Too Stiff
I opened my hand and let my suitcase fall to the ground of my hotel room. I shivered. This place was freezing. I rubbed the polyster blankets between my fingertips. And so… stiff.
After unzipping my suitcase, I threw my worn wool blanket from home over the pristine, but fake, hotel bed. I bounced on top of it, but it was stiff under my spine. Just not quite like home.
My nose twitched in the air. Maybe it was the smell. It just didn’t smell like home. I removed a can of febreeze from my suitcase and spritzed the air a couple of times. It was the same scent and brand from the one I used at home.
Now, my room smelled like a beach. I didn’t live on a beach. It still just didn’t smell like home.
Exhausted, I dumped my dirty laundry into the closet. It was going to be a long trip. I would have to see if they have a washing machine I could use. Sniffing the air again, I sighed. A very long trip.
Then, I paused and exhaled again. For some reason I couldn’t quite place, it was beginning to smell like home. Yet, still not there.
My stomach grumbled. I took out the sushi I bought for lunch—yesterday. Part of me complained internally—but it wasn’t my stomach so I opened up the cheap, plastic container. The scent of old fish sucker-punched my poor nostrils. Gagging, I flushed it down the toilet.
I jumped back on my bed. The smell was closer to home now, but still not there.
My stomach yelled at me again. Still starving. I glanced at my purse for a last resort. Pulling out a little baggy of burnt homemade cookies, I gulped. They were practically black. Begrudging, I cracked open the bag and took a bite.
Then, shockingly, I smiled.
Not because of the cookies, they tasted like ash. Absolutely terrible. But the smell. It smelled just like home now.
It’s the smell of the three day old tuna I keep buying and I tell myself that I’ll finally make my own sushi—but never do. It’s the smell of burnt batch of cookies I make—but keep making anyway because I’m convinced that one day they’ll turn out perfect. And the smell of the fake febreeze spray I use to cover it all up the next morning.
The promises I don’t keep (like the tuna). The promises I do keep (like the cookies). And how I try to start again every day(with the new febreze).
It all blends together in the air, in my home. Because that’s me. That’s how I blend together.
I pounced back onto the wool blanket. It’s warm and soft, welcoming me. No longer the stiff hotel room I first walked into. I snuggled in, closed my eyes, and went to sleep. Finally at true peace.