Wagon Wheel Motel (Drabble)

My mom pulled up to the Wagon Wheel Motel when I was eight.

I was in the front seat. My brother, age 3, sat in the back.

“Go on,” my mother motioned me, “Your father’s in there.”

“Are you coming with us?” I asked.

Her head shook no.

The wooden wheels lined the porches of studios with kitchenettes.

My father- a man who worked day and night, a stranger even though he lived with us.

My brother and I got out of the car with bags my mother packed.

We walked to Wagon Motel’s Room 6. My mother drove away.