SYMPHOBIA - Chapter Two

Local Weather

He opens the door and heaves his duffle bag on the far bed. The door closes behind him and he puts the plastic room key down next to the channel listing on top of the television. No HBO.

He turns it on anyway and sits on the edge of the first bed. A dull face with too much enthusiasm for local weather tells him his shoes are soaked. He reaches for his dripping laces and frees his feet. His socks are wet too. Ten feet from the car to the front desk, maybe another four from the car to his room, and they’re sopping. A stray drop rolls from his eyebrow down his cheek and to the corner of his mouth and he tastes the salt it collected.

He puts the shoes on the floor by the wall unit and turns the air on high. The rain makes the night cool, but the room is still stale. He walks around the bed to the duffle bag and his feet leave moist imprints on the thin carpet. He doesn’t care. He pulls out a fresh pair of socks, a faded t-shirt, and his toothbrush. He walks to the sink by the bathroom.

He drops the clothes to the floor and sets the toothbrush on the counter. The luggage stand in the corner invites him to sit, he does and pulls the socks, stretching their wet grips until they let go. Another drop rolls down his face and he almost wipes it with a balled-up sock.

He sets the socks on the counter and looks for toothpaste in the courtesy dish. He looks at the stubble in the mirror and expects an explanation for a few seconds. He puts the travel cap back on his toothbrush and picks up the wet socks again. He grabs the handle to the bathroom door and twists, pushing toward the toilet and the tub, a place to set his wet socks. The latch comes free of the jam, but the door doesn’t move.

He twists the handle again and throws his shoulder against the door. It moves a good six inches this time, but he backs off a bit. He stares into the opening: six inches of darkness. The light catches the towel rack and it shines like black ice. He puts his shoulder against the door, one hand still on the knob, the other flat against the door. He pushes harder.

There is a moment of sudden awareness – like a plate he didn’t know was hot. His push is halted. A grunt from the other side of the door. A distinct and forceful shove, and the door slams back on him.