Dannika

My vision of a bed and breakfast

Breakfast consisted of bustle,

Of cottage whites and two-handled trays

And a multitude of couples. The house

Was quiet when Mom and I shut the door

To our bedroom behind us and

Crept down the stairs. Where is the cinnamon

Smell? Where is the chink of glass? Where

Are the smiling couples? Once outside,

We veered left to the one adjoining house

That complemented our “Ivy Room”:

Sage House stood, comically adorned

In evergreen garland and bows, in the middle

Of the short block. Climbing the steps,

I looked over my shoulder to see whether

Our little room’s window was visible.

Before I could place it, Mom opened the door and

Poked her head inside. “Hello?” she called softly.

We stepped into the entry way. This house had

The cinnamon smell, which mingled

With the glittery pine smell of fresh Christmas trees.

A pudgy woman rounded the corner, a box

Of lights tucked under her arm. She had blond,

Wavy hair, a big mouth full of big round teeth,

And sparkly blue eyes that smiled. She was young,

Perhaps 40 years, with the build of a hiker

Muscular legs and shortish. Her exclamation was

Bursting, loud and bright. She had been expecting us.

A slender man with glasses and dark scruff on his face

Followed a minute behind, spatula in hands,

Face flushed with a shy smile hiding in his mouth.

Dannika introduced her husband, Steve. She was

Boisterous; I imagined she would be somewhere up high

The moment she left us, on the ladder or maybe even

A roof. The glass pane of the door shuddered in its frame

As Dannika heeded the call of the naked banisters,

Of the pale and undone porch railings. Steve made coffee

Which smelled, then tasted, of pine nuts. He listened to

A talk show quietly in the kitchen. A large table was set

But Mom and I found ourselves at a small square table

By the window. A cello sang from what sounded

Like the basement next door. Slow scales, faltering,

Wound their way up to us. Steve deposited eggs and toast

Tricked with with homemade jam in front of us, and

Politely returned to his privacy of the kitchen. In a moment

Dannika was back. Steve went out the way she came in

Wishing us a good day with that same shy smile. Dannika

Leaned on the long set table next to ours and,

Though she eluded to chores around the house, lingered.

She spoke of her two boys, both in college down the street

At the university. She shone with pride as she

Mentioned her oldest, soon to be married to girl

Who was studying to be a nurse’s assistant. She spoke

Of her youngest, a girl still in high school whom I imagined

Having long, thick, blond hair like her mother’s and

A wide grin, too. She spoke of a milk and cookies shop

Where college kids supposedly loved to go, a fact

I silently doubted.

She told us about the neighborhoods

Which surrounded the university, about bike theft

And notable faculty and apartment complexes and

Mountains to ski outside of Albuquerque.

She said things like

“They’re good kids” in reference to her son and his fiancé.

I imagined myself living in Dannika’s bed and breakfast

But couldn’t. I became antsy, like a toddler who has to

Keep moving. I wanted to go see Albuquerque

So we could leave this kind woman to her family

And her garland stringing. We said goodbye to Dannika,

Who smiled, and I took an apple from the bowl

An act that made me feel awkward, like I was stealing

But one which I felt was nonetheless absolutely necessary,

A thick water I had to wade through to ensure

I wouldn’t come back again to Dannika’s bed and breakfast.