I unpacked my bag and placed my clothes in the drawers closest to the bed. The stained wooden bureau was the only touch of color in the room. Who makes a hotel room completely white? I pulled out running clothes for every climate imaginable, undergarments, and socks. I was only here for the half marathon, and apparently had clothes for nothing else.
I stared at my small duffle, wondering where my mind was when deciding that I was done packing. My thoughts wandered back, but were abruptly halted by a knock at the door.
Who is that? I thought. It was far too late for housekeeping.
I jumped over my stuff to answer the door and swung it open. Will was standing on the other side, bag in hand. We both stood for a moment, doing a mental double take. What is happening?
I froze in the doorway, catching the breath that'd fallen out of me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying not to sound offensive.
“My Airbnb reservations got cancelled,” he said, just as surprised as I was, “and I was rerouted here.”
He wore his jet lag well. I could see that his journey had been long and convoluted. I stepped aside and let him in.
He immediately dropped his bag to the floor and and stripped off his coat. “I guess I’m stuck with you,” he said sarcastically. We both laughed. What are the odds?
We each claimed sides of the queen side bed and passed out almost immediately. Despite our drawn out boundaries, I could feel the bed rise and fall with his breath, and the heat coming off of his skin.
Suddenly I slipped into a dream. A movie really, where I watched moments of another life. The short clips were like home videos glitching through time; Will and me warming up for the race, him meeting my parents at a resort in Punta Cana, meeting my whole family actually, since we were there for a wedding. Marriage. Kids. A Spanish style home in the countryside turned into our own quiet oasis.
I watched the story like a silent film. The restless pieces of me dissipated, and settled outside the edges of each passing frame. I could feel my own peace transferring over from the other side of the screen, and collected it like a souvineer. It warmed me like a blanket as I drifted deeper, past its end into a dark space of nothingness. I was gently pulled from my spectator's seat and shot straight up in my bed (my real bed), never having returned to the hotel. There was nothing left to observe or revisit, and I awoke with a satisfying sense of completion.
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