Hotel California

I looked out into the horizon as far as I could see. The sun seemed to be settling and the mountains in the distance seemed to be getting colder and darker by the second. I knew I would be there soon. Out here, it would turn into night quickly and the desert highways lacked street lights. I would only be able to see as far as my headlights soon and the Nocturnals would be coming out to explore and hunt. I pulled the map out from under my thigh, being sure to keep it low so the wind from the convertible wouldn’t take it away. It looked to be about 19 more miles. Sighing, I shoved the map back under my thigh and pressed down harder on the pedal, shooting forward along the road. The dust kicked up behind the tires, leaving just a dust trail in my wake. I haven’t seen another form of human life in the last 150 miles or so, I haven’t had time to stop, nor did I have the desire to; there wasn’t anything except for desert for miles and miles. The compelling, mysterious mountains were the only thing that kept my foot on the gas, not even thinking twice to stop. I already made it this far, 15 more miles wouldn’t kill me. The sun dipped down lower and lower until I couldn’t see the edges of the fireball in the distance. The sky tinged from a blue to a light pink and eventually a deep red. I smelled it before I saw it. It smelled of skunk but any cultural person would know better, it was the highest quality of weed that rose up beyond the brittlebushes and the cacti, reaching as far as it could travel. I knew I was getting close, pushing the gas even harder without a second thought, I even felt it in my bones. I couldn’t be fooled by the glitter in the distance, it felt so inviting even miles away. It was the only glow as the rest of the sky around it turned pitch black. The glow grew bigger and bigger until I finally made it. The road suddenly turned gavel as I turned into the parking lot. I could hear the mission bell ringing. 8 times. 8 o’clock on the dot, perfect. I killed the lights and pulled the key out of the ignition. My boots hit the gravel and in the corner of my tired eyes, I saw the dim light of a candle and the illumination of a face behind it. It was an older woman wearing a white mantilla, lace designs glowed on her cheeks and neck, casting a dark shadow behind her. I closed the car door behind me while brushing my hand on the back of my shorts making sure to get all of the dust off. I knew before I started driving that the white paint would be powdered with dirt by the time I got here. I was hoping the red leather inside wouldn’t be too much of a struggle to clean later. I walked up to the steps noticing that the white stucco arched above me and the old lady, she had a kind smile on her lips and sadness in her eyes. I nodded for a greeting and she lowered her eyes down for a few breaths, and when she lifted them there seemed to be a fire that replaced the sadness. “Welcome to the Hotel California, Senorita, “ she said softly, a slight scratch in the voice. Turning around, her shadow grew taller as she led me the way through the corridor. It was silent but deafening at the same time, all of a sudden I could hear my breath in my ears and the footsteps below me and at the same time, I could hear the voices coming from the rooms that we passed; loud talking, laughing, glasses clinking together. The wooden doors looked to be heavier than I was used to. They also had the arches above them, the wood following the curve so meticulously like every slat was carefully cut and sanded down to make sure it all flowed together so perfectly. The old lady shuffled down the hall and we finally entered a dimly lit room at the end of the hall with lights surrounding all around the perimeter. It was cozy, quiet and quaint as I couldn’t hear all oft he noises from the hallway.  It was perfect but it wasn’t what I came for, so I asked the lady where the bar was. “Down the hall to the right,” she said in a quiet voice and handed me the candle that was lit. She pulled out another stick from her apron and gently tilted it towards my lit flame. In an instant, it was lit and she was gone like a ghost. I placed my overnight bag on the bed and closed the wooden door behind me. With the flanks below my feet echoing every step I took, I finally made it down to the bar. It was crowded but quiet, enough to hear the conversation next to you. From the kitchen in the back I could hear dishes clattering and silverware dancing, it was almost lulling amongst the hush of the bar. I found a seat in the middle of the bar with two Spanish men on either side of me. They leered my way for a second before staring down the bottom of their pint in their hands. I flagged the bartender down and looking down at his name tag, it read “Captain.” “Please bring me some wine,” I told him with a longing look, I knew he could see how tired I was from traveling all day. “Honey, we haven’t had that spirit here since 1969…but I’ll see what I can whip up for you.” Captain told me and he ducked into the kitchen speaking Spanish to the men in the back. He came back with both of his arms full. One was filled with a tray of drinks that he set down on the bartop and handed everyone around me, including myself, a flute of pink champagne. The other hand was a pig roast where the plate covered most of his forearm if not more. The heap was set down in front of me and immediately forks from all around came down on the meaty flesh. I looked up above me, distracted by a flash of light, and saw myself in a mirrored ceiling that I hadn’t noticed before. Suddenly the patrons began toasting in unity, saying the same Spanish toast “Salud” in different voices and tones, the glimmer of flutes surrounded me and I had no choice but to raise mine as well. It went down in 4 easy gulps and the Captain had refilled it before my glass ever reached the bartop. He winked at me and went on his way to full up other flutes next to me while whistling a tune I’ve never heard before. After a couple of glasses later, the gentlemen around me asked if I had ever been to the courtyard, I shook my head no. Without thinking, they grabbed my hands and pulled me away; the last thing I remember seeing was the bartender smiling at me, saluting me as I was whisked away. I was lead through a different hallway with similar doors and similar sounds, and then finally we reached an opening in the middle of the building. The night’s sky was above us with the stars flickering down on us and the lights framing the sides lit up the grass beneath my boots. Beautiful women started pouring out from the opened archways in all directions of the courtyard, they had long flowing dresses of reds, pinks, yellows, oranges, and whites. Their hair spun out around them, some almost further than the dresses did, and they all each found their way to someone in the area. The woman who found me was olive-toned and had hair the color of the midnight sky behind her, it almost had a purple tone in it underneath the lights. She grasped my wrist and gazed into my eyes, they twinkled like Tiffany diamonds, bright and full of life and spun me around. I felt the brush of dresses of others against my calves and felt the caress of hair against my elbows and chin. I closed my eyes so tightly that I was seeing stars and spun around as fast as I could. I felt a pair of strong hands ground me after a while and I opened them. It was a different woman who stopped me and gave me a smile. She said something but I couldn’t hear her against the music and sound of laughter from the bodies around me. I leaned in closer and finally felt the hot words breathe against my ear, “You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave” the voice whispered. 

