It was raining and the neon greens, blues, and pinks reflected up from the pavement. I slurped up the last of the sweet soda and threw the striped bag from the fast food place in the trash. I couldn't finish the chewy greasy burger and fries inside. I missed my mom's homemade meals. The night before we'd tried to choke down a frozen pizza piled high with some nasty spiced hamburger meat. I was picky about food as it was, so I was looking pretty gaunt in my burgundy plaid dress.
My pa took the job as motel manager, because employment opportunities were lean. They gave us a two room apartment off the back of the front office. It smelled like cleaning products and endless amounts of drying sheets and towels. I slept on a metal springed cot in the backroom. I spent a lot of time there reading Nancy Drew novels and "Casper the Friendly Ghost" and "Archie" comic books. There was canned soda to drink and Oh Henry bars for 25 cents. I spent a huge amount of time daydreaming.
It was the early 70s, so my pa was playing a lot of folk music on his guitar. He was whip thin and wore a Stetson. He played records like Neil Diamond, the sound track to "Midnight Cowboy", and 45s like "Seasons in the Sun" and "Alone Again, Naturally". He'd roll cigarettes from tobacco in a pouch and it seemed he was often swearing.
Things had started to get pretty boring for me at the front desk, except for the chocolate bars, which were going fast. But then Sara checked into the motel and I think she livened things up for both of us. She was a robust young woman with short, dark, shiny hair. She was loud and wrote her songs that she strummed out in the lobby and later on the shabby couch in our makeshift living room. Apparently, she had been in the hospital and was running away from someone. I didn't really understand. I only knew she talked to me, which was cool, and she eventually bought me a guitar. It came with a book and I learned some chords during her visit. Pretty soon I was playing "Down in the Valley" almost perfectly.
I remember resting on my cot one afternoon and Sara was at the desk with pa. Everything seemed normal until the front door opened and a bunch of people piled in. Some lady, who was apparently related to Sara was speaking in high pitched loud tones. She was ordering Sara to come with her and the others. The sound of her voice scared me, so I tiptoed to the front room.
The group of adults stared at me and the high pitched lady said something about a guitar. I guess Sara told her she'd bought me one and the other woman was angry about it. She was also upset because Sara wasn't being compliant. Then, this weird bald guy showed up. He had a face like a weasel and little wire rimmed glasses. He grabbed Sara and pulled out a syringe. That scared me a lot cause I hated shots. Sara was crying and yelling, asking stuff like, "can't I buy a present for a little girl?" My pa gruffly announced no one had authority to bother Sara at the motel while he was in charge. For a moment or two it was silent, but then the group then....I can't remember what happened, but they drug Sara away. I could hear her protests fading as the unwanted visitors carried her to the parking lot.
To this day, I'm not even sure what happened exactly. Who she was. Why she was on the run. But I do know I kept the guitar for a long time. I took it to a birthday party a few years later and won a talent contest for playing and singing "One Hundred Miles". I think the prize involved some yummy candy.
