Personal Narrative About Motels

I do not like staying in motels. Hotels I love, but motels not so much. I was working on a movie a few weeks ago in Eastern Washington and around 4 a.m after filming in the freezing weather, the shuttle dropped me in front of a door with the number fourteen on it. I was handed a single key and the vehicle drove away beyond my vision. Every part of Motel fourteen gave me the creeps, once I was in I quickly slid the chain lock across the door and turned up the heat. The little television in the corner of the room flickered strange colors as I attempted to change the channel from the news. I muted the reporter because his voice made me uneasy. I turned up the music on my phone for comfort and used the T.v as a night light.There were two queen sized mattresses, I decided on the one closest to the heater and farthest from the door. I curled up into the bed the same way I had on my first night in Africa; as much clothing as possible to keep the bugs from reaching my skin and my head hid under the blanket, as if I were a child.

It’s not something I choose to remember, and definitely not something I talk about. I’ve been through many unsettling experiences, much too many for my age. After eleven years this one remains at the top of my list. It was in California, after a trip to DisneyLand. Pretty ironic, the scariest moment of my life happened at the happiest place on earth. Well, a little outside of it.. A big deal had been made between my dad and his girlfriend, Gretchen at dinner due to the waitress dropping a dash of water on her foot by accident. She complained to my dad and the next thing I knew they were yelling in the restaurant and our two families parted