Angie felt the suffocation of utter panic. Rain drops rolled down the windshield despite the quick path of the wipers swoosh swooshing at top speed. Her chest felt so tight that she thought she would die. How could she be sure that this choice was right?
Her four babies were still at home in the warm house hours away. For the next few weeks she would not hug them, kiss their pains or tuck them in. For the next few weeks her mother would care for them. She wanted to find housing. She needed her little family with her. First she would need to get her job locked down. It wasn’t a dream job, it wasn’t even the best job ever, but it would make a living wage while she reached for the moon.
A little hotel room that was masquerading as home would have to work for now. She had never felt so alone in her entire life. There were so many things that passed through her mind as the rain beat the windshield on a cold dark highway going into Cincinnati.
The fear was the worst; it was palpable. She could feel it in her chest and in her muscles. She forgot to pay the gas bill. It would keep. She would have to ask her mom or dad to take care of it. There was so much laundry just waiting to be done. How was she going to move when hardly anything was packed? Angie clutched the steering wheel until her knuckles where white.
The muscles in her arms bunched. She could see her kids behind her eyes. She tried to concentrate on the road to no avail. Her mind was with her girls in a small house four hours away.
The check in desk was a pain. The credit card she had didn’t want to go through. The first weeks stay cost slightly more than she thought. She pulled a cart down the hall to the tiny room that she would try to make into a home for the next two weeks.
Angie picked up the phone to call her girls as she bustled about the tiny room and put her things away. Dishes in the tiny kitchen, clothes hung on the open rack and dresser, food in the refrigerator, toiletries in the bathroom, and last but not least the pictures of the girls by the bed. All while she listened to the exciting day that her girls had. Dinner at IHOP with Grandma, homework done, beds made and animals fed. Happy sounds, so far from her empty hotel room. They all said goodbye and sent their love.
Angie sat at the desk, turned on the wax burner for the homey scent of cinnamon buns and began to type. Her writing would have to be her refuge, at least for now. Until she could find a home again.
So often my writing is my refuge. I am posting this one because it is exactly how I feel. And the hotel room isn't terrible, it is just not home. LOL Prayers that I find something quick to whatever GOD you pray to please.
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