Free The Year I Almost Drowned by Shannon McCrimmon

it to Jesse along with a text message: “Stuck in gaudy
    Jungle.
    Help!”

    He texted me right back: “Even a firefighter can’t save you from that!”

    We ventured outside and strolled around the property, which encompassed acres
    of green pastures, a decent sized swimming pool, and a meditation garden. My
    grandfather stopped in front of the chlorinated fountain that was surrounded by a
    black, wrought iron fence. Four grave sites lay in front of it: one of Elvis, his
    mother, his father, and paternal grandfather. Grandpa took off his hat and lowered
    his head observing a respectful moment of silence. I patiently stood over to the
    side. He turned to look at me and said, “Let’s get our money’s worth and see the
    rest
    of
    the
    place.”

    ***

    We stayed overnight in Buffalo Valley, Tennessee, in a cheap motel called The
    Valley Inn. It was my grandfather’s idea–he didn’t want to stay in the hotel Nana
    had reserved for us. “We don’t need to spend hundreds of dollars for one night’s
    sleep,” he said, and when he saw the flashing sign stating “$29.95 per night”
    rooms, he made me pull the car over against my better judgement.

    This motel’s main lobby was full of cigarette smoke and had a musty, unpleasant
    odor that I couldn’t distinguish. It was a tie between cat litter, stale cigarettes and
    moldy carpet. “You’ll be stayin’ in room number 3,” the man at the front desk said,
    giving me a creepy smile, his teeth stained mustard yellow. His thin hair was
    slicked
    back;
    it
    looked
    greasy
    and
    unwashed.

    “Ice machine is outside.” He hacked up something from the back of his throat. It
    sounded like a cat trying to get rid of its fur ball. He gave us an old fashioned key
    and told us our room was outside to the right, just three rooms down from the
    lobby.

    We arrived at our room and opened the aqua-colored door. The paint was
    peeling, exposing rust underneath the thick layers of paint. The inside was as
    worn and weathered as the exterior. The room was dreary: full of dark-paneled
    walls, water stained orange carpet, and avocado green bedspreads. There were
    two twin beds and a television set that looked like it was from the 1980’s. The
    bathroom was dingy and disgusting and had specks of mildew that covered the
    faded beige tiles. The sink dripped small pellets of water constantly, like slow
    Chinese water torture. Drip, drip, drip, the sound of droplets hitting the sink basin
    was nerve wracking. Globs of hair had settled in the drain. The fluorescent light
    flickered and made a low, annoying humming sound. The room was cold. My
    grandfather turned the heat on and a horrible smell permeated the room.

    “Guess the heat ain’t working,” he said, unfazed by the disaster of a room. I
    wanted to grab my suitcase and get out of there as fast as I could.

    I pulled the bedspread back off of the bed and sat down on the over-bleached
    sheets that had seen more life than they needed. I sunk all the way down to the
    mattress springs– which essentially was foam on coiled wire. On the bedside
    table next to me, there was a pile of dust. “Do you think there’s bed bugs in here?”
    I asked, carefully peering down at the sheets, inspecting it as well as I could
    considering
    the
    poor
    fluorescent
    lighting
    overhead.

    He laughed at my question and then said, “No. This place isn’t that bad.” His
    interpretation of bad and my idea of what was bearable were two different
    definitions
    entirely.

    “I’m going outside to get some air.” I took my phone with me.

    “Tell Jesse hello for me,” he said to me and made an impish grin on my way out
    the
    door.

    I
    closed
    the
    door
    behind
    me
    and
    called
    Jesse.

    “Hey,”
    he
    said
    sleepily.

    “Did
    I
    wake
    you?”

    “That’s
    okay.”
    He
    yawned.

    “Now I feel bad,” I said. I forgot about the time difference. We were an hour behind
    Graceville.

    “I guess you made it out of the jungle okay,” he teased.