» Fiction

My Account

Glen Pourciau

I’m worried about my hotel bill. I’ve been here a long time and don’t recall ever paying for anything. It has to be adding up on me. Some of the guests here look familiar, but I don’t know their names and can’t remember speaking to any of them, though I’m sure I speak to people from time to time. I may be talking to some of them in my head and not in person. Who’s to judge? I avoid judging. Judging leads in wrong directions, and it’s not a good feeling being your own worst guide. Do others feel this way? I’m afraid to ask anyone. They might think I’m out of my mind. Can I say that anyone should be listening to me? Should I stifle my voice? It’s a troubling issue for me, among others in a long list of things I can’t answer. For example, what force is out there sending me so many emails, most of which come from sources I’ve never had contact with and have never heard of? Is no one else curious to learn who or what is behind this force? I’ve stopped looking at email because I can’t determine what it all means. Does the thought of what we don’t know overwhelm our brains? I’m raising my hand on that one. I like to take walks, get some air. I often have an inkling I’m looking for something without knowing what it is or expecting to see it. I have no clues to guide me, yet I persist in this vague pursuit, one foot in front of the other, the pattern repeated until I run short of air. I try to keep landmarks in sight to reduce the risk of not finding my hotel. A few times I’ve had to ask passersby for directions. They usually look at me with concern, then turn and point the way. The people working at the hotel appear to recognize me and some say my name. I make an effort to be friendly, grateful they don’t throw me out on the street for not paying. I take the elevator up and am always surprised my key unlocks the door, fearing they may have changed the lock while I was out walking. If I yielded to the temptation to ask about my bill, I’d have to hear the reply. I prefer to ignore the issue, hoping they’ve somehow overlooked my account. I wonder if they could be as confused as I am. I don’t even get a bill when I go into the eating room and eat their food. The hotel is crawling with people moving in every direction, and it’s confusing to consider how it all holds together. Working people come in my room and help me, and one of them feeds me pills. I’ve asked what these pills are supposed to do for me, but I can’t call to mind the answers so I’ve stopped asking. I don’t complain to any of the working people. If I were to complain I’d say the chair I usually sit in has a dip in the seat cushion. They could tell me I should shop for a better cushion myself because the dip comes from the weight of my body. Do I want to open that door? Where am I going to buy a cushion matching the chair? If I complain about anything, I fear, one of the working people could look up my account and notice how many thousands of dollars I owe. I could end up on the curb with a load of debt on my back. The best course for me is to stay quiet, but my decision has left me with a sense that I’m putting one over on the hotel. I have qualms concerning this situation and regret I don’t have better options than being a deceiver or winding up homeless. I count myself lucky to be under a roof, and the people around here seem to have goodwill toward me, though I’m doing nothing for them in return. One persisting regret I have is that I can’t remember traveling anywhere. If I were to decide to take a trip, where would I go, and would the hotel let a new person move into my room? Why should I expect them to hold it for me? I’m preoccupied at times by a desire to see different places and to sail through the air on a jet and have smiling people bring me food and drinks. When I can’t sleep, I like to picture myself aloft in a jet, surrounded by open space. I’ve concluded it’s best for me to travel in my head, either while I’m awake or asleep. To travel on a jet I’d have to deal with airports, and I have tormenting fantasies of getting lost in airports and not having the strength or the breathing power to find my way out. I’d need an airport shepherd to help me and I haven’t heard if such an occupation exists. All roads in my mind lead back to my hotel room, and I can only hope the working people never hear what I’m thinking. It would mean the end of everything for me.