Like most people, when I close my eyes at night I go to sleep. But on this night, when I needed sleep the most, closing my eyes was just the beginning. Our club soccer team had been doing very well in a weekend tournament and we were ready to play the semifinals at 7:45 a.m. the next morning. My mom and I, along with my entire soccer team, were staying at a trashy motel in Visalia. It was old, cracked and pink. All we could hear was the ding-bong, ding-bong from the construction site across the street, but any motel would do.

We had just gotten back from eating dinner when we decided to T.P. our coach’s car. Although it was not the best idea too stay up until 11:00 p.m. that night, it was a lot of fun. We all wrote our names on his white SUV and threw about ten rolls of toilet paper over, up, and all around the car.

“Okay, guys, time for bed,” our parents yelled at us.

“But we aren’t done!” Lindsey complained.

“Oh, well, it’s time for bed anyway, “ they bellowed back.

“Fine,” my teammates moaned. I was fine with going to bed. For one, I was tired and, two, I really wanted to do well in tomorrow’s game. At that point, all I
wanted to do was get into bed and sleep all night long. I kissed my mom goodnight and fell asleep.

1:30 a.m. I got up and slipped through the door to go outside. The sidewalk scraped my small, cold feet. I looked around in the dark and saw the old, fake plants, the big, purple, dirty doors that matched the pink building, and the half-empty pool. Silence.

“Where was everyone?” I thought to myself. I sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me down the jagged sidewalk. Silence. My heart kept on beating and beating and beating. I looked around and saw the old, fake plants, the big, purple, dirty doors that matched the pink building, the pool, and the disgusting dumpsters. I had to find my car.

“Where was it?” I wondered.

“Rhiannon! Rhiannon!!” I heard a voice scream from far away. I sprinted as fast as I could to the voice.

“What are your doing?” It was my mom. I could tell she was confused and alarmed. Her hair was a mess and she was in her flannel pajamas.

“Why are you outside right now!?!” She exclaimed.

“I, I have to find the buckle. Where’s the car?” I asked anxiously.

“Honey, we don’t have a car here; we came with Olivia!” she answered back, a worried expression creasing her face.

Still, it didn’t make sense to me. I needed that buckle! I started to run once again
but before I could, my mom grabbed my shoulder, looked me in the eye and asked,
“Are you sleepwalking?”

“No! I need, I need the buckle,” I told her, with a glazed look in my eyes.

She grabbed me again, and took me back inside the motel room. She sat me down and looked me in the eyes, “Sweetie, you are sleepwalking.”

I began to realize that she must be right. I was sleepwalking, and slowly I woke up. My mom told me everything that I did, then tucked me in, and once more, said goodnight. She sat at the side of my bed, waiting for me to fall asleep. I closed my eyes to look like I was asleep. She turned off the light and went to her bed and tried to go back to sleep.

Once more, only silence. I laid there. I thought to myself about the night. All I wanted was for it to be morning. I had almost forgotten about the game, having to wake up at 7:00, the T.P. party, and, almost about the buckle. As the thoughts raced through my mind, I started to feel more and more tired. Good, this night was almost over.

Then, as my eyes started to shut and I started to doze off, I heard a drip, drip, drip. My eyes immediately opened.

My mom shot up in bed and yelled at me, “Are you sleepwalking again? Are you in the shower?”

“No, I’m right here,” I moaned in a tierd voice. We both got up to see where the noise was coming from. We looked at the sink, the toilet, and the bathtub. Nothing. Then my mom looked up, above the bathtub, and a brown, rotten ring surrounded the bathtub above us. The smell of the mold abused my nose. Water was pouring down form the floor above us. It looked like the tub in the room upstairs was about to collapse through to our bathroom before our eyes. I looked at my mom as she looked at me with a little laugh. We walked out of the bathroom, out of our hotel room, into the all too familiar night and down the rough jagged sidewalk, past the purple doors, to the lobby.

“Hi. What would you like?” the lady at the front desk asked us in a loud, raspy voice as she tapped her long, fake, pink nails along the desk.

“It is raining in our bathroom,” we told her.

“Well, we will send someone to fix it. What is your room number?” she answered with a yawn, as if this happened every night at 2:00 a.m.

We told her that we thought it might be a good idea to abandon our possible flood zone, and she reluctantly agreed. She slowly gave us a new room and we left the lobby. We walked back to our room and quickly gathered our belongings to move them to the room just next door. As my mom opened the door to our new room, I crossed my fingers, hoping nothing was wrong with it. The door opened. Same room but no drip, drip, drip. I threw all of my stuff onto the carpet, climbed into bed and, with T.P., bathtubs, buckles, and early soccer games out of my mind, I finally fell asleep.