Posted June 11th, 2003 by Michelle

Walking back to my apartment tonight I saw into the apartment below mine. I looked at that apartment, but passed it up because the ceilings were low and it didn’t have the little window alcove that mine does. It does have these huge pocket windows that open fully so it almost feels like you are living outside. It also affords a full view of the apartment. This is what I saw: rumpled bed on right wall (just like mine), one chair near window (right where mine is), and an Ikea computer desk with a desktop computer (exactly where mine is), and man sitting at rolling computer chair (where I sit now, directly above my neighbor). He also has NPR blasting out of his stereo systerm (which I do NOT have). So alike, and so extraordinarily different. First of all, he doesn’t have two bikes and a huge kitty cage in his apartment. Secondly, I’ve heard him and his girlfriend doing the, as they say, nasty, in the shower (the duct vents in the bathrooms alert each of us to the other’s business. I don’t sing in the bathroom so much anymore). I’ve never done the nasty in this apartment, and certainly not with a partner in the shower. So yes, alike, but also, plus, different.

I rode to New Jersey again today, 40 miles, but this time with my very very good friend Ms. B. It was a terrific ride, and oddly, not too difficult. It actually was easier than the last time, which is good news. I was home by 2, and puttered, napped, stared out the window at the three-minute thunderstorm which was the only manifestation of the weather man’s predicted all-day storm. I was hoping to talk Ian into dining with me but alas, his tummy is still keeping him home. So I decided to explore Park Slope, since it quite suddenly was a sunny, beautiful afternoon.

I ate at a new little dive on 5th Avenue, which lured me by being entirely open to the outside, and also by having a portobello avocado burger on the menu. As soon as I sat down, a family sat next to me- mom, daughter, friend, and son. The kids were wired, and the mom apologized, and an hour later she and I were talking about our lives and our families. She is an event producer at a major New York magazine, and after we had been talking for about five minutes, no lie, she offered me a job. At her magazine. Her opening line was, “So you write, do you?” It was all very exciting until she told me that it would be full time except one weekend in September when she would need me to work double time as that was a weekend filled with the 50 events I’d be helping her plan. What weekend? September 19th to the 21st. My heart sank as I told her about the AIDSRide.

But we had a lovely visit, and her son latched on to me and insisted on showing me his little toys. We exchanged numbers and I told her that if I could help her with anything else to give me a call. Sigh.

After dinner I walked over to Ian’s where I threw myself on the couch and watched cable for two hours. Going over there feels like going to a grown-up’s place. Feels like being at home, meaning a home with parents. And a couch and TV, and space for a couch and TV, and for there to be many feet between one lying on a couch and where the TV is. I dragged myself away, knowing I would stay until the wee hours if I left the TV on, and walked home.

The night, outside, is fluid, luscious, wet, dark. I very badly wanted to open my mouth and let the night in. I wanted the walk back home to take an hour rather than ten minutes. It is so beautiful, so quiet over there, peaceful and alive at the same time. And then I crossed Flatbush, where I can(t) actually afford to live (versus the true Park Slope) and immediately the mood shifts. My block is beautiful, and certainly gentrified, but the undercurrent of crime and underworld still exists. There are drugs being sold, deals being made right under my nose and while I cannot see it, I know it is there.

I’m torn between wanting to live in Africa and work with my hands, and wanting to live in a big, beautiful brownstone and write all day. Guess which one I can actually make happen.