“Okay, on three. Last person has to poke him and see if he’s dead. 1… 2… 3… NOT IT.”
I’m sad to say there isn’t much to report from Mississippi. One great lament of the Dwight Eisenhower Interstate Highway System is that you can never quite tell what state you’re in. Kimmy mentioned that everything looks like Texas. With the highways lined with trees, you’d have to be a botanist to determine exactly where you were.
Soon enough our hour in Mississippi has passed and we’re in Alabama. The nap in New Orleans has helped me and I’ve got no trouble making it the rest of the way to Montgomery. Shawn would later mention that he was “tired in Austin–and then we drove to Alabama.” This sums up our trip: We were tired and then we drove.
We do what we can to pass the time. Shawn has hooked up his phone to my computer and is surfing the web (technology!). Kimmy is reading a book and Michelle is avoiding our indie music by listening to mid-90s alt rock on her iPhone.
Amidst a discussion of favorite things, Shawn offers up the question: “Favorite ice cream flavor?”
Kimmy gives us her answer, Michelle provides a dissenting opinion, and I provide the group with mine. The question has now fallen to Shawn, who, as the person who asked the question, is required to have a good answer.
Except Shawn isn’t moving. He’s folded over with his head on his knee. We’re just outside Montgomery and Shawn isn’t moving. His parents are going to be angry with us.
“Guys…Shawn isn’t moving.”
“Is he breathing?” asks Kimmy from the back seat.
“I don’t know. I can’t really tell.”
“Maybe someone should poke him.”
“I don’t want to poke him. You do it.”
Kimmy doesn’t want to, either.
“Michelle?”
“Oh, I’m not poking him.”
There is, of course, only one mature way to handle this.
“Ok, on three. Last person has to poke him and see if he’s dead.”
“1…”
“2…”
“3…”
“Not it.”"Not it.”"Not it.”
Someone was last. I think it was Kimmy. It wasn’t me.
“We’re only fifteen minutes from the hotel. We’ll check on him then.”
This seems valid. I mean–if he’s dead fifteen minutes won’t do anything to help. And if he’s asleep, that’s fifteen extra minutes of sleep.
As soon as we come to this consensus, Shawn starts to lift his head. Mazel tov!
“Shawn, we thought you were dead. Also, you never gave us your favorite ice cream flavor.”
Fifteen minutes later and we’re finally at the hotel. This is what we’ve been looking forward to since we left Austin. We go inside to check in.
“I’m sorry, you want the other Motel 8.”
“Where is that?”
The woman at the front desk points out the front door. Across the parking lot. Two Motel 8′s, separated by parking spots. And, in case you’re wondering, no they can’t talk to each other.
But we’re here and we’ve got a swimming pool and two queen beds. Life is looking good. Shawn and Kimmy lay down for a nap while Michelle and I decide to check out the Motel 8 swimming pool. This adventure lasts an entire fifteen minutes as we quickly determine that the pool–either through the urine of Southern children or simply a poor cooling system–is warmer than any swimming pool should be on a summer day.
While Shawn continues to nap, Kimmy, Michelle, and I decide to check out what Montgomery has to offer some hungry travelers. While Kimmy and Michelle choose Carabba’s (where the waitress mistakes them for a lesbian couple), I opt for Taco Bell. Don’t judge me. Sometimes when you’re in the Deep South, you just want a $.99 taco or two.
Before I left Austin, I mentioned to a few people that I always thought I might fall in love with a quaint Southern town on the way to Brooklyn and just decide to plant my flag there. This was more my way of dealing with the fear of moving all the way to Brooklyn, but I left the possibility in the back of my head. It would make for a great story one day at the very least.
From what I’ve seen so far, Montgomery is not that city. Flat like an East Texas town, we’re surrounded by what looks like a city of strip malls. I keep telling myself that we haven’t even seen the Capitol and that any town that’s a state capital can’t be that bad.
Newly full of cheap and quick tacos, I make it back to the hotel and start chatting with friends from back home. I’m being told about the parties I’m missing and the events that are going on while I’m sitting at my computer in a $50 a night motel. Everyone wants to be where I am, but I want to be where they are.
Kimmy and Michelle both join Shawn in sleeping and I make the decision that with or without them I plan on seeing if Montgomery has something to write home about. I follow the highway signs to the Capitol and–sure enough–this is pretty nice. Actually, this is really nice. I’m a Texan as much as one can be a Texan and I have to admit that Mississippi has us beat when it comes to Capitol buildings. There is–of course–the obligatory Confederate war memorials, but overlooking that the grounds are majestic, with flags from all fifty states and an eternal flame.
I return to the hotel and Kimmy and Michelle have awakened. I convince them to come with me to downtown Montgomery. On my way back to the hotel I had seen an area that looks like it could possibly have a restaurant and maybe a bar. The only problem is that we get down there and it’s disappeared. I suddenly feel like I had a Bigfoot sighting. I know it was there. I’m not making it up!
Kimmy and Michelle console me, telling me that of course they believe it was there. We had back to the hotel after deciding that the local CVS probably isn’t the kind of nightlife we’re looking for.
Meanwhile, Shawn has come out of his five hour nap and is eager to get some food. We go in search of some nourishment and I decide that I’m going to find this mythical area. After driving around for fifteen minutes, I see something that looks familiar.
“Turn left here, Shawn.”
A couple more blocks and… there it is. I knew it.
I take a couple looks at the area and while I’m still not in any rush to settle down here, I can see why people might. This is a nice area, with restaurants and bars, and it looks like just the place you would want to be after an Alabama football victory.
We finally find a bar that serves food. Well, it served food. All they have left are rib sandwiches. We’ll take three.
I ask Shawn, “For tomorrow?”
“For tonight.”
We each order a beer–a brand I’ve never heard of and I’ll likely never see again. Mine’s dark and I make sure to go slow. I watched Porky’s as a child and ever since then I’ve had a more-than-healthy fear of Deep South cops. I don’t want to be thrown in any Montgomery jail tonight. That would put us even further behind schedule.
Shawn manages to finish his two sandwiches in about the time it takes me to finish my one and we head back to the hotel. It’s time for sleep, again, as we have two more long days of driving ahead of us.