MY SIDE OF THE STORY:
I met Ashleigh outside a motel in Hooksett, New Hampshire. I was coming back from the Cannon Mountain ski resort and she was on her way to a college up north.
I had only been in the United States for two months and was experiencing my first ‘œreal’ winter. I had never seen snow before.
Our cars collided at a four-way stop. The streets were iced up. She put on her brakes. I put on my brakes. Neither of us managed to keep our cars from sliding into each other and gliding off the road into a ditch. (Besides trying to drive on the right side of the road, this was the first time I had ever driven in icy conditions. I still think I’m paying the rental company for damages to the car.)
I jumped out of my car and plowed through the snow to her car. I reached her door as she was opening it. She almost knocked me off my feet and into the snow.
“Oh my God,” she said getting out of the car, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I put on my brakes but I couldn’t stop. The car just slid…”
“Me too,” she said. “The car just slid…”
“Let’s see if we can get out of this mess.” I said, getting into her car. “I’ll try and pull your car out first.”
The snow was just too slippery and neither car would budge. All I managed to do was shower her with snow as I revved the engine and sent the wheels into a churning spin. She was standing behind the car and was covered from head to toe in snow.
“I’m sorry,” I said, getting out of the car.
“That’s all right,” she said shivering, “It was a stupid place to stand.”
“It looks like we’re going to have to get someone to tow us out,” I said.
“It’s two in the morning,” she said. “I bet even the tow truck guys are sleeping.”
“That looks like the only life on this planet, ” I said, pointing at the neon sign flashing above the Dolly Dimple Motel across the road. (I swear that is the motel’s name and it really exists in Hooksett, New Hampshire on Route 3.)
It was warm inside the motel office. John Wayne grunted from an old black and white television nestled among a slew of paperwork on the desk. I hit the service bell.
“Maybe they’re closed,” she said.
“It says twenty-four hours,” I said, hitting the bell again.
“Dang,” came a muffled voice from a closed door behind us. “It’s two in the morning. A guy can’t even go to the restroom peace.”
Ashleigh looked at me in disgust as we heard the man clear his throat and spit. Then the toilet flushed and the door opened.
The man was in his sixties. A worn out John Deere baseball cap rested awkwardly on top of his head. His eyes were red and his salt and pepper stubble made him look like a panhandler.
He was tucking his red and gray plaid shirt into a pair of very baggy Levi jeans as he shuffled behind the desk. He sucked in his paunch and tightened his belt.
“Looking for a place to uh…sleep,” he said winking at me. “We rent rooms by the hour.”
“Actually,” said Ashleigh, oblivious of his loaded comment, “Our cars are stuck in a snow bank across the road and we were wondering if you knew anyone could help us out?”
He grunted and shuffled over to the window. His nose almost touched the glass as he peered out at the cars.
“You’ve got a problem,” he said, turning and shuffling back behind the counter. “It’s Sunday. It’s 2 am. And everybody’s at home sleepin’.”
“Could you help us?” I said. “It won’t be that hard to pull the cars out. We just need to get them onto the asphalt so the tires can grip.”
“Well,” said the old man rubbing his face so hard you could hear the stubble against his palms. “That’s another problem. See I don’t have no car. Lost my license, DWI. I sold the car. No use paying fer inspections when you caint drive the dang automobile anyhow. Sold it to my son. An he went and ripped me off, the sombitch. Still owes me a hundert-n-fifty dollars.”
“There must be someone who can help us,” I said.
“Not ’til the morning,” said the old man, shaking his head thoughtfully. “Not ’til the morning.”
“What should we do?” I turned to Ashleigh.
“Where can we get some coffee?” she asked the old man.
“Free coffee with a room,” said the old man.
“How much is a room?” I asked. “We might as well get some sleep if we have to wait.”
“Twenty-seven fifty,” said the old man.
“Each?” I said.
“Nah, together in one room.”
“And for each of us in a different room?” I said, quickly.
“Twenty two each.”
I looked at Ashleigh. “Might as well, ” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“We’ll have two rooms,” I said, “and two coffees.”
“We’ve got a problem there,” said the old man.
“What’s the problem now,” I said, throwing my hands into the air.
“I’ve only got one room left,” he said lifting his cap and scratching his head. “It’s the V.F.W.’s Korean War Reunion. The whole town is sold out.”
“Let’s wait in the car,” Ashleigh said, impatiently.
“Thanks, we’ll wait in the car,” I said, following Ashleigh out of the door.
“See you later,” said the man. “If you change yer minds, c’mon back. It be pretty dern cold outside.”
“I think I’ll try and get some sleep,” said Ashleigh, getting into her car.
“All right,” I replied. “If it gets too cold give me a shout.”
I got into my car and covered myself with an old towel I found on the floor behind my seat. I tossed and turned for a few minutes, then decided to try and see if I could move the car again. I started the car and revved the engine. The car just dug itself deeper and deeper into the snow. I got out and looked around for some bricks or logs to put under the wheel. All I needed was something for the tires to grip onto and I’d be able to get the car out.
I found a crate. The wood was damp and the crate came apart easily in my hands. I placed the wood behind the front wheels of the car. I got into the car and started the engine. I could see Ashleigh watching me from her car. She was wrapped in a blanket and was looking through a hole she had wiped from the condensation on the inside of the window.
Across the road, the old man watched through the motel office window. I started the car and gunned the engine again. The car didn’t budge.
I killed the engine and settled in for a long night. I was tired and it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep.
I had been asleep for no more than five minutes, when a knock on the window woke me up. It was Ashleigh standing outside wrapped in her blanket.
I rolled down the window. “Mind if I join you?” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Hop in,” I said, opening the door.
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“It’s cold,” she said. “Let’s go in and get the room.”
We walked back across the road and into the motel office.
“Can I help you?” said the old man.
“Yes, we’d like a room for the night.” I said.
“Couldn’t do it in the car eh?” he laughed. “Be careful boy, an older woman with a young punk like you.”
“Just give us the key?” Ashleigh snapped.
“There’s only one bed in there,” said the old man, winking at me.
“So,” said Ashleigh. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“The floor’s cold,” he chuckled.
“Then he’ll sleep on the floor,” she said, taking the keys.
“Number thirteen,” said the old man “It’s across the car park behind the neon sign.”
Neither of us got any sleep that evening. Ashleigh and I lay with our arm around each other and talked all night about our hopes and dreams…
HER SIDE OF THE STORY
(According to Bruce, a mutual friend)
She was on her way back to school after a great weekend with her boyfriend. She had a minor car accident at 2 am in the damn morning with a South African guy and both of their cars got stuck in a snow bank. (He’d never driven in the snow before.)
They tried forever but couldn’t get the cars out.
They could not get anyone to help them tow the cars at that time of night. They finally found a crummy motel with hot coffee.
There was only one room left because of some Mary Kay convention or something. She they got the room and he slept in his car for a while. She felt bad for him so she went out and invited him in.
She called her boyfriend and they spoke for almost two hours while Trevor snored on the chair. Apparently he didn’t try and pull a move on her because she would have hurt him. She has a black belt in karate.
THE TRUTH
None of the above happened. Both interpretations of the event were completely made up by me last night at two in the morning (because I couldn’t sleep). This entry was triggered by a conversation I had with “famous” actor I met at the USA film festival a few weeks ago. We were discussing the power of the written word and how dangerous words can be in the wrong hands. He was talking about a friend of his who has been character assassinated in the press and tabloids. It’s interesting that the very same words than can heal can also destroy. (Propaganda in Rwanda and pre war Germany come to mind.)
