The sign read Toronto: 50 miles. It seemed like I had just crossed the United States/Canada border. Apparently this was long past. A sign announcing hotels and gas stations appeared. I turned onto the exit. There were a few cheap motels, a bar, and a gas station. Taking my pick of the motels, I turned my Altima into a parking spot and located the office. A bored teenager sat behind the desk, flipping through a sports magazine. He gave me the key to their last available room. Apparently this sleepy little town was hosting a Lake Day Festival tomorrow. Good thing the town was surrounded by them.
I found my room at the end of the parking lot and drug my worn, purple duffel bag into the room. My stomach chose this moment to announce its need for food in the form of what is probably the human equivalent of a dying whale noise. The options were slim: bar or gas station. At least I could get alcohol and maybe fries at the bar.
Rain started pouring from the sky. I trudged through the puddles across the road. "Grey's" the sign said. As I pulled open the door to the questionable "Grey's" Bar, the air conditioner blew my hair out of my face. Great. Now I can be wet and cold.
A few off duty police officers spoke softly at the table, while a couple construction workers, judging from their clothes, played pool. I put my order in with the bartender. Is he even old enough to serve beer? Whatever. As long as he can pour a glass of wine, everything else is his prerogative.
Locating a corner booth away from the other bar patrons, I took my wine and fries and got comfortable with my book; a stupid romantic comedy from a thrift store in Chelsea.
I felt her presence behind me before I saw her. She slid into the seat opposite me and stared. The guy was about to profess his love to the girl, when this girl interrupted their little confession. I looked up from the book.
"I'm Holly," she stated matter-of-factly. "Gail," I replied suspiciously. "Good book?" she questioned while stealing one of my fries. I looked at her in disbelief. "Well?" she asked again. "It's stupid and cliched," I finally spit out. "Bummer," she said nonchalantly while eating another fry. Who did she think she was?!
She ordered a drink as the overly flirtatious server walked up. "And one for my friend, Gail," she smiled at him sweetly, flipping her perfectly wavy, black hair. He walked away, completely content to be her servant in probably anything she asked. I mean she looks like a Greek goddess, who wouldn't?
"He's such an ass," she mumbled quietly. I smiled. We are going to get along great.