A Coma In Hope
The Indian man was going to show me the room before I agreed to stay because he said there wasn't a non-smoking room and I was about to leave because of it. When I asked for a non-smoking room he hesitated long enough to make it seem like there might be one but it was becoming pretty obvious that non-smokers probably stayed elsewhere in Hope, Arkasas. I followed him around the counter and out the glass door and did not once stare at his wife sleeping on the couch. I was giving her that much privacy. The sound of the baby crying in the room behind the counter followed us out the door.
He opened the room wide and it stank a little and then he opened the one next to it and it stank a little too, but sweetly. I said probably this one and he giggled nervously and said he had sprayed some smoke spray. I asked him how much and when he said 29 dollars I just nodded like, oh, what the hell can you expect for that price? Ok, I'll take this one I said.
Driving earlier in the day and I had become tense so I pulled off the highway and did a little shopping at Walmart. I don't know where. If I say Tennessee does that help? I bought a 10 dollar pair of black jeans. And some fishing lures, about 20 dollars worth. And one lightweight green rain pancho. And a vegetable cup with ranch sauce. And a fruit cup with unrealistic tasting cantaloupe and honeydew, two pieces of seemingly authentic pineapple and three grapes which I thought might have come from a laboratory but I wasn't complaining because they were delicious and crisp.
I asked the motel owner where I could find a Laundromat there in Hope, Arkansas because I wanted to wash my new jeans He asked me what time I wanted to do my laundry and I had to admit that I wasn't sure. That's what he was hoping for because he wanted me to know that there was a 24 hour Laundromat in Hope, near the Taco Bell. I said that sounded great.
That's not where I went though. I headed off in that direction but then did a sudden U-turn--there is after all no law against it, unless there is a law against it--and took a right on N. Hazel and wandered aimlessly through what appeared to be a section of town specifically reserved for black people, which as luck would have it, also had a Laundromat, at the corner of D, across from the church. I went in there and asked the first woman I saw if there was soap for sale and she grunted and pointed to the far corner. I got a box of Cheer for 50 cents and picked a washer that I could only hope wasn't a loser but how are you going to know until you know. I think I had already stretched to the limit any good will I was going to receive at this Laundromat and besides, how would you phrase that without sounding like a complete idiot? Um, excuse me again ma'am, but is the a good one? Or perhaps, Uh Yes, Could You Tell Me If This Machine Is In Good Working Order? Or maybe, Hi, I'm new here, what's your favorite machine? I decided to just mind my own business, the business of washing a single pair of jeans, and picked up a local advertising tabloid. I was struck firstly by an ad placed by a man looking for swarming bees. He wanted to give them a home.
I got tired of waiting and reading advertisements so after checking that my machine was in fact working well enough, I took a drive up Hazel and very soon came up on The Bank of Hope, which is out of proportion to its surroundings or to the point is the biggest fucking bank I have ever seen in a town so small.
I quickly finished my sightseeing and went back to wait on my jeans. The dryer was stingy with heat so I was there awhile. A toddler kept passing in front of me, back and forth, and I would have engaged her but I didn't want to get yelled at by the mother, or have the toddler get yelled at because of me. I continued to mind my own business. On one pass the toddler did a little pose and to no one in particular practiced her "whatchu lookin' at" delivery. Staring off into that distance beyond the glass front door where maybe there existed a young man acting fresh, she said, with considerable spunk and attitude--"whatchu lookin' at." And smirked. I think she was happy with the delivery. I know I was.
Later she came back and picked up the newspaper I had put in the seat next to me and I whispered, yeah, go ahead and take it. She carried it over to the floor in front of her mother and began taking it apart and spreading the sections out all around her. When their laundry was done the mama yelled, pick up that paper! and she began picking it up and wadding it such as her tiny hands were capable of doing. The baby girl got all the pieces gathered up and she was almost invisible behind the now hovering mass of crumpled paper. Put in the trash! her mother barked. She was standing at the midpoint between two trash cans and she started off for the one nearest me. But her mother barked again, and she paused, and then started back my way. I was hoping to get a good look at the earnest expression on her face as she performed this task but her mother barked one last time and pointed to the can closer to her. They left shortly after that and so did I.
I got a rib plate at Uncle Henry's Smokehouse, near the motel, and took it back to the room. Rated best barbecue in Arkansas according to the sign on the door and I don't know how much competition they are working with there but it was some good, and inexpensive. The ribs were fat with meat and the potato salad was right on and there was nothing wrong with those beans. I could only finish three ribs before my belly puffed out and then I was on the bed watching the women's softball World Series. In a matter of minutes I descended into a rib plate induced coma and was not seen or heard from again for the next 10 hours. The next morning I awoke and noticed there was no soap in the room but I took a shower anyway. I had breakfast at Sheba's before hitting the road for Dallas.
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