Funtime Is Over
April 1, 2008
The other day, when we met my friend Robert for brunch, he picked us up at our loft in a tiny silver car he rented at the airport. Deborah climbed into the back of it, I squished into the front, and we rode to the restaurant. The seats were much lower than in my truck, obviously, and Deborah and I weren't used to it. When we stopped, we both had trouble climbing out of our seats. I felt like I'd fallen into a well and had to claw the door jambs to pry myself free. I bumped my head when I reached for the seat lever that liberated Deborah.
After brunch, we lowered ourselves into the space pod again and Robert drove us home. I gave Robert directions and, while stopped at a light on Bushwick Avenue, I told him about the first time I drove to my loft. The first time I'd seen the loft, I took the subway. I remember exiting the subway stop and being impressed with the sky. The buildings were big, but low to the ground -- nothing higher than four stories, and many only two. "Big Sky Country," I joked to myself. But it was true, in a way. There weren't many people around, either. I met the realtor after work on a weekday, but I was the only person who got off the subway. I signed the lease about a week later and started the slow, month-long move from my previous apartment, a little over a mile away, by loading some boxes in my Jeep and driving them to the new place. It was summertime -- August, I think. Traffic was thick on Bushwick Avenue, and people were hanging out in the haze of the streets, restless and hot. The air was heavy and still, but trash blew across the road from the breeze of passing cars. A white plastic shopping bag danced in the road ahead, kissed my car's grill as I approached, then let go and fluttered away.
I told Robert about my first impressions of the housing projects and ramshackle storefronts, the garbage piled on the curbsides, and the thick, gritty air of local industry lining my nose, throat, and lungs. As I looked around, nothing bothered me as much as it did that first day, and I tried to decide if anything had changed, or if I'd just grown used to it. "That first drive really depressed me," I said.
"You were depressed back then, anyway," said Robert. "You were in a bad place."
"That's true," I said.
"I was worried about you, you were drinking too much, especially with your diabetes and everything. You weren't taking care of yourself."
"I know, you're right, I wasn't."
"You were spiraling out of control," he said, being intentionally melodramatic. He leaned back in his seat and spoke over his shoulder so Deborah could hear, "until you met Deborah and everything finally turned around. She made life worth living again, isn't that right?"
"Ha!" said Deborah. "He was having fun! Are you kidding? Having the time of his life until he met me. Now it's all over. No more fun for you, buster!" she said, and slapped me across the top of my head. "Funtime is over!"
