In With the New

I've been twenty days in the new apartment. I'm charmed.

We have two mattresses, one dresser, two floor lamps, two bookshelves, a chest, a rocking chair, two rugs, one table, and some kitchen appliances and miscellaneous articles. We intend for it to be a fully furnished apartment eventually, but I sort of like it this way.

Oh, we also have a writing desk and its accompanying chair. In case we want to write letters. Or draw a picture.

I've become so fond of my mattress on the floor that I don't know if I will ever go back to real beds again.

Most reading is done on the floor, in my case, due to lack of a sofa and the fact that if I attempt to read on my mattress, I will fall asleep. Which would defeat the purpose of owning the books, who in turn occupy the bookshelves.

The hardwood floors are exciting because when I wear socks I can slide across them.

The coat closet is very large. I bet we could squeeze up to eight people in it if we wanted to. But that would be silly because we can't have eight people over at a time, because I broke one of the drinking glasses so now there are only three, which means we can only ever have one guest.

(We broke this rule last night and had three girls over for dinner, but we drank wine from wine glasses, and Mary Beth has plenty of those, so the issue was avoided altogether.)

We have our own washer and dryer, and they are hidden tactfully away in a closet. It is convenient because I can use them when my garments are soiled and forget about them the rest of the time. But don't worry, that isn't how I treat my Actual friends.

There is a spacious linen closet right in the bathroom! No more drip-drying when I forget to bring a towel in with me when I shower!

The refrigerator is cold, and the freezer is colder. The oven is warm when I make it warm, and the gas stove lights up as it should. Altogether we have a very functional kitchen.

There is a comfortable view from the living room window of the lovely homes across the street. Today it is snowing so it is a very white view. Some disgruntled neighbors are digging their cars out, but usually they are very pleasant people.

Work is a ten-minute walk for me now. Nine on good days. Twelve on slow days. Perfect except for the fact that it's January and I have no gloves.*

Oh yes, and we can heat and cool each room individually. Except the coat closet is always cold, no matter what.

One of my favorite things about our new home, though, is that there are none of those beastly camel crickets hopping around and creeping up walls and attacking me in the night. I could live here forever for that luxury.

*See "Memoirs of a Miser," posted 02/12/10

My Love Affair

I fell in love on the metro this week.

At least I fell into daydreaming. I had to take a later train after a morning meeting on Wednesday, so the 9:00 a.m. rush was past. There were more empty seats than occupied ones on the yellow line train at King Street. I took a seat by the window and opened Graham Greene. Reading Graham Greene always puts me in the mood for falling in love, though I can't really explain why that's the case. I had five pages left of The End of the Affair, and I dove into them with divided heart--half delighted in reading Greene, the other half sad that there were only five pages left. For the seven and a half minutes (and three metro stops) it took me to get through those five pages, I paid no attention to the world.

Then I reached the end (sorrow!) and closed the book and put it away, and took a long look around me. And there he was. A dark-haired soldier in uniform with his right arm in a sling.

I probably wouldn't have noticed him much at all except that just at the moment I happened to glance in his direction he happened to be glancing in mine. Our eyes met (excuse the cliche), and he smiled a small, amused smile and then looked deliberately away.

I liked him right off. This never happens, especially not on the metro. When I happen to make eye contact with men on the metro, my first reaction is almost always annoyance, if not complete revulsion. The sorts of men who will make eye contact with ladies on the metro tend to look at us as a possiblity, a conquest they could laugh about with their friends later. Then there are my favorites--the obviously Christian guys who read Bibles or books with titles like Finding Christ in the Modern World. I also like the stuffy literary types who grow beards and wear glasses and read scientific journals and Arabic texts. Those guys make it a point never to look at anything that might be remotely female, so they're safe. (Safe from what exactly, I've never been able to figure out. But don't worry--it won't get them.)

But this soldier was different. His expression didn't say, "Hey baby," and it didn't say, "Excuse me, miss, but I have more important things to do, as you can see...." It just said, "Hi."

I liked that he didn't keep staring (though we made eye contact once or twice more). I liked that he was a soldier, and I liked that his arm was broken. Most of all, I liked that he had the sort of face that belongs to a person with a good sense of humor. His whole demeanor said, "I'd tell you a joke if I knew you, and we'd both laugh, because we'd agree that it was funny." And I liked that, though we transferred to the same red line train (and the same car) at Gallery Place, he didn't try to strike up a conversation.

Two stops later, I got off the train, he stayed on it, and it rumbled off as I made my way up the escalator to Massachusetts Avenue.

And that was that.

I think what I like best is that I'll never see him again. But I was in love for twenty minutes, and that was kind of nice.

How To Catch A Misfit

I spent today at the Boulevard in Largo. I helped the ladies of Largo select shoes.

I sell shoes. It's what I do. When ladies need shoes, I'm the one they come to.

I left work around 6:15 this evening. It had been a long day. A long day in Largo. My throat was dry and my feet hurt. Outside was darkening and the wind was cold. But I didn't mind. All the ladies of Largo left happy who entered my shoe store today.

I made my way to the metro. I passed a man.

I had passed several men, and many ladies too, but this man was not like those men. He wore the most serious of expressions. There was something in the way he walked that made him different, and I think the only difference was that there was absolutely nothing in the way he walked. He was a tall, lean black man, dressed all in black. He was slow and cool, and he knew it. He was young but he walked with a cane. It was dark but he wore sunglasses. There was nothing intimidating in his demeanor, but he walked like someone around whom interesting things could happen at any moment.

Printed on his t-shirt was the word "Misfit."

I had taken three steps past him when he called back to me. I knew he would. He was the sort of person you just know will strike up a conversation on passing you at the Boulevard in Largo.

"Excuse me, can I ask you something?"

I turned around. Considered with apprehension what manner of question this particular man could have for me, and decided I was much too interested to say no.

"Go."

"What do you think a 'misfit' is?" he asked, taking a step closer and indicating his shirt.

I promptly answered, "You." At this his serious expression melted and a grin lit his face.

"That's a pretty good guess!" Then the seriousness resumed.

"I'm Misfit, by the way. I'm a rapper. I rap. My rap name is Misfit."

Misfit proceeded to invite me to his show that night. Single tickets for only two dollars. But I had just finished a long day of selling shoes to ladies in Largo, and my throat was dry, and my feet hurt. I declined. So he gave me his card.

"Well then check out my website. Does your phone have a camera?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Could you take a picture of me?"

So I did.


"Okay, well it was nice meeting you. I'm Misfit, and your name is...?"

"Jean."

"Nice meeting you, Jean. Could you email that picture to me? My email is on the card."

"I'll try not to forget."

"Okay. Later." And he turned slowly and walked away.

This is unlike me, but I will refrain from cheapening his seriousness during this encounter. I will do this by not saying another word.