I was raised not to doubt myself. My father would endlessly ask the same questions until I was confident in my answer, even if I wasn’t sure it was correct. He told me if you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will do it for you. I have grown and learned not to doubt myself because I am the one who knows best about myself. 

My mother raised my to pay attention to details, and to trust my intuition. It is the only thing that will save me from myself. Life wouldn’t be beautiful without the details. “Be sure not to miss them and learn how to create them” She would say. 

Sometimes it is just too much to pull yourself out of bed in the morning, to drag yourself to the kitchen but in the same moment, in the midst of the bleary eyes, messy hair and remnants of sleep still lingering on the lips, it isn’t too much to drive along with the morning rush hour to find a new coffee shop that you’ve never been to before. It is neutral, it doesn’t have the memories of someone else attached to it. There is nothing but a clean slate and a world of stories to make. Something the world around you becomes too hard to handle. It becomes too harsh for you with nowhere to run. Don’t let the fire inside that has been left to simmer, burn out. You are still the same person you used to love and know. Don’t get lost in the faces and cars that pass by, don’t let deadlines and paper work make you cold, hard and bitter. Do not do it for the sake of the ones you love.You are strong but their love for you is stronger. You will bounce back, stronger, and better than before and you will come back with a fire that will be harder to put out. Don’t give up. February will be harsh, the late winter snow will threaten to bite and the loud night will seem to never end. But February will come and go, and it will be forgotten. But it will be constant, it will continue to come back and repeat itself next year and the year after that. Do not let it hinder you. Do not let the harsh winds dampen your spirit, no matter how much the angry winds sting your eyes and lips. Learn to overcome it, and learn how to work along with it. learn from it and better yourself so it can no longer defeat you.

302

I listened to it. The first time was in the bookstore. It was in the armchair I would sit in all the time. My mind got really quiet and just let the music play. I didn’t just hear it, I listened. It slowed down the time, it got me high. It haunted my bones and let the flowers blossom inside.

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One in Rome, one in Paris, one in Italy. They were everything that I expected, even before I knew what I was expecting.

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