Vacation Horror Story

Over ten years ago two friends and I went on a harrowing vacation to go skydiving in a little town on the outskirts of Salem, Massachusetts. I have always had an incredible fear of heights and I truly enjoy the safety of having my feet firmly on the ground. Dorothy, one of my best friends and a woman who is currently a law enforcement officer putting her life on the line every day, pleaded with me to come with her on a skydiving trip to Massachusetts. I was extremely reluctant, but after Dorothy constantly bugging me about the many times she had forsaken fun on behalf of a moody writer, I decided to go. I confided my decision in Matt, my other best friend (a sort of brother because I had no other, who now works for the government). He was immediately alarmed about my sanity, if not safety, and insisted on joining us to supervise this shaky excursion.

Dorothy was the event planner and driver for this expedition. In her red Hyundai Scoupe, she easily exceeded speeds of 120 MPH on the I-95 to keep up with two sweaty, older bikers on Harleys that were drooling uncontrollably at us. Dorothy insisted on smiling and exchanging obscene gestures with them, despite the animated protests from Matt and I. Eventually, I gave into catcalling with these rather scary folks out of boredom. A rapid exit on two wheels without signaling ensured that we lost these two individuals, although I also lost the hog dog we had grabbed a few exits back when my stomach landed in my neck.

Many miles on a long and winding road later, Matt and I asked where the heck we were going. Dorothy informed us that we were pretty close to the destination according to the directions she had sketched on the back of an old promotional flier for what proclaimed to be the hottest club ever. Matt checked the map as I observed how the density of the trees emphasized the desolation of where we were. Matt could not find the street name on the map and we began turning down isolated roads in search of the Cozy Cabin Motel.