The Cozy Rest Motel The old motel stands near an entrance ramp to Highway 61, not far outside of St. Francisville. The two-story building is a shell; all the rooms are exposed, back and front, looking somewhat like car wash stalls. An old metal sign hangs down on the right side. The weathered sky-blue lettering tells me this is, or was, the Cozy Rest Motel. Below the Cozy Rest sign another, smaller sign assures me that the Cozy Rest has, "VACANCIES." ‘No shit,’ I think wryly. Long forgotten, the motel, like the abandoned drive-in theater screens you still see now and then, is a relic of the past. But then, maybe I’m just being sentimental. This is what goes through my mind as I drive down the entrance ramp, and I find myself glancing back through the rearview mirror as the motel slips from view. Suddenly, I feel I want to go back. I wrestle with the thought for a moment and try to talk myself out of it. ‘You’ve been on the road too long,’ I tell myself. ‘You don’t have to be in St. Louis until tomorrow afternoon. Find a Best Western. Get dinner. Watch some pay-per-view. Go to bed early.’ What sticks in my head is the fact that I don’t have to be in St. Louis until tomorrow. I take the next exit, drive over a bridge, and get back on 61 heading north. A faded road sign appears. It shows a family of four, father and mother, sister and brother, climbing out of their car… Tail fins… That sign has been there awhile… All have blond hair and big smiles. In the background is the Cozy Rest Motel as it must have looked a generation ago. There is the Cozy Rest sign in the picture; the sky-blue lettering is now as faded as it is on the real sign. At the bottom of the road sign are the words: "Take a load off your feet at the Cozy Rest Motel - NEXT EXIT!" I hear the crunch of gravel as I pull into the parking lot. I stop the car, put it in park and roll down the window. A blast of heat hits me. It’s early, but the July sun is hot and getting hotter. I shut off the engine. There is the sound of the highway behind me; in contrast the Cozy Rest Motel is silent and empty. I experience a moment of apprehension. ‘Are you crazy? There could be a serial killer hiding out in there!’ I wonder if my mother’s voice has suddenly taken prisoner of my subconscious. ‘There are no walls, for God’s sake. Nobody could hide in there!’ I shake my head to clear it. I get out of the car, and as I shut the door I hear the echo come back at me from the shell of the Cozy Rest. The gravel in the parking lot is dry; a sultry breeze blows it around, wheat-colored clouds. Smaller clouds are stirred up behind me as I walk. It seems it’s been awhile since this part of Missouri has seen rain. This somehow depresses me, and I become more conscious of the heat and a growing thirst. I wish I’d have pulled off at that last rest stop and gotten a drink. I stop at the bottom of the Cozy Rest sign and look up. The metal sign makes a "ching… ching ching" sound as the broken right side blows back and forth in the wind. I run my hand along the weathered wooden sign post. The wind is gusting from the south… Laughter… Children laughing… I’m suddenly lightheaded. ‘Must be the heat,’ I think. I walk back to the car - crunch, crunch - I’m sweating now. The blowing gravel is sticking to my damp skin. I get in the car, roll up the window and start the engine. I turn the air on full-blast. ‘I’ll cool off a little before I look around any more.’ I turn on the radio. ‘Maybe I can catch the weather. Damn, it’s hot!’ I search for stations. Silence. ‘That’s strange... FM stations are always easier to find in the middle of nowhere, which is definitely where I am right now.’ I switch to AM and search some more. A DJ’s voice suddenly comes in loud and clear. "Hey, all you kids out there! Gonna be a scorcher today! Look for temperatures near one hundred degrees! It’s a great day for a swim and some rock n’ roll! But right now, it’s time to cuddle up with that special boy or girl. Here’s the brand new song by The Flamingos, I Only Have Eyes for You!" "What the hell?" I say out loud. I turn up the volume and hear the familiar, "Shep shep… Shep shep…" I never did know exactly what they were saying at the beginning of that song… "Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright… I only have eyes… for you… dear…" "This is crazy," I say, out loud again. Suddenly, the gravel is stirred up again; great, billowing clouds pass over the front of my car. When the dust settles, I notice another car has pulled into the parking lot of the Cozy Rest Motel. It’s an old blue and white Ford Fairlane 500. I don’t know much about cars but I can tell by the tail fins… ‘What the hell…’ I repeat, to myself this time… I know where I’ve seen those tail fins before... "Take a load off your feet at the Cozy Rest Motel - NEXT EXIT!" The road sign… ‘No way… This is not happening…’ The car doors open. A family of four steps out. There is a mother and father, a sister and brother. All have blond hair. All are dressed in fifties-style clothing. The father opens the trunk and takes out the luggage. He and his wife turn to look at the children, who have run off to the playground. The slide is broken and the swings are rusted with age, but the children don’t seem to notice. The mother calls out to them, "Your father and I will check in. You can stay