Stay One: In our apartment on the second floor at 26 Haskell St. in Allston, Mass, we bachelors three engaged in mutually accepted "funstility," a marriage of fun and hostility. Inspired in part by the antics of the british comedy The Young Ones telecast on MTV we treated one another to repartee and mild slapstick. I'd say for instance "Yea, touchdown" when the Celtics scored a basket and my roommates would pelt me with empty beer cans and tell me to go to my room. It was a grand time and we were tightly knit. We could finish each others sentences and we were in essence one happy family. But different goals and life with a capital L saw to it that we went our individual ways and the three of us left behind what was for me my most enjoyable experience in shared living arrangements.
Stay Two: I crossed the river Charles to reside Cambridge. I became a roommate with a woman named Sue, who I would later learn was raped while on acid, and a guy straight off the plane from Ireland. I forget his name. One evening soon after I'd unpacked my things my roommates had a keg party that I intentionally missed. The following morning I returned to an apartment that reeked of beer and two roommates who were both acting skittish and doing their best to not cross paths with one another. They took turns scurrying around the apartment like frightened mice. The tension was due it turned out to drunken folly in the guise of a sexual overture by the male on the night of the party. In the ensuing days the awkwardness escalated until Sue was physically shaking. She confided in me that she was stooping her shoulders because the other roommate kept ogling her breasts. But nothing happened. The days passed and the problem was swept under the rug, and there it lay with a noticeable hump. Life continued on. Then one night a short time later Sue threw her typewriter through her closed bedroom window. At the sound of the shattering wood and glass I stepped out of my bedroom to see what was the matter. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar. I called out to her and as she turned my way to slam shut her door I saw in her face a look I will take to my grave; it was one of utter madness. I tried my best to calm her calling out in a soothing voice the possibility of hope as she rendered destruction about her room. When finally she settled down enough to speak she confessed that on her ride home she wanted to drive her car straight into a highway abutment. I urged her to believe that there was help available. I'm not sure if I ever convinced her because I returned to my room without her vocalizing acceptance of what I offered. A couple of days later I moved out.
Stay Three: Still in Cambridge I moved into an apartment a block away from a YMCA in Central Square. I had two roommates, both of them male. One was balding and spent his weekends handing out Left centered pamphlets and gathering with anti government protesters. He also introduced me to Cafe Bustelo and an appreciation for strong coffee. The other roommate was effeminate and gay. He blushed a lot, took long showers, and was frequently engaged in hushed telephone conversations. The apartment was dark and every night around 10:00, our neighbors above us dragged across their wooden floors heavy furniture. It would take them several minutes to finally settle on a spot and cease the dragging. This was also the apartment in which I was introduced to cockroach infestation. You'd turn on a burner on the stove and out they would scurry. The more I thought about it the more I had to admit that the over all dirtiness of our apartment verged on squalor. In a few short months it sent me seeking a place with cleaner conditions.
Stay Four: Back in Allston, I took a spot in an apartment whose only common room was the kitchen. The living-room had been converted into a fourth bedroom to cheapen the rent. We each got a shelf in the refrigerator and there was a small black and white television on the kitchen table. At first all was ducky. We each carried on independently of one another. Two of us worked days and two were late night rock and rollers. This factor would later lead to my eventual departure. Of the two rock and rollers Sharon was tightly wound and given to sliding notes under my bedroom door rather than speaking directly to me. One note complained that I went to bed too early and therefore infringed on her peace of mind to do her vocal exercises in her room aside mine. Another note demanded that the culprit who had stolen the bread off her shelf should confess and pay restitution. A similar demanding note under the bedroom door of Barry caused him to churn so much in anger he vomited. The loaf of bread it turned out was placed on the wrong shelf by Sharon's boyfriend. The problem was Sharon was blind to everything in the refrigerator not on her shelf. A couple more notes under my door led me to search for a living situation without any roommates.
Stay Five: I scored a basement efficiency on Lee St. in Boston. It was behind a Dunkin Donuts and many were the nights fragrant with their appealing sweetness. I had a hot plate and I was for the first time in my life living on my own. My landlords granted me washing machine and dryer privileges and I had an easy chair and a reading lamp. There was also child's size desk in my room that the owner assured me had served him well in his years in college. I never could get comfortable while seated at it. I slept naked on a futon and one morning when I sat up my scrotum landed on an undulating centipede. The tickle shot me wide awake. But life was good. I enjoyed being on my own and beholden to no one. It was a delicious freedom and I reveled in it until I made my mind up that I was sick and tired of New England winters. I gave my landlords notice. Two weeks later I moved out and was on my way to Atlanta.
No comments:
Post a Comment