Torment Me

Chapter Three: Too Small to be Mean

As I pulled into Palmyra the sun peaked above the horizon in steady beats, that lead up to a crescendo where it settled snug in the midday sky. I hadn't realized I had driven through the night until the radio static shook me clear from my fog. The host was giving a lecture, ranting on about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I felt my muscles tighten and pop as I reached for the dial desperate to hear anything but the ramblings of a southern baptist man but my hand stopped short when I heard him speak again -

"And we know the good Lord said 'everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree and no one shall make them afraid!'"

That idea intrigued me. I liked the concept of planting roots in the ground, feeling them grow up my veins, through the gut, into my heart. I hoped they would settle there, that we would be safe there.

As I pulled into the parking lot of the decaying Turtle Inn, I knew this was not my orchard. But the sign read vacant and the reviews online said it was bedbug free and that was all I needed to hear.

The old man behind the check-in counter told me the basics; no smoking in the rooms and don't get the cops called to his motel.

The room was clean and quiet, with musty blankets folded on the corner of the bed and an a bathroom fan that whined like a cat in heat but the atmosphere felt familiar. Apart from myself and the owner, the only other people on the property were a family of six, road tripping cross country and two female truck drivers sleeping in campers at the back of the lot.

What is it about being around strangers that makes you feel safe? It's like social camouflage. What can't see me, won't hurt me. And what tries will be deeply regretful.

After unpacking I flicked on the bathroom light, tapping my fingers on the side of the linoleum sink as I let the shower heat up. I resisted the deep desire to look in the mirror and examine my face. See the person looking back and pray I'd recognize her. I let out a shaky breath, running my fingers through my hair in lieu of brushing it, I started braiding.

Three strands, three intentions. As I took the top piece and wove it underneath I closed my eyes and concentrated on slow and steady breathing. The second strand ran parallel to the first as I thought only of calmness, allowing the braid to anchor me to peace. As the end of the braid started to form I grabbed the third, flipping it into its self and sighing as I felt the itchy feeling beneath my skin dissipating. I felt closer to my grandma. Felt her hands on mine the day she taught me the magic of hiding braids in ones hair and the profound beauty of breath work.

Finally brave enough to make eye contact with the mirror, I tucked the braid behind my ear, hiding it from prying eyes, mostly mine. Running two knuckles along the bridge of my nose, down into the dip of my cupids bow. I wondered what I really looked like? Of course I have a sense. I know I'm average height, average body. My hair is a muddy brown that lets people know it came natural cause I got the eyes to match. I felt pretty. I knew I was pretty. But truth be told I've never recognized the girl looking back at me from the mirror. Guess it doesn't really matter. I decided to focus on showering and sleeping, hoping the warm water sooth my skin, baptize me anew.

~

At the break of dawn I was up and heading into town. The mission was to find food, some shampoo, and most importantly a place to stay. My remote job was starting in six months and I knew my inheritance would last me til then but I'd blow through way more money than I wanted to, if I kept living in a room with no fridge or washer and dryer. I said a silent prayer to Momma for some good luck.

However, rolling through Palymrya, I noticed that the word 'town' was a bit of a stretch. It had one stop light on a long dirt road with streets branching off like dead limbs, each overlapping another. The ground here was so flat a person could watch their dog run away for two weeks and the only thing aside from the bright blue USPS building, was the dixie dinner and the grocery store. Sliding into the empty parking lot, I made a mental list in my head. I enjoyed being able to drive myself to the store, to have space, to have time to slow down. New York wasn't like that, it was always on top of you.