We wanted a place to take our whole family. I wanted to pile into the station wagon and take a cross-country road trip, like when I was a boy. See the sights. Mount Rushmore. The Grand Canyon. Niagara Falls. The White House. I wanted my boys to look up at their father, look into my eyes, look into my aviator sunglasses, and think “wow, that’s my dad”. Doesn’t that sound amazing? Can’t you just hear their voices? I planned like a father. Maps, pamphlets, brochures, vouchers, schedules, timetables, advance tickets, discount passes, everything I had everything down to absolute most minute detail. Except that first night. That first night I left up to chance. Because I didn’t want to get wrapped up in my own self-control. I tried to remember what we learned in therapy. That I need to learn how to let things go. So I thought that first night, I’ll just wing it. I didn’t even make up a secret back-up plan that I just didn’t mention to my wife, that I wouldn’t even mention to myself, because I know that’s one of my bad habits. That I say I’m winging it when secretly I have it all planned out, but not this time. It almost killed me, but I did it. And it just about killed my entire fucking family. Motel 6, can’t be that bad. Sure it didn’t look too hot from the outside but never in my wildest dreams could I imagine the fucking nightmare. Blood. My boys have seen adult men cause each other to bleed. And not in some movie. In real life. Five feet from their beds where they were trying to sleep but couldn’t because these two psychos were beating each other to death RIGHT. OUTSIDE. THE. WINDOW. Cops, ambulances, screaming, people pronounced dead on the scene and me left holding the bag because I wanted to leave things to chance. Well, you know what? Chance fucks you in the ass.
Motel 6, Bismark ND 1 star