05-19-2013, 09:23 PM
[apologies if you all were waiting on something else to go in here, but i thought it about time to kind of move this part of the SL along.]
The first night in the motel room was one of the hardest for Sid. She'd curled up in the room's only "comfortable" living chair, an ugly thing of sturdy orange and yellow cloth that was anything but comfortable, and tried and failed to sleep. Some time in the night she rose, wanting to get some air, but was stopped at the door. The quiet conversation with one and then both of the awakened Ecstatics lasted into the small hours of the morning, when Sera rose to make a bed of the tub and Jim rolled over for more sleep. Sid curled back up in her chair, and her rest was a little better, but still terrible.
The next day was long. Six people stuck in a room together with nothing but snack foods and whatever entertainment could be found on basic cable. Or whatever Jim or Sera had at their disposal. Sid sat on the floor by the door again; somehow the nearness alleviated the claustrophobia that rose and fell in waves, with each crest rising a little lower than the one before. She spent most of the day writing in a notebook she kept in her bag. Every inch of the pages, in, around, and above the blue college-rule lines, was covered in her neat handwriting. Some pages have drawings, tidy little diagrams or detailed profiles of her room-mates done in miniature. Sometimes exhaustion overwhelms her and she dozes, pen falling one way, notebook dropping in her lap as her arms go slack.
Friday night, desperate for an hour, maybe two (if she's lucky) of uninterrupted sleep, Sid caves to Jim's simple, "There's room," something she might not have done if he hadn't pulled the covers aside a little, making room. She collapses into it, her long red hair fanning out over too-thin pillow, still wearing her jeans and t-shirt from the day before. Curling onto her side, she scoots as close to the edge as possible, so close that if she rolls even a little in that direction she'll tumble right off. It's there that she hopes she'll stay through the next few hours, but she doesn't. At some point she wakes to the warm closeness of another body, her arm draped over their torso, her head nestled in the crook of a shoulder. It's Jim, of course, his chest rising and falling beneath her elbow with each breath. Sid pushes herself up onto her elbow, squints down into a face that may or may not be awake.
Saturday night it's back to the chair.
Which brings us to Sunday, a day when some of them may be on their last nerve with each other. Too many days in close quarters with strong personalities. Not to mention by now their food stores are either empty or close to it. Sid has to make another phone call to her work. They all heard it, hear her tell them again that she can't come in, and they hear her stammered side of the conversation that consists mostly of Ahs, Uhs, and Buts, and ends with her setting the motel phone handset quietly back on its base.
For a moment she just sits there on the edge of one of the beds, chewing on her thumbnail. When her hand drops down, she looks up. At Sera, at Mara, at Jake and Dan, and finally at Jim. "I want to go. I want to leave," she repeats, her brow furrowing, her voice low yet firm. "I can't help you find Leah from here. So...so I'm going," she says, rising. She has to get her socks and shoes on, gather up her belongings, which is exactly what she sets about doing.
The first night in the motel room was one of the hardest for Sid. She'd curled up in the room's only "comfortable" living chair, an ugly thing of sturdy orange and yellow cloth that was anything but comfortable, and tried and failed to sleep. Some time in the night she rose, wanting to get some air, but was stopped at the door. The quiet conversation with one and then both of the awakened Ecstatics lasted into the small hours of the morning, when Sera rose to make a bed of the tub and Jim rolled over for more sleep. Sid curled back up in her chair, and her rest was a little better, but still terrible.
The next day was long. Six people stuck in a room together with nothing but snack foods and whatever entertainment could be found on basic cable. Or whatever Jim or Sera had at their disposal. Sid sat on the floor by the door again; somehow the nearness alleviated the claustrophobia that rose and fell in waves, with each crest rising a little lower than the one before. She spent most of the day writing in a notebook she kept in her bag. Every inch of the pages, in, around, and above the blue college-rule lines, was covered in her neat handwriting. Some pages have drawings, tidy little diagrams or detailed profiles of her room-mates done in miniature. Sometimes exhaustion overwhelms her and she dozes, pen falling one way, notebook dropping in her lap as her arms go slack.
Friday night, desperate for an hour, maybe two (if she's lucky) of uninterrupted sleep, Sid caves to Jim's simple, "There's room," something she might not have done if he hadn't pulled the covers aside a little, making room. She collapses into it, her long red hair fanning out over too-thin pillow, still wearing her jeans and t-shirt from the day before. Curling onto her side, she scoots as close to the edge as possible, so close that if she rolls even a little in that direction she'll tumble right off. It's there that she hopes she'll stay through the next few hours, but she doesn't. At some point she wakes to the warm closeness of another body, her arm draped over their torso, her head nestled in the crook of a shoulder. It's Jim, of course, his chest rising and falling beneath her elbow with each breath. Sid pushes herself up onto her elbow, squints down into a face that may or may not be awake.
Saturday night it's back to the chair.
Which brings us to Sunday, a day when some of them may be on their last nerve with each other. Too many days in close quarters with strong personalities. Not to mention by now their food stores are either empty or close to it. Sid has to make another phone call to her work. They all heard it, hear her tell them again that she can't come in, and they hear her stammered side of the conversation that consists mostly of Ahs, Uhs, and Buts, and ends with her setting the motel phone handset quietly back on its base.
For a moment she just sits there on the edge of one of the beds, chewing on her thumbnail. When her hand drops down, she looks up. At Sera, at Mara, at Jake and Dan, and finally at Jim. "I want to go. I want to leave," she repeats, her brow furrowing, her voice low yet firm. "I can't help you find Leah from here. So...so I'm going," she says, rising. She has to get her socks and shoes on, gather up her belongings, which is exactly what she sets about doing.