She’s staying at the only good hotel in town, a place I’ve never been, and giving a paper, whatever that means, and wants to see me while she’s here. We’ve never met, but I know things about her I would never ask anyone else. Not sexual, not all of them. She knows me from a very good picture of me and I know her from a picture of her, how good I don’t know yet. On the drive over I try to decide whatever I can say to her. We don’t want to change our lives, either of us, at least not as involves the other. And some of the words we use online I never say out loud. I wish I could email her instead. It gives me time to be someone. I’d say: How dangerous is it not to choose to love the life we’re given! Or: These glimpses of you make me want not you, but to be worthy of you. And wait an endless day for her reply. My car is not to the valet’s liking. He calls me sir with a tone. How long will I be, sir? I look at him, his cap, the brass buttons, the torn ticket he’s offering me in return for my woeful car, the weight of those granite walls behind us, doors revolving with an endless flow of people who know where they’re going, and I’m undone by the machinery of the whole business, by rooms with fresh linens and mini-bars, stacked into towers for other peoples’ husbands and wives to close the doors and work out their identities. Sir? Do you know where you are, sir? I hand him back his ticket stub and drive away from the hotel thinking, I can make this work. She’ll understand.
Copyright © February 24, 2007 David Hodges
Very Short Novels 
9 comments
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February 24, 2007 at 6:16 am
ombudsben
“These glimpses of you make me want not you, but to be worthy of you.”
Great line, David.
Thanks, Ben.
–David
February 24, 2007 at 10:50 am
Kristen
As is
“We don’t want to change our lives, either of us, at least not as involves the other.”
I appreciate the entry.
Thanks, Kristen. I’m always happiest when everybody finds something different to appreciate.
–David
February 24, 2007 at 12:53 pm
James Walton
Depending on my reaction to the picture, I would have stayed.
I’ll send you next time. See what happens. Thanks for your comment, Jim.
–David
February 24, 2007 at 4:08 pm
litlove
Packs your usual emotional punch, David. My favourite line is: ‘I wish I could email her instead. It gives me time to be someone.’ That’s very clever. I got quite into the storyline here – I suppose it’s pointless to ask for a sequel?
Thank you, Litlove. I’ve been known to do requests.
–David
February 25, 2007 at 7:13 am
Marloes
“He calls me sir with a tone”
I guess right there you already started not being worthy?
I think he brought that feeling with him, Marloes.
–David
February 26, 2007 at 7:22 am
verbivoreow
“the weight of those granite walls behind us, doors revolving with an endless flow of people who know where they’re going, and I’m undone by the machinery of the whole business”
wonderful stuff
Thank you, verbivore. I enjoy that line, too.
–David
February 26, 2007 at 10:03 pm
briseis
Amazing, David. Very catching, gripping. I wonder where the story leads.
Thank you, Briseis. Well, I guess there won’t be any Room Service.
–David
February 27, 2007 at 8:37 am
red dirt girl
“These glimpses of you make me want not you, but to be worthy of you.”
Amazing how in the presence of love or its possibilities, we humans are reduced to quivering masses of fear, doubt, insecurity………when love is such a beautiful gift: to give and receive……..
You are so right, red dirt girl. It should all be so simple!
–David
February 28, 2007 at 10:53 am
Lori
I like that he was only looking for an excuse to not go. You could write a sequence of these, each with a different ‘way out’ for Mr. Mentally Unprepared there. The “weight of the granite walls” themselves would make me high-tail it home!
The world’s most frustrating novel could devote one page to each of the hurdles that best him in turn.
–David