#90
Judy runs the WigWam Motel with her mother, Jane. A frog of a woman who sits on a sofa in the derelict gift shop watching TV most of the day. Across the street, the Safeway opens at 7, and a few of the motel guests stream across to get coffee and donuts.
The street is Route 66. The town doesn’t matter. When Judy was 6, her parents bought the motel from the original owners. They painted some walls and installed air conditioners, replaced a few mattress, but mostly left it the same. No one complains as long as they keep them squeaky clean - because, it’s a wigwam.
Judy’s girlfriend, Zoe, works out by the interstate in one of the new hotels. A Marriott or a Hilton or a Holiday Inn- doesn’t matter. They’re all similar. Four story rectangles. Nondescript. No character. But the jobs come with benefits and a pension plan and the pay is better than average.
Zoe: I can get you a job here if you want. You have tons of experience.
Judy: Mom can’t handle the place on her own. You know that.
Judy wonders what will happen when Jane dies? She knows for sure that she will sell all the crap in the gift shop to some dealer and start serving coffee to the wigwam guests in the mornings. No one wants the junk they have in there anyway. Also, the TV will get put in the dumpster.
Mostly, days here pass quietly, without commotion. Guests come and rarely stay more than one night. Passing through, or else, stopping after going to a national park or two. The air up here is clean, and after the rain, it smells of pine. Judy contemplates her life when she cleans the wigwams - sweep the floor, changes the sheets, bleach the bathroom, tidy up the desk, turn off the a/c. Her life has had little excitement, little adventure, but is that even what she wants for herself?
When I check in, it’s 7PM and the two women are sitting eating take out food that smells like Chinese and Mexican at the same time.
Me: Where can I get some good coffee in the morning?
Judy put her hand on her chin, thinking.
Judy: The gas station down the street has coffee. And the florist opens at 8, she serves coffee, right mom?
Jane: Yep.
Wigwam #4 is clean, decorated with southwest decor, blankets. The bathroom has slanted walls, because of the shape of the structure. There is a green metal bench out front where I sit in the evening and drink. The town is silent. But every hour, a train runs through, horn blowing. Doesn’t matter. The WigWam makes you feel cocooned in the lives of those who came before you. It feels like they left something behind. A scent of the past, each night a drama that unfolds to the next day.
I bet back then, you didn’t have to go down the street for coffee. I bet back then, there was no TV in the office. I bet back then I wouldn’t be the only guest sitting outside watching the sky, sipping my drink.