Sanctuary - A Short Story

"We're never going to make it now."

The lights fluttered again. The snow outside was stacking up higher and higher. Inside, the room was warm and secure, but the world framed in the window was all white and black and gray.

"Not much we can do about that now," Alex said.

"Damn it," Derek said. He lifted the bottle to his lips, but then sat it down on the end table without drinking. "I can't believe we're not going to make it."

"I'd much rather be in here playing it safe than back out in all that."

Alex looked out the window, watching the world in grayscale. The motel sign and a streetlight by the road provided the only illumination. Snowflakes spun in the wind like grass clippings firing out of the side of a lawnmower. Alex finished his bottle and tossed it into the trashcan. It shattered against the others.

There was something Alex had always liked about the thought of holing up somewhere warm and safe during a crisis. He was free, momentarily, to be exactly what he wanted to be, without anybody pressuring him to do anything.

"We need more beer," he said. He walked over to the bathroom at the far end of the tiny, wood-paneled room. The sink, full of ice, held only two more bottles. They hadn't rationed properly. The supplies would run out long before sunrise, and then what?

"No, we need food," Derek said.

"Plenty of calories here. You think the store will open back up tomorrow?"

Alex picked up a bottle.

"In this?"

Derek waved his hand at the widow. Alex shrugged and sat down on the bed. He twisted the cap off and took a swig. Finally, the beer started to hit him. Derek lit a cigarette.

"You can't smoke in here," Alex said.

"I don't think they're going to notice we smoked one cigarette."

"I don't want to smell that in here."

Derek dropped the cigarette into his nearly full bottle of beer. It sizzled as it hit the liquid. He stood up and paced the length of the room a few times.

"Maybe they'll postpone it," he said. "We can't be the only ones dealing with this."

Alex gazed at the ruined beer, silently lamenting.

"Can you postpone something like that?"

"Maybe. I don't know. They'll have to."

"Will you sit down?" Alex asked. He grabbed the remote and flipped the TV on. "You're making me anxious."

"No, I won't sit down," Derek said. He ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled.

"Just chug your beer," Alex said. "What the hell else are we going to do? Take advantage of the situation. We're off work, we're in a room we don't have to clean, and there's a blizzard outside. Just get drunk with me, or something."

"I don't know why I brought you with me," Derek said. "I didn't want to, you know? Mom had to practically beg me. Like you would give a shit about seeing anybody, even now. Take advantage of the situation? This isn't a situation to take advantage of."

Alex drained his beer.

"What else is it?" he asked. "Seriously. This whole circus for a dead woman didn't need to happen anyway. She got eight good decades. Just as much as any of us could hope for. It's not like she gives a shit one way or another what we do now."

"You think people are impressed when you say things like that? Like they're marveling at your deep, nihilistic wisdom? It's not wisdom. You're just a bitter person to be around."

"I'm just honest. Not my fault people don't want to hear it."

"You're an asshole."

Back on the interstate, when the snow had first started falling and they found themselves swept up in a tide of bumper stickers and brake lights, Alex had accepted that they would probably be late. That's when the excitement had started to build, the chance that all of these plans would fall through. Maybe he'd be lucky, and there would be no service or burial, no forced conversations, no need to feign smiles until he could run off to the bathroom and stop and recover the energy leeched by relatives and well-wishers. Even when they had been forced off the road, he had thought the storm might clear early.

There was no chance of that now. It should be cause for celebration, but his brother kept ruining those plans with all his worrying and scheming and talking.

"Sorry," Derek said. "I mean, you are an asshole sometimes. I'm not sorry for saying that. I'm just upset. I don't know."

Alex flipped through the dozen channels available. He kept his eyes focused on the TV to avoid Derek's gaze. Derek sighed.

"Whatever," he said. "Come outside with me. I can't just sit in here."

"I'm perfectly content here," Alex said.

"I need a cigarette. I need food. I think I saw a vending machine when we checked in. You need to eat too."

"I'm fine."

"You're really not."

Derek grabbed his coat, threw it over his shoulders, and walked out the door. A sigh of biting cold hit Alex as the door slammed shut. He stopped flipping channels and looked at his empty beer. There was a woman on TV talking about Jesus, but the room felt as quiet as a tomb.

"God damn it," he muttered to himself as he stood up. He grabbed the last beer from the sink and went outside.

Derek was standing in front of a vending machine near the motel office, fumbling with a dollar. He managed to get the machine to take it, and he hit a combination of buttons until a bag of chips fell to the bottom.

"Freezing out here," Alex said.

They found a sheltered area between two of the motel buildings where the wind was blocked. Derek lit a cigarette. The initial burst of fire from his lighter seemed enormous in the darkness. Alex sipped his beer and watched the smoke escape from Derek's mouth. They sat in silence as Derek inhaled and exhaled columns of exhaust.

"What's that light?" he asked, pointing to a dim illumination barely visible through the snow. "There was a diner up the road, right? They might be open. We should go get some real food."

"Too cold for that," Alex said.

"Okay, but obviously it'll be warm in there. We'll feel better after a real meal."

"I feel fine now."

Alex lifted his beer and drank deeply. Derek sighed.

"I'm going to go check out the diner," he said. "Stay here if you want. Do whatever you want."

He handed Alex the bag of chips and walked away. Alex watched him disappear into the blizzard.

Back inside, Alex was warm. He sat on the bed, eating Derek's chips. When he was finished, he tilted Derek's beer into the empty bag until the cigarette fell into it. Satisfied, he began to drink. The carbonation sent a tingle through his body that he imagined was the sorely missing burn of the alcohol. It tasted dimly of ash and paper.

Alex pulled the blanket up around him. The snow outside stacked up higher and higher. He sank into the bed. The woman on TV wailed about the Lord.

"Fucking shut up," he mumbled, and he switched the TV off.

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