Road work? Who does road work in the middle of June on one of only two highways in Maine? And why did it have to be in the northbound land on the only day I ever needed to go north? These were a few of the questions that I asked myself after my best friend, her family, and I took a detour off of the highway and onto Route 1. Route 1 is a long, windy, dark, scary road whose maximum speed limit is 50 mph.
Initially our trip to Mount Desert Island, ME for the State Track Meet was supposed to take three hours. But five and a half hours later, we were only just pulling into our hotel. I surveyed the building skeptically and found that it looked NOTHING like the picture. The paint was peeling, half the front lights were out, and the remaining half were dim. However, I was too tired to complain…much. I hauled my bag out of the car, and Katherine and I proceeded to climb the rickety staircase.
Opening the door into our room, we found a large space split in two by a partition. In the front were two chairs and a sofa. The wooden chair seemed fine, as did the sofa, but the other cahir had two VERY suspicious looking stains. One was white and one was red. I sat down gingerly on the wooden chair and attempted not to contemplate how it was even possible that those stains had gotten there. Feeling mildly traumatized, I turned my gaze to the floor just as a large, black beetle ran towards my feet. I jumped on my chair as Katherine’s mom beat it to death with a shoe. But before I could sit down, another bug ran out from under the sofa and towards my chair. No longer able to stomach the front room, I went to my bed. Katherine and I climbed into the bed and huddled under the covers trying not to think. If the tiny chair out front was stained, who knew what had happened between these sheets. Needless to say, there was not much sleeping done that night.
The next day that the track meet, we discovered that the rest of the team had stayed next door at a nice, four-star motel with a pool. Katherine and I were too sleep deprived to do much more than groan and exchange tortured glances. Eight rain and mosquito-filled hours later, the track meet was over, and the three-hour ride home commenced. As I pulled back into my house at ten o’clock that night, I showered vigorously before collapsing into a chair in our living room. But not before checking for beetles. And stains.
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