The day started with the torturous, infinite dripping of water from the faucet. Glenda and her 16 year old stepson, Henry, had spent the night in a Motel 6 in some town out in the sticks. For the night, the hotel had cost only $14.99, and it included continental breakfast. Unfortunately for Glenda, that $14.99 was a weeks worth of tips from her waitressing job. Also unfortunate for Glenda, the motel was so run-down that the leaky faucet in the 4 by 4 bathroom would. Not. Quit. Dripping. Not that Glenda could complain. The night in the motel was far better than the nights she'd spent awkwardly couch hopping at her stepson's friend's houses. Ever since her former husband, Chuck, was found guilty of ponzy, Glenda and Henry had been broke. The bank took everything– the house, the cars, even Henry's private school funds. When Glenda's "friends" found out she had lost it all, they dropped her like a bad habit. After a month or so of staying with Henry's friends, Glenda had had enough. She packed what few items she had left and she and Henry skipped town. They boarded the first Greyhound bus that arrived, and headed as far away as they could. And now Glenda stands at a crossroad, or, rather, a Motel 6, wondering what her next move should be.
First thing's first: get that water to quit dripping. Glenda slid out of the creaky heart shaped double bed and wrapped herself tightly in her robe. It was just her luck that the last room available for the night for Glenda and Henry to rent had been the honeymoon suite. But at least it was a bed. Glenda tip-toed to the bathroom. It wasn't the sink faucet that had been dripping, it was the shower head. Glenda reached into the shower to tighten the tap, then changed her mind and put the shower on full blast, thinking she might as well go ahead and get a start to her day. Two hours later, bellies full of powdered scrambled eggs and stale coffee, Glenda and Henry sat at the bus station, waiting for the next Greyhound to arrive.
It didn't matter where the bus was headed, Glenda just had to get out of town to reinvent her life. No longer could she rely on her second husband for everything. He was a convict, and she was on her own, having to take care of her stepson. The Greyhound pulled up to the curb. Glenda boarded the bus, Henry following, and placed her Louis Vuitton tote into the overhead compartment. That was the one bag she refused to sell to the pawn shop along with the rest of her belongings. That bag was the only thing she had left of her old life, and she would not let go of it for anything. The glass doors at the front of the door creaked shut, and the bus driver placed the overhead speaker microphone to his mouth. "Folks, we're headed to City Block. It'll be about a 6 hour ride. There will be no stops, so I hope y'all ate up. Bathroom's in the back." He then put the mike back into its holster and turned on his radio to the local country station. But Glenda wasn't thinking about the long bus ride ahead or the southern whining that drifted to the back of the bus where she and Henry sat. Glenda's heart pounded to the words that had come out of the bus driver's mouth. Glenda knew City Block. It was the town her grandmother had lived in. The town that smelled like wet pavement and coconut-scented fake tanner. The town Glenda's parents had shipped her off to when she got knocked up at 19 years old. The town that held the orphanage that she dropped her precious newborn baby girl off at 17 years ago. Oh, this was going to be one interesting new chapter in Glenda's life.
