by Anmarie Bowler
I’ll crack the window but it won’t open fully; protection for jumpers. The air will be cool so I’ll wear your big sweater like a house coat and socks like slippers. My morning ritual will start with an instant coffee packet instead of brown rain water.
You’re convinced there’s not a Holiday Inn left standing, and you wish I’d stop thinking about it. But there used to be so many. We’d check in and I’d unpack first thing. Stash my notebooks and your dog-eared comic books in a drawer. Our selected trousers and shirts hung nicely on hangers that were impossible to steal.
When we live in a Holiday Inn forever, and we will, I promise, I’ll shower quickly, just two minutes, washing with the 3-in-1 soap/shampoo/conditioner the hotel provides. But we’ll have our own toothpaste, full-size not travel. And I’ll brush my teeth often, because I can.
I’ll still have a couple of books when we live in a Holiday Inn forever, a collection of short stories and a classic that I’ll keep next to the bed. And your pen knife too. A gift from your grandad. Remember? We traded it for an extra blanket that time it snowed for nearly two years.
When we live in a Holiday Inn forever, we’ll bring cardboard cartons of spicey food back to the room because we won’t have a kitchen. It’s been a long time since we had a kitchen. I promise to recycle faithfully and we’ll keep a bag of bags-for-life, like we used to.
I won’t waste food, especially apples. I’ll eat them, core and all, even those with mushy bruises. As a treat, I’ll buy you a bottle of beer so you can pop the top with the metal opener screwed to the side of the desk in our room. And of course I’ll keep the empty bottle. Although, when we live in a Holiday Inn forever, I probably won’t have to scrounge around for used buckets and old bottles anymore.
I won’t scrounge at all, or as some say almost romantically, forage. I’ll do neither. I won’t go hungry or drink acrid water and you won’t cough up blood so often. The taps will flow clear and the radiators will get hot. But never above 65 degrees Fahrenheit, I know you’ll keep a close eye on it.
I won’t have to wash my only pair of dirty underpants in this dirty boiling sea. If only they were actually a pair. I’ll gladly wash my underpants in the sink in the white tiled bathroom and dry them on the windowsill when we live in a Holiday Inn forever.
About the Author:
Anmarie Bowler is the editor of Brevity, The Isle of Wight’s Literary Handbill, https://brevityisland.home.blog/, a 6-times yearly lit zine supported by Arts Council England. She grew up in Ohio, worked at theatres in DC and LA, before moving to London. She now lives on an island off the southern coast of the United Kingdom where Keeper, her play about a smart-mouth, toilet paper-stealing cleaner of vacation homes is in development. Her work has most recently appeared in Haus-A-Rest, an online art zine and The Grey, a London-based alternative fashion platform. Her favorite apple is a Pink Lady. Perfect for eating and juicing.