Panama City, baby

Finally, miraculously, the clock struck 5. Glenda's afternoon shift was over. She absentmindedly strolled back to the apartments. After an odd day at work, all Glenda needed was to have a clear head. There had been some odd requests today – some overly bubbly woman dressed in pink bought 3 boxes of frozen waffles ("It's spring, I'm Spring, and I'm going on a trip to the Grand Canyon!" she had said), and another man, probably in his late 20s, ordered one single piece of bacon. An odd day indeed. Glenda needed a break.

As she ascended the apartment on the creaky old elevator, she had a thought. Maybe I should just leave. And not come back. A few years ago, after she and her husband had had a really big fight, Glenda left. She threw four or five outfits into her Louis Vuitton duffle, hopped into her Lexus, and drove down to Panama City Beach. She had only planned on staying there for a few days, based off of the number of outfits she had packed, but 4 days turned into a week, which turned into 2, and finally, after a glorious month alone at the beach, Glenda decided it was time to come back home. When she arrived back home, her marriage was better than ever, and nearly 6 whole months went by before she and her husband had another fight.

Henry wasn't the problem – the problem was Glenda's stupid job at Casa D' Waffles and her indecision as to whether or not she should meet her biological daughter. Being April now, it'd been 4 months since she first saw her daughter. 4 months of indecision. Glenda had always been a notoriously bad decision maker – even choosing what to eat for breakfast every day was hard for Glenda – so this life-changing decision was certainly a challenge. Clearing her head – and skipping town to do so – was just what Glenda needed. Fortunately for Glenda, one of her old friends lived at Panama City – she owned a little motel right on the beach. It didn't come close to the Hiatt, but it would do. It was Henry's spring break, so she didn't have to worry about checking up on him, and she had accrued enough sick days that she could afford to take off from work. Oddly enough, the decision to go away for a few days was an easy one for Glenda. There weren't too many factors to the decision, so she called up her friend, swung by the ATM, and already had a tentative packing list in her head upon arriving to her apartment.

When Glenda entered the apartment, Henry was no where to be found. Perfect, she thought. She placed the money on the kitchen counter, and began drafting a note. "Henry," it began, "I'm going out of town for a few days. Here's some cash that should last you the week. I know it's your spring break, so try not to get into too much trouble. We'll celebrate the big one-seven when I get home. With love, Glenda. PS: Do NOT forget play practice."

Glenda then began throwing clothes and toiletries into her duffle – it was no Louis Vuitton, but it would do. At 7 pm sharp, she was sitting on the bus stop bench when the Greyhound rolled up. "Panama City," she said to the driver, and the bus rolled off into the night.