spattered apartment

years ago, i can’t remember when, before X and i moved to that apartment on 3rd st, and after we moved out of mang roger’s apartment, we briefly stayed at this apartment on, if i remember right, it was on 9th st. it was a small, dark apartment. the walls weren’t painted and there was no window in the bedroom. during the first few days we stayed there… we had visions of grandeur. X came up with some drawings for the place, we were going to have the place painted and we were going to knock down the bedroom wall.

the owner didn’t allow us to tear the concrete walls down so we just painted the place ourselves instead of hiring someone to paint it. we didn’t finish painting the apartment. some of the walls were spattered with paint strokes going every which way. it looked like an unfinished kindergarten paint project.

then we left. we found a new place, with painted walls, a window and a terrace. we took our bags (some of which were never unpacked) and left. we didn’t even bother with our deposit money. we just left and through the rush, i managed to leave a bag of garbage inside the apartment and locked the keys inside…

for years i’ve feared bumping into our landlady. i was afraid she’ll scream my head off if she sees me. so everytime we saw a dark, heavyset curly haired woman, we’ll panic, thinking it was her. it was never her.

until the other day. i just froze. i knew it was her because she was with her son, who i distinctly remember coz i thought he was gay. i panicked. but i just froze. i knew i should run the other way but i couldn’t. it seemed like my legs were suddenly stapled to the ground and i was paralyzed.

and she just looked past me. no sign of the slightest recognition from either mother or son.

see… it is true. it’s not always as bad as we picture it will be.