One Late Night in a Motel at a Memphis Ghetto
Do Not Fear: Chapter 2
Graveyard Hospitality
It was two in the morning when I arrived at the LaQuinta Inn in West Memphis. My eyelids were kicking themselves shut, but the hotel shone like a beacon of refuge.
I flung myself out of my car and sped to the entrance. When I arrived, my excitement halted. The front door was locked. They couldn’t be closed. I still needed the room key. Just give me a bed to sleep on, please!
Suddenly, I heard a buzz.
Gently, I tried once more to push the door open… It budged.
Relief flushed over my face and down to my toes. I walked to the counter and graciously uttered: “I’m here to check in.”
In a repressed, subdued voice, I heard the guest service agent ask me, “You know check-in was at three, right?”
I stared at the agent, confused. She held a pair of scissors, cutting a piece of paper in a pensive gaze. She didn’t lift her brown eyes toward me. She just kept snipping and snipping.
Through her corn-row braids, she shifted her glance without moving her head and gradually raised her pitch: “I was waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry, but I — ”
“Your license and a valid credit card.” She hissed.
I handed her the cards.
“No. You take this card and swipe it here. I’m not doing it for ya.”
My sanctuary scorned me at the gates. I held my breath to control my vocal stammers. I didn’t speak for a moment. I don’t think any sound would come out of my mouth if I tried.
“I was sitting here all night just so I could hand you these keys,” she said, as she handed me a waiver to sign. The scissors were still in her left hand.
“Um. Thanks.”
I didn’t read the fine print. I walked over to the next desk for a pen instead of reaching for the one in front of me. The scissors were still in her left hand.
“It’s been a long night. I can’t wait to be in bed, too,” she raised her voice. “My kids would be excited to see me—if they were still awake.”
I stood muted.
“I’m sorry.” I paused. “I booked the room… at eleven thirty,” I said as both a statement and a question. “I’ve been driving all—”
“Just take your room key and get out of here.”
She studied my face. My eyes paced back and forth from the room key in her right hand (the scissors were still in her left hand) and her glares. Suddenly, her eyes softened from bitterness to motherly concern.
She handed me the key and circled the room number. I glanced down at her nametag. Before I raced out of the lobby, she said: “Don’t leave anything valuable in your car tonight, you hear?”
I stared into her eyes. “Why?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. That’s all I’m gonna say.”
I nodded as though I understood. The scissors rested in the pencil cup beside her. “Thanks, LaTrice.”
Motel Espionage
I stepped back outside. The door to my room was on the other side of the lobby. I buzzed into the hallway, entered, and jogged to the elevator. It dinged, and I occupied what I thought would be a haven. What I found was the following: On the floor of the elevator was a Wendy’s bowl flipped on its side, a puddle of spilled, room-temperature frosty; when the doors shut, I spotted in Sharpie a message en prose, which described how President Biden performed sexual favors in return for illicit narcotics.
Oh, man! If these people see my California license plate, I’m screwed.
My room was only two doors down from the elevator. I sprinted to room 317. Once I passed through the hall, I heard a large dog bark at me through our neighbor’s door. I jumped with my back against the wall, holding up two fists toward the door.
The threat was muzzled behind the bolted door, so I broke for mine and slammed it shut behind me. I reached for the door chain but quickly noticed that it wasn’t there. Not only that but it was kicked off — from the outside. The chunk of wood that it was once screwed into was gone. Someone must’ve broken in. Was it about drugs? Maybe domestic abuse?
Either scenario plagued my imagination.
Once Ahren and Ana arrived, my face was camouflaged with a blanket, and I was posted on the chair in the corner of the room. The window curtains were shut except for a peep-size crack through which I discretely surveyed the parking lot below.
“Josh,” said Ahren, as he drew off his shades. “What’re you doing?” He wore the same black leather jacket when we launched from California days ago. Back home in Raleigh, he rode a Harley. Even if he wasn’t riding, everyone needed to know that he rode. I often envied his clear, mocha complexion. He never had acne, just beauty marks. But his gapped, buck teeth didn’t matter much to me.
“Espionage,” I answered.
Ana looked up at Ahren. You could cast a line and fish all sorts of hidden treasures behind those ocean-blue eyes.“Shotzee?”
“The people down there,” I said, “did you see them?”
“How long have you been staring out the window, weirdo?”
“They’ve been circling my car for the past hour. Everything I own is in that car. My stuff’s covered under several blankets, so they can’t see what’s in there.” I stopped to think. “I haven’t come this far just to be robbed by some Southern pimps.”
Ahren walked toward the window and opened the curtains.
“Oh, man! Look at that! It’s a real-life prostitute. She has jaguar print leggings and red stilettos and everything.”
“That explains the body-sized dent in that bed,” I said, pointing to the one closest to the window. I hopped onto my feet and scanned the parking lot.
I saw only the same circle of men talking outside and drinking Budweiser.
“That one’s yours, then,” he said.
I would’ve argued, but I wouldn’t force Ana to sleep in a prostitute’s bed. She was kind. With some German edginess, but kind. I hadn’t known her long. They connected through Instagram. That’s how Ahren always found his ladies, if not on some dating app. She tethered herself to Ahren only a few months ago — virtually. They’d only spent about two weeks together in person. It was in those same two weeks that I also met her for the first time if that puts it into perspective.
He was my friend, but I still have a heart for women. That’s all I’ll say. And besides, I’d never say anything to his face. I never could. Only in passing comments have I occasionally jabbed at his ego, but he slugged back harder whenever I dared. I opt for the path of least resistance. It’s easier that way.
Sheltered and Afraid
While Ahren was in the shower, Ana lay on her back with her arms spread on either side of the bed. I had sat back on my chair in the corner and resumed watch.
A few minutes passed, maybe. She leaned up onto her elbows and gazed over at me.
“Isn’t this exciting?” she asked. “Sure, it’s a little ghetto here. But tomorrow we’ll be in Nashville!”
I didn’t answer. I may have mumbled a “mhm.” Instead, I targeted one of the men who stepped two inches too close to my vehicle. I wasn’t yet sure what I’d do. Call the police? There wasn’t anything big or blunt to race downstairs with. Well, I could chuck a lamp at ’em. Plus, this is Memphis. People have guns here. Was I going to take a bullet, or several, over a couple of guitars and some books?
“Why are you so afraid?” She said, in an irritated tone. “Even when you talk to us. You seem scared, or something.”
“Scared?”
“Don’t worry about him,” said Ahren, as he walked out of the bathroom, shirtless and with a towel around his waist. “He’s been like that since I’ve known him. He’s my project. That’s why I invited him to come live with us in Raleigh.”
He continued to go on about how it was good for me to finally leave home. I barely left my neighborhood other than when I traveled to work — which was down the street from where I lived.
“My radio told me not to be afraid today,” I said under my breath.
Ahren continued to speak about how he knew my hometown better than I did. How could a native not know more than him? He’d only lived there for three years.
“Hey, Ahren,” I said louder. “Remember what I told you about the books? How they were talking to me?”
“What’s he talking about?” Asked Ana.
“My radio keeps responding to my thoughts, just like the books in the warehouse did.”
“Yeah, and what did they say, Josh?” He turned to me, with his arms crossed.
“They told me to like come on this trip, for starters. By the time you came back to town, I was prepped for like an Exodus or something. I collected these quotes on my whiteboard. They’re down there. In the trunk of my car.”
“And I’m glad you came, dude. This is good for you. You needed to get out of the house and into the real world.”
