Christian drove me out to Orange County and abandoned me at the
Healing by the Ocean Care Facility. I could vomit just on account of
the name alone. He went to carry my bags in but was stopped in the
lobby. Husbands weren’t allowed any further. So he eased my luggage
onto the marble floor and like we were in a fishbowl, which came to
be a theme, we say a too quick goodbye before I was ready. One of the
friendly-looking security guards escorted him out and for once being
alone was a very bad feeling. Maybe it was because I wasn’t alone.
Until I left I wouldn’t be alone again.
The lobby was about the nicest of the
place. For what I was paying the whole place should have been made of
shiny marble like the lobby floor. I had to share a bedroom with
another woman. It was like the freshman year I never had… at a
nunnery. The bedroom was smaller than it should have been, again
considering how expensive it was, and though I suppose it was sunny
and nice, it wasn’t home. They tried to make it feel like home
though. There were different houses all set up to make us like
dysfunctional little families. The houses were big enough but there
was a forced coziness and a lived-in feel that was jammed down your
throat. Aside from the lobby of the main building, nothing was like a
hotel. I thought the whole place would be like a hotel. That was what
I wanted: a little vacation. They made it seem like a resort in the
advertisements but it wasn’t. Maybe if I could have been objective
about it I would have loved the place. It was like a dry village
designed for desperate rich people.
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