What Will Happen Now That I Have a Place to Hide?

A half mile down the road the dirt shoulder was wide enough for me to pull over. As I did, the car that had been behind me at the intersection flew past, inches from my side mirror. The silver blur was gone too fast for me to do more than register its presence but after it was gone cold fear dripped through me.

It couldn’t have been him, could it? It was the right color but I really didn’t see anything else. There were a lot of silver cars on the road. I couldn’t allow myself to jump every time I come across one.

If it had been him he wouldn’t have just driven past, would he? I sat completely still, waiting without knowing what I expected to happen. Did I think he was going to come back for me? If so, why hadn’t I pulled a U turn and run the other way? And yet I remained frozen as the minutes passed in silence.

I was pulled from my trance-like state when another vehicle passed, a silver Toyota Camry. Perhaps because this proved that his wasn’t the only silver car I was able to function again, my mind resuming its ability to process information.

I pulled Google maps up again, searching for the closest hotel, almost desperate now to be off the road. Finally determining the nearest one was almost 10 miles away, I hit the button for directions. The disembodied female voice instructed me to turn around, which I gladly did. Returning to the intersection I then turned right, heading back in the direction from which I had come.

Passing the ramp to the highway I followed the road under the overpass, finding myself surrounded by fast food restaurants and gas stations typical of highway exits that exist solely to meet the needs to travelers.. On the right side, behind a run down Citgo station with 2 pumps was the nondescript two story hotel to which I’d been guided.

As I pulled into the lot I noticed that the building, although ancient, appeared to be well maintained. Walking into the lobby I found the area to be clean although plain. I approached the front desk, setting my backpack at my feet.

Within minutes I was signing the credit card receipt and taking the key from a woman whose appearance and demeanor so perfectly matched the establishment I felt she must be the proprietor. Her simple black slacks paired with a white button down shirt, her shoulder length hair pulled back severely into a bun, along with her quiet ease drew as much attention to the hotel agent as the off-white exterior walls and stark landscaping brought to the building itself.

It may not have been as elegant as where I had been staying, but this would be the perfect place to spend a few days thinking about my relationship with Clay and planning my future.

This post is in response to the daily writing prompts Nondescript and is part of something longer I’m working on.

This post is a part of the story about the ex and comes after Even Google Didn’t Know Which Way I Should Turn.

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