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Day One — Leaving for CCCC Posted March 19, 2002, 10:36 AM My cell phone rings. It is the road. She calls. She wonders why I am not on my way. I should be driving north to Chicago. It is Eric's fault. I would have left for CCCC three days ago if I thought they would let me in the hotel for free. Eric says they will not. Eric spends too much time spreading chocolate pudding on the living room carpet and singing of his pineapple home under the sea. If only I could have convinced Eric to travel with me, we could have driven the scenic miles to Chicago in blissful knowledge that the Palmer House WOULD give us those rooms for free three days early. For as soon as Eric assumed the Dwight D. Eisenhower Statuary Stance (TM) in the lobby, bellhops, maitre d's, and field mice would spring into action. The manager would quiver and quake, hoping that that the three free days would be enough to satisfy the glowering Crump. Everything would be perfect. I would be lounging about in the Palmer House right now, the most complex decision to make being syrup or strawberry jam for those pancakes. Eric leaves me with restless nights in one-night cheap hotels and sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells. Streets that follow like a tedious argument of insidious intent. Oh, why could he not tear himself away from pudding-covered puppy fuzz and dripping koolaid floral foam and join me on the road? Why does he leave me the endless miles to go before I sleep, miles that I must go too late to know the beauty of the Central Illinois flatness and the roadside McDonald's sprinkled every 15 miles. Why could Eric not try? You have to try. But no. I am alone. Must resist urge to weep. Must find little bottles for shampoo. Must find a way to narrow down the piles of clothes that in 24-hours when I arise and dress for the Wednesday will make absolutely no sense and be utterly inappropriate and horrible. Fire ants: the ultimate party gift. I pack my suitcase, smashing in far too many things that I will never use. Can shades of black clash? |