on the playground but don’t go near the pool." "Okay, mother," they reply in unison. The mother and father disappear… They disappear… into the motel. I look over at the old playground. The brother and sister have seen me. They are whispering to each other and pointing. I have my hand on the car door, a death-grip. My palms are sweating. I want to get out of the car; I want to approach the children and ask them as casually as possible what they’re all dressed up for but… ‘This is would be funny if it weren’t so creepy,’ I think. ‘There’s got to be an explanation, a car show or a fifties festival… something…’ Out of the corner of my eye I see the mother and father come out … They reappear from the shadows… of the old Cozy Rest Motel. The sister sticks her tongue out at me; the brother laughs…. Children laughing… They run over to the mother and father, and the four of them walk over to one of the motel’s lower units. I see a silver key glimmer in the father’s hand. He holds it up, turns it as though unlocking a door, and they all… They vanish… go inside. I begin frantically searching stations on the radio again… Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, The Platters, Buddy Holly… I shut off the engine and get out of the car. I’m shaking so hard I can barely open the trunk. I take out my daughter’s boom box. ‘Please God, let the batteries be good. Let it work!’ I turn it on… Frankie Avalon, a commercial for Burma Shave… My legs are shaking and I sit down on the gravel to think. ‘Keep it together! Get up and go to where they went in.’ I stand up on jello legs. Boom box in hand, I walk - crunch, crunch - toward the motel. I pass the pool, which is empty. The bottom is cracked. Weeds are growing there and along the walls. There is trash too, discarded fast food sacks and broken beer bottles. The closer I get to where the family went in… They ceased to exist… the more frightened I become. I search the radio one more time… Elvis… young, skinny Elvis, Doris Day… I slowly approach Unit 3. I can see that it’s Unit 3 from the faded paint that still shows above the doorframe… That’s where the door was… That’s where the door was attached to the walls that are no longer there. I put the boom box down on the ground and take another step… But there are walls and doors... They are right there… See? The Cozy Rest looks… ‘My God! It looks like it does on the road sign!’ I walk unsteadily toward a door with gold lettering: Unit 3. I put my ear to the door and hear muffled voices… Laughter… Children laughing… There is a window with Venetian blinds. They are slightly open. I stand with my back to the building … Is it still a building if it doesn’t have walls? There are no walls… Yes there are… I peer carefully into the window. The mother is unpacking suitcases. The father is smoking a pipe. The children are watching something on an old Philco black and white television: Wagon Train. My fear has been replaced by numbness and confusion. I lean against the wall… It’s sky-blue, the same paint on the sign… and sink to the ground. ‘God, I need a drink of water…’ An overwhelming sound of rushing wind… or is it water? Then… nothing. I rub my eyes. I must have fallen asleep. The sun is high in the sky; it was just past dawn when I pulled in. I must have heat stroke. My skin is clammy; my mouth and throat like sandpaper. I’m leaning against the inside wall… The outside walls are gone… Of course they are; they’ve been gone for years… of Unit 3. Looking out, I see my car, alone in the parking lot. I retrieve the boom box and walk slowly - crunch, crunch - toward my car. When I look back over my shoulder, I see the shell of the Cozy Rest Motel, silent and empty. I think about going back but then I realize… I can’t… I shouldn’t have come… They were trying to tell me… I… ‘I don’t belong here.’ As I pass the old pool I see a water pump. Funny, I don’t remember seeing it before. I would have noticed; it’s shiny and new. Like me, out of place. The crank pumps up and down easily. Clean water pours out. I take a generous drink, then stick my head under the icy water. ‘I’ll never drive this many hours again without pulling over,’ I promise myself. ‘Man, what a weird dream. It was a dream… had to be.’ When I get to my car I see something lying on the ground. I bend to pick it up. It’s an old postcard. I don’t look at it right away. First, I climb in my car and start the engine. I hold my breath as I turn on the radio and search for stations. A reporter is reading the news: "President Bush said today that…" I shut off the radio and look at the postcard. It’s weathered with age but I can still make it out: The Cozy Rest Motel. There’s an old Ford Fairlane 500… I know this now, I didn’t know this before… The doors are open; a family of four is climbing out. There’s a mother and father, a sister and brother. All have blonde hair and big smiles. It reads: "Hope you had a restful stay at the Cozy Rest Motel. Tell your friends about us!" ‘I don’t know about that…’ I open the glove box, and glance at the postcard again before shoving it inside. I hear the crunch of gravel as I pull out of the parking lot. I find myself glancing back through my rear view mirror. I drive down the entrance ramp, heading south on Highway 61 toward St. Louis. The motel slips from view.
Copyright © 2003 Paula Poland |