    Reply

  4. Trackback: Growing Old UNgracefully | MakerGoddess

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