Week Nine Journal One

Week Nine Journal 1

Taft, CA

Driving down the Westside Highway I felt at ease for the first time in a couple of months. I looked out the passenger window of my car and saw the sun setting behind the low mountain range, it lit up the entire sky and the mountains seemed to only enhance the beautiful effect. I glanced over my shoulder, Jill was still sleeping in the backseat. It annoyed me that she didn’t ever drive, even though she had a driver’s license, but being the gentleman that I am, I had no other options. It still got lonely with no one to talk to.

“You awake yet back there?” I asked, hoping to hear a response.

Nothing. It was so quiet that I could hear her breathing, thank god, because I don’t know if I could handle the rest of this drive alone. I was now quickly approaching some small town, as indicated by the large green sign right in front of me. The sign also told me that there was a gas station at the next exit. I realized that I hadn’t looked at the clock for what felt like an hour, and when I finally glanced down, I realized it had actually been about two hours. I took the exit toward Taft, some small town, and decided to find some gas and shelter for the night.

“Where are we?” asked Jill from the backseat. To my relief she was finally awake, although it would have been nice to have a conscious companion before I decided to call it a night.

“We are just entering Taft, some small town, I think we should call it a night. I’m about to fall asleep behind the wheel and we know that wouldn’t end well.” Taft was, for the most part, a ghost town; all the businesses were closed, none of the lights in the houses were on, no one walked the streets. It felt eerie. I swore I was in a Rod Serling script or something.

“Yeah, it didn’t last time, you moron.”

“We agreed not to talk about that anymore. It’s done.”

“Don’t get mad, it could have happened to anyone but I’ll keep shut about it if it makes you feel better.”

“Not like you ever drive anyways, you asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind. I think this is our motel, right under the water tower,” I said. The water tower wasn’t anything special, but was still probably the only memorable thing about Taft. The tower was grey and the paint was peeling, I estimated it hadn’t been painted in at least fifteen years.

We hopped out of the car, ignoring our suitcases, since we were only going to stay for a night. The motel was an awkward building. I opened the door expecting to see a nice front lobby, yet I saw the exact opposite. The bar was filled to it’s maximum capacity, and scanning the room I saw a door towards the back labeled “Hotel—Front Desk.”

“So this is where all the people are,” I whispered to Jill.

“This is creepy, can we just get to our room. I kind of feel like we’re in that movie Deliverance, only no one looks like Burt Reynolds.”

“Yeah, follow me.”

We moved briskly towards the door to the front desk, trying to avoid any contact with the locals. It took us a couple of minutes but we got there and pushed the door open, hurrying through like mice who just spotted some cheese.

The front lobby, which is what I suppose you should call it, even though it wasn’t in the front of the building, was much nicer and inviting than the bar. The walls were all wood paneled, with a brownish carpet covering the entire area, giving it a cozy 1970s feel. I approached the front desk, which had an old man with glasses behind it, he reminded me of the poor younger brother of Rich Uncle Pennybags, the monopoly guy.

“Can I help ya?” asked the old man.

“Yeah, actually we need a room, just for the night.”

“No bags with ya?”

“No, actually we are just in town for a night, making our way to Bakersfield, maybe going down to LA after we’re done there. So you have a room for us?” Due to lack of sleep, I was beginning to grow impatient with the old man, as lovable as he looked, I just wanted to sleep.

“Yeah, I got some rooms fer ya. One queen bed be fine for you two?”

This happened way too often, everyone thought that Jill and I were married, or at least dating, engaged perhaps. We were just friends and had an unspoken mutual understanding of that fact.

“No, we’re not married, so two separate beds would be nice. That is, if you have a room with that.”

“Sorry, you two got that look on ya, that young lover look. What do I know though, I’m just an old man.”

“Old? Since when does anyone consider fifty old?” I was trying to make the old man feel good, so he would just get on with giving us our key and taking my credit card.

“Ha, I’m quite a few years older than that. Anyways, it’ll cost ya fifty bucks for the night, you can pay me now or in the morning, I don’t much mind.”

“I’ll get you in the morning if that’s alright, are you going to be working in the morning,” I searched my brain for this man’s name (had he already introduced himself?).

The old man understood what my pause meant and jumped in to help me out, “Conrad, the name is Conrad.”

“Yeah sorry Conrad, you’ll be here in the morning?”

“Yup, either me or Ella, my wife.” He than plopped the key down on the counter and slid it over to me, as though it was some kind of ancient relic that no one else should see. “Room 218, sleep tight y’all.”

“Take it easy Conrad,” I said as Jill and I slowly slipped away, heading towards the elevator, before realizing there were only stairs in this establishment.