A Simple Pleasure

Samantha Wallen
Aug 9, 2017 · 3 min read

Sitting at an old wood picnic table under an oak tree at the Holiday Motel in a no name Iowa town, I hear the cicadas buzzing, a dog barking, light bird flutters — an occasional morning dove coo — reminiscent of an owl. The air is cool, a slight breeze. I can’t feel the humidity as of yet. It’s the kind of place I’d have an affair in, if I were going to have one.

“Nice evening out tonight,” says the big-bellied, shirtless man in blue shorts walking barefoot through the grass from room 7 heading towards the Taco John’s.

“Yeah, pretty cool out,” I say.

“One needs the cool weather,” he says.

The rooms at the Holiday Motel smell like a chlorine swimming pool, but there is no pool. The bathroom is smaller than a closet and there’s a squished spider on the floor, stuck in the visible layer of floor cleaner used to mask 30+ years of guest traffic.

The big sky is smeared with orange cloud — car doors slam and I remember summer nights with drive-in gatherings of old cars in the Dairy Queen parking lot. It’s as if it is a deep memory, even though I’ve never been part of one. I’ve been feeling it as a memory for days now. Wide, fat, lazy streets with nothing better to do on a Saturday night than drive around in one’s supped up car and go for ice cream. To see and to be seen. It seems like a joyful, simple pleasure.

The lightening bugs are start to catch my eye in the cool Iowa dusk. Wayne from Arkansas, the barefoot, shirtless man ambles back toward me with two bottles of coke in his hand. I stand up, grab my journal, pen and water bottle with more deliberate haste than I might have otherwise. He’s already close enough to ask if I “want some company.” I don’t.

“Oh, sorry, I was just heading back to my room to go to bed.”

I take the coke he offers anyway. I stand and make some small talk and give thanks for the coke. He tells me about being married 35 years. How 8 years ago he lost his wife. Now he has multiple stints in his heart and is “just driving around wasting time and spending money.” Bought a $600 Buick. The money he gives his grandkids, they just spend on marijuana.

I go back to my room. My Dad is sitting on the edge of the bed pointing the remote at the microwave, cursing it for not turning on, “Jesus Christ!” he says and laughs at himself when he realizes the TV is hanging from the ceiling in the corner.


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Samantha Wallen

Written by

Founder/CEO WriteInPower, poet, writer, book coach, social justice disciple, steam-punk time traveler tending to where value, core wounds, and brilliance meet.

100 Naked Words

Est. May 2016. 100 vulnerable words, one day at a time. Every day.

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