The Long Road Home; pt.6

He re-entered the lobby with the intention of checking out.
He approached the register, and the hotel manager was sitting in his chair, ignoring a phone call, and clipping his toenails.
“I need to head out,” said the man.
The manager looked up and raised his left eyebrow, revealing a glass eye, hollow and white.
“You most certainly do,” said the manager, “but I don’t think it’s quite your time, you have a long ways ahead of you before you ever escape.”
“Escape?” said the man.
“I meant head out,” replied the manager, “In any case, its only 25 dollars a night, and since you haven’t stayed here but three hours, it’ll be 25 dollars anyways.”
The man reached into his back pocket, it was empty, no wallet, no cash, nothing. He realized he left it in the woman’s room, and he was damned if he was going to make that visit ever again.
“I, uh, I seem to have lost my wallet,” said the man, “is there some form of collateral I can offer you?”
The manager’s glass eye was gleaming, and his hardened face momentarily tensed, before giving way to his generally calm veneer, “Well, I generally only accept hard currency, but there are some exceptions for those that I find……., intriguing.”
“Intriguing?” he asked, before realizing what it was about him that made him so, he re-focused on the task at hand; getting back to the road.
“Well, what kind of promise do you require?” said the man.
“You must promise to keep hopeful,” said the man, “hope is the only power you have left, and without it you will never again know the beauty of love or the magic of passion,” said the manager.
The man had no idea what this kind but strange manager meant, and he made very little effort to decipher the meaning. He stood for a moment trying to read the manager’s facial expressions. The manager was staring directly into him, he knew him.
“I can do that,” said the man.
“Do what?” said the manager.
“Remain hopeful.”
“Promise me feller; promise me that you will keep hope.”
The man, true to judicial fashion, raised his hand, crossed his heart, and said, “I promise that I will remain hopeful.”
The manager nodded approvingly, and reached out to shake the man’s hand. Their hands met, and they stood there in silent cordiality. As the man was ready to turn away, he noticed a tear streaming down the manager’s left half of his face, but paid little attention to it, and finally broke free of that miserable existence of a motel.
As he walked out, it was dark. He made his way to his car, and felt something of an epiphany. He realized that prior to his encounters with the woman and the manager, he had no hope, he was drifting through this false reality of a life, but his conversation with the man re-invigorated him with hope and passion, and he was ready for something new. He knew he was almost there, but the question was how would he get there?