I sighed and closed my computer. Clearly I wasn’t getting any work done, so I packed up and made my way through the ornate lobby, resplendent with mahogany columns, and gilded paneling on the walls. It was screaming tasteful bourgeoisie, which was a far cry from the disrepair it had fallen into over the last decade. Junior prom had been held here, when it was already rundown. Dilapidation had meant that my classmates could afford rooms, and Erik and I had reserved one, but our world had already turned upside down by prom and none of my formerly glorious friend group had attended.
As I look around curiously at the remodel on my way to the elevators, I feel eyes on me. It’s that peculiar and mysterious feeling that has to be felt to be understood. I turn to the alcove on my right and spy a man very obviously studying me. Not eager to alert him to the fact that I’m onto his eyes tracking me unabashedly, I only glance. I’d have to be blind to not notice that he is young and attractive, but beyond that I’m unable to commit his features to memory. I do catch a brief smile as he attempts to hold my gaze. I ignore it, raise my head and stride to the elevator.
I’m simultaneously thrilled and nervous that no elevator is waiting and that I’m still in plain sight from the couch he’s adorning. I wait patiently, ignoring his eyes, but also try to decide whether to meet them again. Before I can decide, the elevator arrives and I quickly board it and press my floor, taking the opportunity to look ahead, where I find him just where he was before. He is still taking me in and as our eyes meet he slightly inclines his head in greeting and smiles. I find myself smiling as well, and nod my head back at him as the elevator doors shut in front of my face with him disappearing behind them.
I can’t help but continue grinning all the way to my room. I’m no stranger to interested gazes from random males, but they aren’t usually that handsome. And if I’m honest, something about feeling so out of place in a town where I should belong more than anywhere, lends itself to being comforted by uncomplicated gazes of adoration. He doesn’t know me, doesn’t know my past here, and that feels lovely. He looked about my age, but I didn’t recognize him as a former classmate.
I swing open the door to my suite and am once again pleased with my rooms. I hold onto that considering I’m still not sure I’m pleased with my decision to come back here. At least I have a nice place to hide my head if things go awry.
The room is already a disaster from all my strewn clothes. I’ve already snapped all the glossy shots of the room for my blog post, so now it’s open season. I’m a slob. No matter what I try to do to change it, every place I habitate looks like this. I shrug at my slovenly handiwork and lay on the bed, pretending that I’m not on top of two sweaters, a bag of chips and a phone charger. This would certainly wipe that enticing smile off the face of hottie from the lobby, I think. Maybe me lying on top of it would make it more appealing?
As I lay there staring at the paneling and planning the rest of my day I nod off unexpectedly.
***
What time is it? Jesus, what DAY is it? I sit up, completely confused. Random naps are not a usual thing for me. Clearly my turmoil of being back in Bishop has taxed me into hibernating. It’s already dark out—have I missed the whole evening? I locate the clock and see it’s just past 6pm, presumably still on Friday. I slept for over three hours and now feel so disoriented.
I stretch and sit up, piling my thick auburn hair into a messy bun on the top of my head, and feel around for the light and wince when the room becomes flooded with it. I stumble to the large shower, and try to wash the fog off of me.
The night is young, and clearly I’m rested. My job is to partake in all the hotel has to offer, so tonight I’ll check out the bar. I mechanically dress myself in a lacy, black cocktail dress. The design is nothing special, but the way it hugs my body to show it to its best advantage is what keeps it in my rotation. It’s also surprisingly comfortable, which I remember pleasantly as I lean over on the bed to slip on my pink heels. Always a fun pop of color, though unfortunately they are NOT comfortable. You win some, you lose some.
I loosen my hair from its bun imprisonment and run my fingers through it until it's knot-free and the waves look moderately attractive. I spend a bit more time on my makeup, because I am still nervous about running into people before the actual reunion, and I’d like for my outside to not belie the insecurity I feel burgeoning inside.
Downstairs I find the bar, with glowing lantern-manufactured light, and rich mahogany tables inviting me in. They have played up the history of the building, and I feel as though I may run into Paul Revere’s ghost here, casually sipping
