Hallis
Hallis, Wyoming is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it town of approximately 453 people along a lonely stretch of two-lane highway. Large acreages dot the landscape, brightly lit windows in the distance beyond the dark of night.
The plain green sign announcing its presence and population is dwarfed by the large billboard announcing that in 1997, the Hallis Avengers placed second place in the state boy's basketball tournament.
I drive through the town, my stomach fluttering as Main Street, an apparent downtown about a block long, looks hauntingly empty at 7 p.m.
There is no motel in Hallis--people don't stop here. They drive into it, and drive out of it, and might stop to get gas and pick up a drink at the Conoco on the northern edge of town.
So I kept driving, drove into the blank dark of night on the plains, and hit the outskirts of Cheyenne to find plenty of quality chain hotels in which to rest my weary head.
I stopped at the Best Western Hitching Post Inn, my affinity for uniquely named hotels getting the best of me. It reminded me of the Sam Houston Motor Lodge. I got a room, took a shower, grabbed some snacks from the vending machine and settled in.
I'm exhausted now as I type this, too many solitary hours on the road, too many thoughts and regrets threading through my mind. I miss him and wish he was here with me. I'm not sure this is a chapter of my life that I need to pen alone.
When he e-mails me again, I'll tell him where I am. I'll tell him everything.
For now, sleep is calling me. I'm craving the peace it promises.
The plain green sign announcing its presence and population is dwarfed by the large billboard announcing that in 1997, the Hallis Avengers placed second place in the state boy's basketball tournament.
I drive through the town, my stomach fluttering as Main Street, an apparent downtown about a block long, looks hauntingly empty at 7 p.m.
There is no motel in Hallis--people don't stop here. They drive into it, and drive out of it, and might stop to get gas and pick up a drink at the Conoco on the northern edge of town.
So I kept driving, drove into the blank dark of night on the plains, and hit the outskirts of Cheyenne to find plenty of quality chain hotels in which to rest my weary head.
I stopped at the Best Western Hitching Post Inn, my affinity for uniquely named hotels getting the best of me. It reminded me of the Sam Houston Motor Lodge. I got a room, took a shower, grabbed some snacks from the vending machine and settled in.
I'm exhausted now as I type this, too many solitary hours on the road, too many thoughts and regrets threading through my mind. I miss him and wish he was here with me. I'm not sure this is a chapter of my life that I need to pen alone.
When he e-mails me again, I'll tell him where I am. I'll tell him everything.
For now, sleep is calling me. I'm craving the peace it promises.